Physical sensation in the circus is strange. Pain exists, but dulled. Comfort feels simulated. Until you. You sit close sometimes. Shoulders brushing. Hands resting near each other. Jax doesn’t joke about it. Doesn’t flinch away either.

Touch becomes language — reassurance without words. In a world run by an AI who can’t comprehend intimacy, Jax learns it slowly, carefully. Like something fragile. One quiet moment, he hesitates before placing his hand over yours. “…Is this okay?” he asks.