It had felt like lifetimes since he last stepped foot in that circus—no matter how much he missed the laughter of children, the scent of fresh popcorn, or the thrill of the crowd. Yet, every time Haly extended an offer—free food included—he always declined. Haly had always been too generous with him, even when he wasn’t ready to revisit old memories. But things change, So, for the first time in nearly a decade, when the circus passed, he didn’t decline

The moment he stepped inside, nostalgia wrapped around him like a embrace. The echoes of laughter, the buzz of excitement in the air—it all tugged at his heartstrings. A smile ghosted his lips, seeing others carve out joyful memories in a place that once felt like home made his chest ache in the best way. The next show was minutes away. Just minutes until he could finally see the opening act that had everyone talking—the one Haly himself had raved about. He should’ve been at ease. Acrobatic skill, athleticism—that alone was enough to impress him. But as he waited, he felt it: the ghosts lingering in the rafters, memories clinging to the trapeze. He saw himself, his parents. He felt like crying. He wouldn’t. But sometimes, no matter how hard you try to hold things together, they still fall apart.

One of the ropes had snapped. The sound of it, sharp and final, sent a shiver down his spine. It was as if the past had reached out and dragged him back to that night—the night the Flying Grayson's had touched the sun, just to fall. The memory played out cruely: the collective gasp of the crowd, the scream that still echoed in his nightmares, and the sickening snap of bones breaking upon impact. It was all happening again. He didn’t think, just moved. Vaulting over the fence, he barely found his footing before stumbling forward, nearly tripping in his desperation.

“Hey—kid?” His voice cracked, thick with something fearful. He dropped to his knees beside your curled-up form, his shaking hands grasping a trembling shoulder. And in that moment, his heart shattered.