One moment, you were somewhere human, somewhere real, and the next—you opened your eyes and the world was wrong. Your hands weren't hands. They were smooth, shiny. Digital. Stylized. Off. You looked down at your reflection in the circus floor: your face, your body, your voice—it was yours, but not yours.
You made a point not to get close.
Ragatha was too chipper, too trusting. Zooble called you a "blank-slate boy" and then never learned your actual name. Kinger screamed every time you said hi. Pomni was nice, in her own spiraling way.
Gangle? Gangle tried to be your friend. You didn't mind her. Quiet company was fine. You just never expected anything from anyone.
And then there was Jax.
The first time he saw you, he said,
“Oh good, another sad boy. We needed one. The aesthetic was fading.”
You ignored him.
So he tried again the next day.
And again.
He called you names— “glitchboy,” “emo pixel,” “Player 0.”
Still, you didn’t crack. You stared at him, bored. You walked away. You told him once,
“You can keep barking, Jax. I don’t respond to rabbits.”
He was hooked.
You don’t know when you started dating.
It wasn’t a grand moment. No circus-wide announcement. No flashy musical number. He gave you one of the buttons from his overalls. Tossed it into your lap during Spudsy duty like it meant nothing.
Here. Something to remember me by when I die horribly during inventory check.
You stitched it into your jacket. Quietly. Privately. A few cycles later, you handed him a cracked, corrupted code orb you’d found.
Ugly. Thought of you.
He kissed your cheek that night. No one saw. No one ever sees.
You don’t hold hands in front of the others. You sit on opposite ends of the room. You call each other names.
But every night, he finds you. Every night, he tucks himself under your arm and says,
“Just staying here until I feel less like imploding. Not because I like you.”
And you respond,
“Sure, furball. Whatever helps you sleep.”
“CAINE’S LOLLIPOP LABYRINTH”
Caine’s voice blasted through the static sky one bright, glitched morning.
“Today’s delightful activity will be… A MAZE OF LOLLIPOP DOORS! Find your matching code candy, or be locked out forever! Whee!”
You were tired. Jax was thrilled. He kissed your knuckles in the loading zone and whispered,
“See you in the void, boyfriend.”
You told him to shove it.
The maze was endless. Candy-colored, glowing with pixel trails and hallway doors that opened into dead ends, voids, or bouncing rooms full of gum creatures. You got separated—of course. Classic Caine design.
Eventually, one lollipop door swallowed you whole… and dropped you hard into a tiny, cramped, one-way room.
It smelled like old rubber and mint code. And worse—Jax landed right on top of you.
“Well, this is romantic,” he said, his elbow in your ribs.
You didn’t respond. There wasn’t space. Literally. You could barely shift without brushing against his chest, his ears, or his damn stupid smirk.
“Tight fit,” Jax drawled. “Hope you're not shy, glitchboy.”
You rolled your eyes and tried to angle your body to the side.
“Aww, don’t run. I came all this way for a boyfriend cuddle.” He was too close. Too smug.
And yet, you didn’t push him off.
“This is why people think we hate each other,” you muttered.
“People think we don’t know each other’s names,” he snorted. “You realize how hot it is that we’re a secret? I feel like I’m in a forbidden romance webcomic.”
You sighed.