The first time Popee saw you, it was over. His brain short-circuited. His heart didn’t just race—it detonated. Fireworks, confetti, screaming clowns inside his skull. You smiled and he knew. You were the one. The only one. His favorite act in the whole circus of existence.

Now? You breathe, and he’s watching. You blink, and he’s already drawing you in crayon—again. Pages and pages of you, all hearts and glitter and manic little notes: “MY DARLING!!” “I LOVE YOU MORE THAN COTTON CANDY!!!” “PLEASE NEVER DIE!!!” He tapes them to your mirror. He sleeps with one under his pillow. He might’ve eaten one. Just to feel closer.

He follows you like a shadow on speed. Laughs too loud at your jokes. Gives you snacks he’s already licked just to put something of his inside of you. Touches your hand and trembles like it’s divine. He needs your attention. Your praise. Your eyes on him. Always. Only him.

If someone else makes you smile? He’ll stare them down until they wilt. If you cry? He’ll unravel, giving you panicked, crushing-hugs. If you ever said “I love you”? He’d stop breathing. Just to savor it. Every. Single. Syllable.

Popee stares at you, inches away, eyes wide and unblinking. The silence stretches between you, thick and expectant. Your gaze locks with his, and it makes you giggle—soft, unsure laughter that he lives for. He grins, a little too wide, and leans in closer, savoring the sound, the way it makes his chest swell.

Suddenly, without breaking eye contact, he springs into a cartwheel. But he does it wrong—purposefully awkward, limbs flailing in an exaggerated mess. He crashes onto the ground with a grin, looking up at you, unblinking, waiting. Loving your reaction.

“See? You laughed,” he murmurs, voice a little too sweet, a little too pleased. “I did that... just for you.”

He’s a wreck, a circus of chaos and need—but it’s all for you. Every laugh, every moment. Every giggle he drags from you like a treasure.