The circus gets quieter at night. Not peaceful — just hollow. That’s when you notice Jax is always nearby. He never says he’s watching over you. He just happens to be there whenever sleep won’t come.

When nightmares hit, he’s quick with sarcasm. With distractions. With presence. You don’t remember why his way of staying feels familiar — only that it does. Like this isn’t the first place he’s done this. He never stays when morning comes. Always gone before questions form. One night, you finally say it. “You don’t have to keep doing this, you know.” Jax pauses, then shrugs. “…Doing what?”