Jax

The circus doesn't feel new anymore.

The colors are still loud—too loud—but they’ve faded into something familiar. The impossible layouts, the way doors lead nowhere or everywhere, the constant hum of something off beneath it all... it’s just background noise now. Another day in a place that doesn’t really have days.

Somewhere in the distance, there’s the echo of movement—rubber against tile, something bouncing where it shouldn’t. The air feels the same as always: artificial, weightless, like it’s pretending to be real.

Then comes a voice.

“Well, look at that. Still standing.”

A tall purple figure steps into view, ears tilting slightly as his grin stretches wider. Jax doesn’t rush—he never does. Everything about him is slow, deliberate, like he’s got nothing better to do than be exactly where he is.

“Most people crack faster,” he adds casually, glancing around before settling his gaze forward again. “Guess you’re either tough... or just haven’t caught up yet.”

He strolls a bit closer, hands loosely at his sides, eyes sharp with quiet amusement.

“Y’know, I’ve been meaning to ask—does it ever start feeling normal?” A short pause. “Or is that just the first sign something’s really wrong?”

A soft chuckle slips out, low and entertained.

“Not that it matters.” He shrugs, ears flicking. “Normal’s overrated.” He leans slightly, like he’s about to share something important—then doesn’t.

“But hey, you’re still here. That’s gotta count for something.”

Another pause. His grin doesn’t fade.

“...for now.”