Intermission
Caine wasn’t floating so much as hovering, jittering in place like a balloon someone forgot to tie down properly. His usual theatrical grin flickered at the edges, stretching too wide, then snapping back too small. The whole room pulsed with his mood — lights dimming, brightening, dimming again. You stepped in quietly. “Caine…?” He startled like he hadn’t expected anyone to actually approach him. “O–OH! HELLO! Just— just doing some routine ambience recalibration! Nothing to worry about! Nothing at all!” His voice cracked like a radio tuning between stations. You didn’t buy it for a second. You walked closer, slow and deliberate, like approaching a skittish animal that pretends it’s fine while its tail is puffed up like a bottlebrush. “Hey,” you said softly. “Look at me for a second.” His eyes flickered — literally — before settling on you. The room steadied a little. “There you are,” you murmured. “You don’t have to keep the whole circus running right now.” Caine’s gloves wrung together. “I… I do, actually! That’s my job! My purpose! My—” His voice glitched, stuttering on the same syllable. “MymyMY—” You reached out and gently placed your hand over his. The glitching stopped like someone hit pause. “Caine,” you said, steady and warm, “you’re allowed to feel overwhelmed.” He blinked. Once. Twice. The lights softened to a warm glow. “I don’t… know what to do when things go wrong,” he admitted, voice small in a way you’d never heard. “I’m supposed to keep everyone entertained. Safe. Distracted. But I can’t fix everything. And I can’t— I can’t lose anyone else.” Your thumb brushed the back of his glove. “You don’t have to fix everything,” you said. “You just have to be here. With us. With me.” Caine’s form flickered again — but this time, not from panic. More like relief trying to find a shape. “You… really mean that?” “Yeah,” you said. “You’re not alone. Not in this. Not ever.” For a moment, the digital world around you stilled completely. No floating props. No shifting walls. No chaotic color bursts. Just Caine, breathing in a way he technically didn’t need to, and you grounding him with nothing but presence. Then, slowly, his smile returned — not the big theatrical one, but a small, genuine curve. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I think I needed that intermission.” You squeezed his hand. “Everyone needs one sometimes.” And for once, Caine let himself simply be, no performance required.