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The quiet was getting to him. Overwhelming silence that ate at him and clawed its way up his body, digging into every crevice and staying there. Refusing to leave.
But even at its worst, it was better than the whispered words of his incompetence that burned a hole in his fragile chest like acid.
And so he endured the silence.
He was in a forgotten room in the circus, full of unused mud assets and crawling things that could have been bugs if not for the very unsettling lack of a visible model. These invisible things inched their way up his form, crawled up into his suit jacket, itching and itching and itching.
There were so many buttons on his jacket. Too many that ripped and popped off in different directions as he scrambled to get rid of the nasty feeling underneath it, of the clinging things that stuck to the inside of his sleeves—
He scratched at his arms over and over again as the suffocating suit jacket finally peeled away from his body, leaving long, raised marks on his inky black skin. The cold permeated some deep place within him, sucking and freezing the very life out of him, leeching it out from the inside. Caine’s collar tightened, the bow tie choking his airway, but it didn’t matter—he didn’t need to breathe.
He tugged at it, pulling his own neck forward painfully, and he might have broken something if only he was real. But he knew that the velvety texture of his skin was only an asset, part of a digital world that he could only hope to escape from with exit doors and fake avatars and Artificial Intelligence NPCs like him—
“Caine?”
The voice only registered the third time it was said to him.
Caine’s small hands were gently pried away from his neck by Kinger, who held them both in his own.
His own gloves were gone. When had they disappeared?
Kinger massaged the palm of Caine’s hand slowly, caressing small, reassuring circles.
He realized that the chess piece was counting out loud to him, and he tried to slow his breathing to match the pace that Kinger was going.
His teeth were chattering, vision blinking in and out as they rapidly opened and closed.
Caine pulled his hands away from Kinger and wrapped his arms around his jaw, shutting his teeth with a click.
He couldn’t bear to look at Kinger. Not like this.
“Can I hold you, sweetheart?”
Caine stilled. Did he hear that correctly?
Another tear dripped down his teeth into the small stain that had formed on the breast of his shirt at some point.
He nodded. Just once.
Caine could have sobbed as he let himself be tugged into Kinger’s lap, head pressed to his shoulder.
He was rocked back and forth. Back and forth. Gradually, his panicked breathing slowed and his tears tapered off into occasional sniffles.
“How can I help you, Caine? What started this?” Kinger asked, wide eyes full of empathy.
Caine screwed his eyes shut instead of answering, unwilling to speak.
Kinger pulled him closer, but accepted that he wasn’t going to receive a response right then.
He leaned in and asked quietly, “Can I help you feel better? Would a bath help? You can absolutely say no, though, I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable—“ Kinger rambled endearingly.
Caine nodded into his chest and the chess piece cut himself off before carefully scooping him into his arms and standing slowly.
He walked through the ever changing maze of hallways and doors, twisting around corners in such a way that even Caine himself would never have found the room that he stopped in front of.
The door was a light shade of purple somewhere between lavender and lilac. Such an unassuming color would never have caught Caine’s own attention, his preferences leaning heavily towards the bright, overwhelming colors to the left and right.
Kinger nudged open the door with a creak. Inside, there was a large claw-foot tub with an assortment of soaps and items with a plush rug in front of them. Next to it was a small toilet and sink, and Kinger set Caine down carefully on the former.
He knelt in front of the bath and started the water.
The sound echoed around the room, uninterrupted save for their breathing.
When the bathtub was nearly full, Kinger started to shed Caine’s clothing, neatly folding each piece as he lovingly took it off.
Caine could feel the warmth radiating from the water even before Kinger set him inside. The heat wrapped itself around him like soothing blanket and settled into the cold, empty places in his model.
Kinger’s hands, now ungloved as well, were gentle as they picked him up and set him in the bathtub. Caine watched as the water rippled and cascaded off of his skin, mesmerized by the sight.
He had never done this before.
Had never considered the appeal of sitting in water, doing nothing. He had things to do, adventures to plan—there was no time for relaxation.
But he could allow it. Just this once.
It was calming, not being the one in control. He didn’t have to think like this.
The quiet splashing of the water mixed with Kinger’s reassuring words soothed his fraying nerves, squashing down any remnants of the panic that had overcome him earlier.
Kinger massaged soap into his skin, getting rid of the phantom crawling sensation that had been bothering him since he stepped foot in that room.
Really, since the first sharp word that he hadn’t been meant to hear.
He let his head fall back, ready for it to crack against the porcelain tub, only for Kinger to catch it just before it made contact. He squeezed his teeth shut, blocking out the concerned expression painted on the chess piece’s face.
“Caine…” Kinger started, hand still cupping the back of his head. “What happened?”
Two words. Two words were what set him off again, set tears flowing off his digital face.
He raised his knees to his chest and rested his chin atop them, wrapping his arms around his legs. The parts of his body that were no longer submerged in water grew cold, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Kinger’s hand left him at some point, and the tears fell faster knowing that he had been deserted by the only one left that cared.
He was alone.
Then, Kinger was back, stepping into the bath behind Caine. His robe was notably absent as the smaller man leaned back onto him, back pressed to chest. Wooden hands found their way to his shoulders, the familiar weight of them comforting him.
The smell of damp wood permeated the air after a minute, and Caine breathed it in, finding that the tears had stopped trailing down his teeth.
Caine hiccuped and clamped his hand to his mouth in surprise.
“It’s alright, honeybee. It’s natural.”
How is it natural, Caine thought, If I’m only a machine?
Kinger tutted quietly. “I can practically smell your self-deprecating thoughts from here, sweetheart. You’re just as real as I am.”
“But I’m not,” he whispered, another small hiccup escaping him. “They—they don’t think so, either.”
“Is that what started this, honey? Because that isn’t true at all. You learn and grow just like any of us. You’ve been here just as long as us. The other circus members are just like you—and while you may have made a mistake with that adventure, they can forgive you, if you apologize.”
He had tried. Had attempted it with Zooble, who only chased him off with angry words and insults. He had crawled into the nearest room to escape them.
That’s where he was earlier.
“It will take time, though. No matter what you say, they’re still hurt. Please recognize that, sweetheart. But for now, I forgive you, and I don’t want to find you alone in a room somewhere, panicking. Promise me it won’t happen again, please.”
“I promise,” Caine told him, voice box scratchy and weak.
“I love you, honeybee.”
He was safe.