Work Text:
Jax woke with a sharp inhale, chest tight as if the room had shrunk overnight.
Sheets tangled around his legs, pillow half on the floor. His eyes stayed wide, fixed on nothing, while his breathing came in quick, shallow bursts that scraped his throat. In through the nose, out through the mouth.
He counted the rhythm the way he always pretended he never needed to. One. Two. Three.
The nightmare loosened its grip, retreating like a bad joke that did not land.
He lay there until his pulse stopped trying to outrun him. The dark settled back into familiar shapes, posters on the wall and a chair with clothes draped ovee.
Jax let his shoulders sink into the mattress and rolled onto his side, jaw tight.
Sitting up came next. He rubbed his face with both hands, palms warm. The room smelled like detergent and old cardboard.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and felt the chill bite his ankles.
He reached for his phone on the nightstand and woke the screen with a tap.
It was too late to pretend it was early, yet too early to pretend it was morning.
No new messages, ablessing and a curse.
Jax stared at his reflection in the black glass then stood. The floor creaked under his weight.
He crossed the room, careful not to step on the comic stack he kept promising himself he would organize. His jacket hung off the back of the chair, denim worn soft at the cuffs.
He shrugged into it, tugged the collar up like armor, and shoved his phone into the pocket.
The mirror by the door caught him mid motion. He paused, eyeing the dark circles and the crooked grin that tried to show up on reflex but failed.
The digital clock had glared 3:58 AM at him like a dare. Fine, if his brain refused to shut off, he’d walk it into submission.
Jax stepped into the hall.
Whatever had chased him awake could wait. He was awake now, and that meant he got to choose where his feet landed next.
The living room greeted him in low light and softer shapes. The couch was occupied.
Gangle and Zooble slept tangled together beneath a blanket, the fabric bunched at their waists and pooled at their feet. Gangle’s head had tipped forward, mouth tilted just enough to suggest a frown she would deny in the morning.
Zooble lay half turned toward her, one arm slung protectively along the back of the couch.
The blanket was familiar, Ragatha’s handiwork, if he had to guess. The edges were folded too neatly for anyone else.
Despite himself, Jax smiled, tired and brief.
The sight anchored him more effectively than counting sheep ever had. He took a step closer, careful with his weight so the floor would not creak.
The blanket had slipped from Gangle’s shoulder, exposing the thin line of fabric beneath. Without thinking, he reached down and tugged it back into place.
His hand lingered an instant too long.
Jax froze. His brow furrowed as the realization caught up with the motion.
He wasn't here to fix things. He was here to leave.
He backed away, retracing his steps until the couch was once again a piece of furniture and not a moment.
He adjusted his jacket and moved toward the door, fingers brushing the lock out of habit before he even turned the handle.
The door opened and he slipped into the hallway and pulled it shut behind him with a soft click.
The cold met him like a quiet dare. Jax walked without direction, boots tapping a lazy rhythm against the pavement.
A shiver worked its way up his spine, sharp enough to make him hunch his shoulders. He glanced down at his hands, fingers pinking at the tips, and frowned.
Gloves were a future investment. Winter was rolling in with intent, and apparently it had decided to start early.
He slowed, eyes scanning the street until a bench came into view beneath a bare tree and a flash bangingly bright street lamp.
It looked lonely enough to be safe. Jax dropped onto it with a soft exhale, elbows on knees, head tipped forward allowing itself to be burried in the light.
By habit, he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. The fabric swallowed them whole.
He blinked.
He pulled one hand out, then the other. He patted the pockets. Definitely too empty. He checked again anyway, because denial was a hobby of his.
Nothing. His jaw tightened.
Keys.
He let his head fall back and groaned up into the night, the sound dissolving into the cold air.
Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Of all the things to forget, it had to be the one thing that turned a walk into a problem.
“What’s wrong, Jax?”
The voice came from behind him.
"AHCK—"
Jax yelped, entire body jerking in reflex as he flailed backward off the bench. His balance abandoned him on principle.
He hit the pavement with a startled grunt, limbs splayed. At the same time, the figure behind the bench let out a surprised response of their own, stumbling back a step.
“AH! Oh—oh goodness, it’s only you.” Kinger yelped along with him.
“K—Kinger?!” Jax blurted, staring up at the silhouette framed by a streetlight.
“That’s me! …I think?” Kinger replied, peering down at him with equal alarm.
His jacket was zipped all the way up, scarf wrapped too many times around his neck, eyes wide behind his glasses. “I didn’t mean to startle you, I just hapoened to be on my morning jog."
"It's four in the morning!"
“So it is!” Kinger chirped, hands perched on his knees as he caught his breath. “You know what they say, early worm gets the bird! Or something like that!"
Jax pushed himself up onto his elbows, then sat, rubbing the back of his head.
Kinger hesitated before sitting on the opposite end of the bench, careful to leave a polite gap between them. “Are you... hurt?”
“No. Just my pride.”
To Jax's surprise Kinger let out a soft laugh at that. The older man reached a hand out and despite himself, Jax accepted it.
What felt like a redemption moment of hope turned into one of shame as Jax's stomach growled like a beast.
Kinger chuckled. "How's about we get something to eat? My treat!"
Jax was far too flushed to refuse.
They ended up at the convenience store on the corner with the flickering sign that never fully committed to being broken.
The automatic doors sighed open for them, everything smelled like reheated oil and sugar.
Kinger wandered the aisles with the unhurried certainty of someone who had done this ritual many times before, while Jax hovered near the food, eyes locked in with predatory focus.
Minutes later, they were back outside.
And Jax ate.
Fries vanished by the handful and the sandwich was demolished with zero concern for grace or pacing.
He leaned forward, elbows on knees, chewing fast enough that Kinger briefly considered reminding him to breathe.
Instead, the man laughed a delighted huff that slipped out before he could stop it.
Jax froze mid bite, eyes snapping sideways. “What?”
“Oh, no, it’s nothing,” Kinger said quickly, waving one hand, still smiling.
“It’s just… you really are young, huh? I remember I had quite the appetite when I was in college.”
Jax squinted at him, suspicion sharpened by embarrassment. “You… remember…”
The word lingered between them, unfinished.
Kinger’s smile softened, eyes reflecting the store lights in a way that made them seem farther away than they had any right to be. He took a careful sip from his cup, buying time.
“What were you doing out so late anyway?” Kinger asked gently.
Jax didn’t hesitate. He smirked again, reflex kicking back into place. “Was bored.”
Kinger hummed, clearly unconvinced but patient. Jax plowed on before the silence could pry.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he added, shrugging. “Plus, the living room was… occupied.” He waved a hand vaguely.
“Zooble and Gangle. On the couch. Cuddling. Like, actually cuddling. Eugh, disgusting.”
Kinger’s eyes lit up in immediate disagreement. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said, head tilting. “I think whatever’s going on between them is rather adorable.”
Jax made a face. “See, that’s exactly the problem. All that romance stuff. Gross. People getting all soft and sentimental like they’re in some commercial.”
Kinger chuckled. “You say that as if it’s a disease.”
“It kinda is.”
Kinger turned to him then, expression curious, amused. “You do remember I had a wife, yes?”
The words were calm. Simple.
Jax went still.
He stared down at the empty food carton in his hands, thumb rubbing along the folded edge. His shoulders rose a notch, then settled.
“…Yeah.” he said finally.
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was heavy and earned.
“She would’ve liked you.” Kinger added, gently, almost to himself.
Jax stiffened, then relaxed. “Yeah?” he said quietly.
“Oh yes,” Kinger replied without hesitation. “You remind me a little of her. The way you pretend not to care while doing it anyway.”
Jax huffed, shaking his head, but there was no bite to it. He took another enormous bite of his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully.
Jax scoffed, a crooked grin flashing as he leaned back on his hands.
“You must still be remembering wrong. Better get that monthly psychiatrist checkup soon.”
Kinger sighed.
Jax caught it instantly. He winced, eyes sliding away toward the street as if something interesting had suddenly appeared in the dark.
“I’m kidding.” he muttered.
Kinger didn’t scold him, didn’t even look hurt. He let out another sigh and leaned back against the wall, eyes lifting toward the dim sky above the store.
“The way I see it,” Kinger said after a moment, voice careful but steady, “You’re way too committed to this… bullying bit.”
Jax didn’t look up.
Kinger shifted, elbows resting on his knees now, posture less casual than before.
“I know when she… abstracted,” he continued, choosing the word with deliberate slowness, “it felt like there was a gap in the dynamic. No one was teasing you or Kaufmo anymore.”
Jax’s shoulders tightened. His head dipped lower, chin nearly to his chest.
“But it doesn’t land the same, Jax,” Kinger said gently. “Ribbit knew where to stop. That was their knack. They could needle someone and still leave them smiling afterward.”
He hesitated, then added, quieter, “You… you don’t have to fill in for her.”
That did it.
Jax barked out a sharp laugh, humorless and quick. “Wow!" he clapped, finally turning, eyes bright with something too sharp to be casual.
“Didn’t know we were doing psychoanalysis at four in the morning.”
Kinger flinched slightly.
“You think I’m trying to replace her?” Jax continued, words tumbling faster now.
“You think I don’t know it’s different? That I don’t notice Gangle or Ragatha or you looking at me like I kicked a puppy every time I open my mouth?”
He stood abruptly, pacing a short line in front of the bench. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.
“So what?” he muttered, “you want me to just stop talking?”
Kinger frowned. “That’s not what I said.” he countered firmly.
“Could’ve fooled me!" Jax finally turned, but only enough to glance over his shoulder. His eyes were sharp, defensive. “Someone’s gotta keep things from getting weirdly quiet! Or is that not allowed either?”
Jax caught himself, seating himself back down and lowering his voice with intention.
“Whatever. Forget it.”
Silence rushed in to claim the space his words had vacated.
Kinger watched him for a long moment.
He recognized the signs, this wasn’t going to be a conversation that reached its destination tonight.
Kinger exhaled slowly and stood, rubbing the side of his head with one hand.
The streetlight caught the lines in his face, deeper when he frowned like this. He reached into his pocket with the other hand and pulled out a familiar jingle.
Keys.
He set them down on the bench between them, metal clicking softly against concrete. The sound was gentle and final.
Jax turned at that, eyes widening just a fraction. “What—”
“Leave the door unlocked,” Kinger said, voice kind but firm. “I’ll be back later.”
Jax swallowed. He nodded once, stiff. “Yeah. Okay.”
Kinger lingered a second longer, gaze resting on him with quiet understanding.
“We’ll talk another time,” he added. “When we’re not pretending this is about something else.”
Jax didn’t answer. He just stared at the keys, guilt already creeping into his expression, heavy and unmistakable.
Kinger gave him a small, tired smile, then stepped back into the darkness, scarf bouncing lightly as he resumed his jog. His footsteps faded down the street, swallowed by the night.
Jax stayed where he was.
The bench was colder now. The store lights buzzed behind him, indifferent. He picked up the keys slowly, turning them over in his palm, jaw tight.
The joke was taking longer.
And that, somehow, hurt the most.