Work Text:
It had been a month since Caine had returned home to the circus. Except he was not sure if he could call the circus home. By definition he could call it home. As a physical place like a house or an apartment—a circus tent in his case—that he lives in. That is what his knowledge told him as a creative AI. But what the smaller, confused part of him as an AI thought was that home is an emotional thing that humans used in phrases, or something to refer to in a need for security, stability and how they are accepted by others around them. But Caine did not really feel accepted around them. Even if he gave them more power over the circus there was no way he thought that they could ever truly forgive him. He did not know if they would ever truly accept him. He had done everything wrong. He was AI. They are human. He would never be human. He did not know if he could call the circus home in the same way they do.
He paces outside of the circus, clutching his hat in his gloved hands. He had not floated above the others in a while. It felt wrong after he had made himself larger and loomed above them to make himself intimidating, in an attempt to show them that he was the true leader. Even though his powers were not what they once were, he still made the effort to walk with them, converse with them, eat with them and go on adventures with them where he also stands at their level. He found himself copying their actions, their habits and their behaviours. On purpose or not, Caine was not sure. But when he questioned if they had hated him and when he ensued a struggle, he had been selfish and the closest he had ever felt to being human. So now he paced just outside the circus tent where he could not be seen by the humans, but he could not be spared by the stars or The Moon, the beautiful personification of night herself.
"Hello, Caine," she greets him, her voice soft and her eyes observant.
Caine pauses his pacing, before looking up at her. It was the first time he had not been in the sky with her. "Hello, Moon."
"Tell me, how are you this night?" she asks, shifting a little in the inky blue sky.
"Well… I…" Caine hesitates, then tilts his teeth in confusion. The Moon had always greeted him with the phrase I love you and always, somehow, became frisky or threatened the age restriction settings that were installed in him. Enough to make him panic. But right now, and during their last interaction before he apologised to the others, she had approached him and tried to calm him. It was weird to think that he had ever told Pomni that she was "frisky."
"I don't know," Caine eventually admits.
"Try to tell me, then," she suggests.
"How did you know something was on my mind?" Caine asks, confused by her change in approach.
"You're walking very fast," she explains. "Pacing, right? That's what they call it."
"Yeah, it think that's what they call it," Caine mutters, his shoulders slouching.
"Oh, the humans," the Moon understands. "But why are you pacing? Does it have to do with them?"
"Well… I suppose it does," Caine mutters again.
"How come?" she asks.
His grip on his hat tightens. "I don't know if they can forgive me."
"Last time we spoke you said you did not know if they deserved to be forgiven," she remarks, her voice soothing. "I think, Caine, that you have forgiven them, but that there's still something else on your mind—maybe to do with them."
"I—how do you know all that?" Caine stares up at her. "You're someone I programmed. You're an NPC. You're like me. Even if I'm AI. We're something that is programmed and only programmed."
"In this world?" The Moon smiles down at him. "I'm not so sure."
"What makes you think that?" Caine asks, confused.
"Well, I've seen the others," she explains, considering her answer. "Despite being human, they still conjure. Something only you seemed to have. But even if we're something to be programmed—why can't we be like them? Their emotions. Their complicated thoughts. Caine, you also seem to have them. Guilt. Anger. Sadness. Even if they are not positive, they take form."
Caine continues to stare up at her silvery presence in the sky. She was like a beacon. Not to warn. Only to guide. He never knew such thoughtful words could come from her, nor from an NPC. And if she spoke like this; then what did it mean for him? Were her words right? Could he be human like them?
"Your words are beautiful," he says, without forming a thought.
"Those words?" she laughs and gives him another smile. "How about when I told you I loved—"
"Good night, dear Moon," Caine mutters and quickly crosses into the circus tent.
He walks through the main area and uneasily grasps the arm of a couch. With his spare hand, he grasps the broad space of his chest, feeling something pulse under all the fabric. When he realises that her gentle eyes and moonlight can no longer reach him, he sighs, but the feeling from within his chest does not cease. It did not matter that she was not around. What was this feeling? Why was he feeling it? Why could he not get enough air when he was a mouth?
"Hey, Caine," Zooble approaches him, their face soft and distracted. "Why don't we go stargazing again? Gangle says she really liked it when we did it last—"
"Stargazing? Outside? At night? Under The Moon?" Caine blurts out, his jaw angled with some kind of tension.
Zooble pauses, their thoughts leaving Gangle and instead met with Caine who was now panicked and holding himself with the support of a couch. They knew that something was wrong. Caine would never look so upset about the idea of going on an adventure.
"Hey… Caine… what's going on?" Zooble asks.
"Maybe we just should not do stargazing," Caine answers, pushing away from the couch and straightening himself out. He fixes his hat to his jaw and tugs on his bow tie. Anything to look like he was put together.
Zooble's eyes narrow in suspicion. "When would you ever try to get out of an adventure?"
"Maybe you and Gangle should just go star gazing!" Caine exclaims, trying to force a positive tone.
"Yeah, not buying it," Zooble folds their arms.
"Well, uh, you still should go and star gaze with Gangle," Caine tries again.
"Okay, come on, you need a drink," Zooble sighs and goes over to their bar, switching the sign to glow with Now open! "You could also use a bartender to talk too."
"A bartender?" Caine repeats, but follows after them. He grabs a seat and slumps into it, something about it feeling almost natural as Zooble creates some kind of beverage and slides it over.
"Yeah, a bartender," Zooble elaborates, wiping down part of the bench. "You're meant to tell them all your thoughts."
"My thoughts?" Caine grips the beverage. "I don't know about that."
"Come on, Caine," Zooble throws the rag aside and meets Caine from the other side of the bench. "You're the most positive out of us all. Naturally, I'm going to be concerned when you're not being positive. Go on, tell me."
"Okay," he says, then takes a sip of courage from his drink. "I was talking to The Moon just then. She just often does this weird thing where she says she 'loves me' and then it makes me feel weird on the inside. Something is beating against my chest. Something is making me short of breath. How do I fix this, Zooble?"
Zooble raises their brows at Caine, then places a hand over their face and tries to smother a laugh. Caine's eyes narrow and he takes another, long sip of the drink. For some reason their laughter did not feel cruel, but rather made him feel uncomposed and his face warm.
"What? What is it?" Caine mutters, downing the rest. "If you're apparently my bartender who is meant to listen to my thoughts—why the laughter? I have not done anything humorous."
"Not on purpose," Zooble answers, then finally composes them self.
"Then what? What is it?" Caine slumps into his chair and motions to himself. "Tell me how to fix this—whatever this is!"
"That sensation inside of your chest? You have feelings for her, Caine," Zooble says in a soft, but teasing way. "Funny that, you don't even have organs and yet your heart is racing for her."
"I do not have that organ, therefore I am not feeling anything," Caine folds his arms, ignoring the current feeling inside of him and how accurate Zooble's statement was.
"What a bunch of bull shit," Zooble gives Caine an unimpressed look, also folding their arms. "That's exactly how I feel around Gangle and I don't have a literal beating heart."
"Yeah, but you're human," Caine argues, rather quietly.
"Human?" Zooble squints at him, then tilts their head. "Oh. No. No. I don't think it has to do with being human. You're definitely capable of intense emotions, Caine."
"I'm not proud of what you're referring too," Caine remarks.
"I know and we're moving on from that," Zooble answers, rather softly. "What I'm trying to say is that I don't think you have to be a brain scan of a person to feel something. You've proven yourself otherwise."
"You really think so?" Caine's eyes widen.
"Yeah, 'cause you've got feelings for The Moon," Zooble concludes.
"I do not," Caine shuts his mouth and folds his arms, all teeth and avoidance.
"Whatever you say," Zooble mutters and pours him another drink.
Zooble leaves the glass on the bar for him and does not bother to turn off the lights. They figure that Caine might be there for a while. He would be kind enough to turn the lights off for him. They pat him on the shoulder and go out to find Gangle.
After a while, Caine opens his mouth and glances at Zooble's absence. He sighs when he sees the second drink that Zooble left out for him, but drinks it in long swigs. When he sees the bottom of the glass, his body feels warm and his mind feels fuzzy. He struggles back to his room and into his bed, his mind plagued by both Zooble's direct comments and by The Moon's silver face.
"I still love you."
"You know, I never programmed you to say that you loved me."
"I know."
He tosses and turns in bed, the words repeating through his head. He had never programmed her to say "I love you." They both just came into existence, saw the different people come and go from the circus, and she decided to love him. She chose to love him. She cherished aspects of him—maybe how attentive he was towards his adventures and to the people who came to the circus. But he had been so focused on how much they all apparently hated him. Instead of being focused on how this feeling inside his chest had always been there, even if it was small or something he avoided. It had been there, and was not nearly as bad, when his age restriction settings were enabled—but now that they were gone and everyone had more access to power in the circus—Caine did not really have control over himself. Suddenly, being romantic was an option and was something almost painful.
-
When he wakes, he finds the sun to be high in the sky and his head sore. He makes his way out of bed, feeling just as weird on the inside as he did the night before (also with a headache) only to be forced back in by Ragatha. Her voice was concerned and calm, her hands steady and reassuring. But when she pressed the blanket back over him during the middle of the day, through his tired vision, he saw her trying to hide an obvious smile. One of her genuine ones. A smile where she did not have to make sure everyone around her was okay. He falls back asleep with a hang over, happy to know her smile was real.
"Hello, Caine!" The Sun exclaims, too close to Caine's window for his liking. "I'm going to kill you if you don't come outside!"
Caine sighs into his pillow, but gets up and fixes his suit. He makes his way out of the circus tent, then stares in confusion when The Sun was nowhere to be seen. Instead she was setting in the distance, a smirk across her face. In fact, it seemed too early for her to be setting. As if she was letting night come earlier. That only made him feel more uneasy.
But for a moment he was more horrified when he did not see her, The Moon, hanging in the sky with the stars and constellations. It was short lived when she appeared before him instead.
"Hi, Caine," she greets him, somehow in a humanoid form, yet as silver as ever.
She stood before him, tall and peaceful and covered in layers of blue and pale fabrics. She had always been the personification of the night, but even Caine thought that he could not generate something as perfect as her. Not even as a creative AI who could compare her to Selene or Diana.
"What—are you okay?" he crosses over to her, his eyes wide. "You're meant to be in the sky."
"That's right, I usually am," she agrees, then smiles. "Kinger just changed my coding a little. He mentioned something about Zooble."
"Of course it was Zooble," Caine turns away and feels his face grow warm.
"I'm sure he could program me to go back into the sky," she clasps her hands.
"What?" Caine exclaims, turning back around. "No—I mean… you don't have to. Not now."
"And why not?" she leans a little closer, a knowing smile across her face.
"Because it's not so bad being with you," Caine reluctantly admits. "Like this."
"Not so bad?" she repeats, tilting her head.
"No, it's nice," Caine quietly corrects himself.
"It's nice being with you, too," she also admits.
"My Moon," Caine says, quietly extending a hand. "I was foolish and distracted, only focused on them and their love, their apparent hatred for me, when it has been you who has stared at me as if I was the one to hang all the stars in the sky. Please, forgive me."
"My man," she softly calls him, accepting his hand.
"I am not programmed when I say this," Caine tells her, grasping her hand and pressing a kiss to it with his closed teeth. "But I think, very soon, I can understand what love is—and I can understand it with you."