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Kinger lowered himself onto the ground beside her, joints creaking slightly as he settled.
“I’ve been working on something,” he said.
Pomni blinked.
He picked at the floor like it might answer him.
“There’s a way,” he said finally. “A connection point. Not here—not in this place. Somewhere else.”
Pomni’s stomach tightened. “What kind of somewhere else.”
Kinger hesitated.
That alone made her uneasy.
“Reality.” he said carefully.
Her breath caught.
Pomni shook her head slightly. “We’ve had this conversation before.”
“I think I can open a path. Just enough to touch it.”
Pomni stared at him.
Her voice came out smaller than she meant it to. “Why are you telling me this?”
Kinger went quiet for a long moment.
“I think we both know why.”
Pomni swallowed.
“And if I go,” she said slowly, “what happens to me?”
Kinger looked at her for a long time.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I think… you stop being here.”
That landed differently than she expected.
Pomni looked back into the void beyond the circus.
For the first time, it didn’t feel empty.
It felt reachable.
“What’s out there?” she asked.
Kinger’s voice dropped.
“A man,” he said. “Or what used to be one. A version of someone you keep circling back to in your head, even when you don’t realize you’re doing it.”
Pomni’s pulse spiked.
“What are you talking about?”
Kinger hesitated again, then added carefully, “I think you already know.”
“No,” she said immediately. “That’s—he’s—he’s here.”
Kinger shook his head slowly.
“Not the way he is out there.”
Pomni stood up too fast.
“That’s not possible.”
“Nothing here is,” Kinger said, almost gently.
She stared at him, breathing uneven.
“And you’re telling me this because… what? I go out there and what—find him?”
Kinger nodded once.
“I think you already did,” he said. “You just haven’t remembered it correctly yet.”
That should have made her laugh.
It didn’t.
Instead, something inside her pulled tight—like a thread being drawn through two worlds.
Pomni looked back toward the void again.
This time, it looked less like nothing.
And more like a door she’d been standing in front of her entire life without noticing.
“How do I do it,” she asked.
Kinger’s shoulders sagged slightly.
“I don’t think it’ll feel like doing anything,” he said. “I think it’ll feel like falling.”
Pomni swallowed hard.
“Of course it does.”
A pause.
Then, almost too softly to hear:
“Are you sure you want to leave?”
She didn’t answer right away.
Because the truth was already forming before she had words for it.
Not “I want to leave.”
But—
“I have to find out.”
Kinger nodded like he understood that difference.
And somewhere deep in the circus, something old and digital flickered… like it had just been noticed.
The post office looked painfully normal.
Abigail stood across the street for almost twenty minutes before forcing herself to move.
The world kept going like nothing had happened.
Like the circus didn't exist.
Like she hadn't spent years trapped inside it.
Her fingers trembled as she pushed through the front doors.
Then she saw him.
Jax.
No.
Leroy.
He was sorting packages behind the counter with headphones in, visibly bored out of his mind.
Abigail’s chest tightened so hard she thought she might throw up.
He looked alive.
Actually alive.
Not grinning manically. Not hiding behind jokes. Not pretending nothing mattered.
Just tired.
Human.
He glanced up.
"Uh. Hi?"
Abigail forgot how to speak.
Because it was him.
Every tiny thing was him.
The posture. The eyes. The way he leaned against the counter.
"You okay?" he asked.
Abigail realized she was crying.
"Sorry," she whispered quickly, wiping at her face. "You just... remind me of someone."
"Damn. They must’ve sucked."
There it was.
That stupid humor.
Abigail laughed despite herself. Then immediately started crying harder.
Leroy panicked.
"Whoa, okay, uh — hey, I'm really not good at this. Should I call someone for you?"
Abigail covered her mouth.
For a second she could hear the circus music. See the lights. Remember him abstracting.
And now here he was.
Alive.
Not knowing he had ever died.
Abigail lowered her hands slowly, trying to steady her breathing.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, sharper this time, like she could cut the emotion out of herself if she tried hard enough. “I just—long day. I thought you were someone else.”
Leroy blinked. “Yeah, you said that part already.”
He hesitated, then leaned forward a little, lowering his voice like he was trying not to spook her.
“Do you need, like water? Or a chair? Or a professional?”
“No,” she said too fast.
Then, after a beat, “I’m fine. Really. I just—I travel a lot. I get disoriented sometimes.”
That was a lie so flimsy she could feel it fall apart as she said it, but Leroy just nodded like he’d heard worse.
“Okay,” he said slowly. “Well if you’re not dying, that’s good. That’s usually step one.”
A small laugh slipped out of her before she could stop it.
There it was again. That tone. That same ridiculous timing. Not Jax exactly—but close enough to make her stomach twist.
She forced herself to breathe normally.
“I’m Abigail,” she said.
“Leroy,” he replied, like she didn’t already know.
Of course he didn’t know.
She told herself she wouldn’t go back.
But she did.
She’d show up during slow hours, pretend she needed help mailing things she absolutely did not need to mail, ask questions she didn’t care about just to hear him talk.
The third time she came, Leroy looked up from taping a box and said, “You know we have a website, right?”
Abigail froze mid-step.
“What?”
“For tracking packages. Stamps. General post-office related thrills.” He gestured vaguely. “You don’t actually have to come in here every week.”
“I like talking to people in person,” she lied.
“See, now I know you’re lying.”
She stared at him.
He pointed the tape gun at her dramatically. “Nobody likes talking to people in person.”
Despite herself, she snorted.
There it was again.
That same instinctive cadence. The dry delivery. The way he acted like sincerity physically pained him.
Not Jax.
But enough to make her chest ache.
“You’re kind of mean,” she said.
“I’m efficient. It’s why they pay me the big bucks.”
“You told an old woman her package looked suspicious yesterday.”
“It did look suspicious.”
“The size of the box was suspicious. And if I’m not on the front lines protecting the citizens of this proud nation; who will?”
Abigail laughed before she could stop herself.
Leroy paused for a second like the sound surprised him too.
After that, he started expecting her.
Not openly.
But she noticed the way he’d glance toward the door around the same time every afternoon. The way he’d already have some sarcastic comment loaded before she even reached the counter.
One day she came in soaked from rain, hair dripping onto the tile.
Leroy looked up once and immediately disappeared into the back.
When he returned, he tossed a hoodie at her.
Abigail blinked. “What’s this?”
“You look like a drowned Victorian child.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“It’s called generosity. Don’t make it weird.”
The hoodie smelled faintly like detergent and coffee.
Leroy stared for half a second too long before looking away.
Something warm twisted painfully in her chest.
Because Jax would’ve made fun of her.
Leroy was trying to take care of her.
And somehow that was worse.
He started saving her little things after that. Stupid things. Stickers from damaged envelopes. A pen he said “had potential but failed the assignment.” A receipt with a smiley face doodled on it.
She kept all of it.
A week later, Abigail walked in to find absolute chaos.
The printer behind the counter was making a grinding noise like it was actively dying.
Leroy was crouched beside it holding a screwdriver.
“Tell me honestly,” he said without looking up, “if I hit this with a chair, do you think they’d let me go home early?”
“What did it do to you?”
“It knows what it did.”
Abigail crouched beside him before she could think better of it.
The printer immediately spat out six labels at once.
Leroy narrowed his eyes. “Interesting. So it works for you.”
“I have a calming presence.”
“You look stressed literally all the time.”
“That’s not fair; that just my face.”
He barked out a laugh.
Not the sharp mocking sound Jax used to make.
Something easier.
The rest of the afternoon passed strangely fast after that.
He let her stay behind the counter while he worked because, according to him, “you’re here enough to qualify as unpaid staff.”
At one point an older man came in screaming about postage prices.
Leroy listened for nearly thirty seconds before saying, completely serious, “Sir, I personally raised them to punish you specifically.”
Abigail had to duck into the sorting aisle because she started laughing so hard she nearly cried.
When she came back out, Leroy was watching her with this faint, crooked smile like he hadn’t expected her to find him funny.
That feeling again.
That awful, impossible feeling.
Like some hidden part of both of them kept unconsciously stepping into the same rhythm.
Outside, the sky had gone orange with sunset.
Leroy locked the doors behind them and shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets.
“You hungry?”
She looked at him carefully. “Are you asking me out?”
“No,” he said immediately. “That sounds horrifying.”
“You literally just asked if I wanted food.”
“I’m a humanitarian.”
“You’re annoying.”
Abigail looked at him for a long moment.
Then finally, “Okay.”
And the way his expression softened afterward almost made her forget which one of them should’ve been afraid.
“You look like you don’t leave your apartment enough,” he says, handing her a coffee he definitely didn’t have to buy her when she walks in a week later.
“I leave,” she said.
“When?”
“To go to work.”
“That doesn’t count.”
“I come here.”
“Also doesn’t count.”
She rolled her eyes. “Are you always this judgmental with customers?”
“You’re a part time employee at this point.”
There was no flirting in his tone. Just observation. Simple, matter-of-fact.
“I don’t come here that often nor do I stay that long.”
“Who are you trying to convince?”
“Fine,” she said, grabbing the coffee. “When I’m not here and I’m not at work; I’m usually sulking away in my apartment. Why do you ask?”
“Me and my friends go to this place called The Triangle,” he said. “It’s down the street. Anyone is welcome there. Even dorks like you.”
“That feels targeted.”
“Do you want to come or not?”
“Okay.”
Her heart is accelerating so fast she thinks she might faint.
She spends the entire walk there trying to remember how to breathe normally. By the time they reached The Triangle, Abigail felt so aware of herself she thought she might come apart at the seams.
The Triangle was eclectic.
Abigail sat across from him in a booth sticky with old conversations, watching him talk like it came naturally to him. Not performing. Not joking to fill space like Jax had done. Just existing.
She didn’t drink much.
She didn’t need to.
Leroy had that habit of pausing mid-sentence like he was thinking three sentences ahead and deciding which ones weren’t worth saying out loud.
It made her nervous in a way she couldn’t explain.
At one point, he leaned back, studying her more directly than usual.
“You know,” he said.
Abigail hummed. “Dangerous start.”
He ignored that.
“You’re always at the post office.”
Something in his tone shifted—not accusatory, just curious. Like he was trying to solve a pattern instead of interrogate her.
“You didn’t start coming in because of stamps,” he said.
Abigail’s fingers tightened slightly around her drink.
“I like stamps,” she said carefully.
Leroy gave her a look.
Not judgmental. Just unconvinced.
A pause stretched.
Then he added, quieter, “Is it because I remind you of that one person?”
Abigail’s throat went dry.
“I don’t—” she started, then stopped.
Because lying suddenly felt impossible.
Leroy didn’t push. He just watched her, patient in a way that made it worse.
“You said it the first day,” he said gently. “That I reminded you of someone.”
Abigail looked down at her glass.
Of course he remembered that.
Abigail exhaled through her nose, like she was trying to decide how much truth was survivable.
“…Yeah,” she finally admitted.
Leroy didn’t react the way she expected.
Just a slow blink.
“So that’s why you kept coming back,” he said.
It wasn’t a question.
Abigail nodded once, small.
Leroy leaned forward a little, elbows on the table now.
“What are they like?”
The question made something twist in her chest so hard it almost hurt.
She opened her mouth.
Closed it again.
Because the honest answer didn’t fit into words that belonged in this place.
Finally she said, carefully, “Complicated.”
That made him tilt his head slightly.
Abigail gave a short laugh. “Yeah.”
“Can I hear more about this mystery person?” Leroy asked.
Her fingers traced the edge of her glass like she needed something physical to stay anchored.
“Okay,” she said after a beat.
Then she exhaled.
“He was funny,” she started carefully.
Leroy didn’t interrupt. Not even to make a small joke.
“Like annoyingly funny,” she added. “The kind where you’re mad you’re laughing.”
Abigail stared at the table.
“And he acted like nothing mattered,” she continued. “Like the world was optional. Like he was just passing through it and didn’t owe it anything.”
Her throat tightened, but she pushed through it anyway.
“But he noticed everything,” she said quietly. “Stuff people don’t usually bother with. He’d remember the smallest things I said. Even when he pretended he wasn’t listening.”
She swallowed.
“That was the worst part,” she admitted. “He could make you feel like you were the only real thing in the room and then turn around and act like that didn’t mean anything.”
Leroy leaned back slightly, watching her now with something more careful in his expression.
“Did you like him?” he asked, softer this time.
Abigail let out a small breath that almost turned into a laugh.
“Yeah,” she said. “I did.”
“Still do, I guess,” she added, like it annoyed her to admit it.
Abigail finally looked up at him.
“And that’s the thing,” she said, voice quieter now. “You remind me of him sometimes.”
She hesitated.
“But you’re not him.”
Leroy’s eyes flickered slightly at that, but he didn’t interrupt.
Abigail’s fingers loosened around her glass.
“And I thought that would be the only reason I kept coming in,” she admitted. “But it’s not.”
She met his gaze properly now.
“I go to the post office because I like you,” she said simply. “Not because you’re him.”
The words hung there for a second.
Leroy didn’t respond right away.
For once, he looked like he didn’t have a clean angle on the situation.
“That’s a relief,” he said finally.
Abigail blinked. “A relief?”
“Because I can’t compete with a mysterious tragic guy,” he said, deadpan again, but quieter now. “I can only be me.”
“I’m not trying to replace him with you.”
Leroy studied her for a moment.
Then nodded once.
Like something finally sitting in the right place, even if nothing was fully solved yet.
And for the first time that night, Abigail didn’t feel split down the middle.
A few days later, she was standing outside the post office after closing when Leroy came out locking the door behind him.
He paused when he saw her.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.” She hesitates before continuing. “I was waiting for you.”
“Why?”
Then she says, “I have a couch.”
Leroy blinked. “That sounds like a threat.”
“It’s not. It’s just a fact about my apartment.”
He crosses his arms. “Are you inviting me over?”
“I mean. Yeah?”
Then, more carefully, like she was testing the shape of the sentence, “You don’t have to say yes.”
Leroy was staring at her.
He wasn’t doing the thing Jax would’ve done. Which made her chest feel weirdly tight.
“I’ll come over,” he said. “Since you’re so desperate.”
“Cool,” she says. “I have food. Probably. Or ingredients that can become food if we believe hard enough.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“It should be.”
Her apartment was smaller than he expected.
Not messy. Not neat either.
Just lived in.
A hoodie over a chair. A stack of mail she hadn’t opened. A coffee mug that looked like it had survived several wars.
“This is it?” he asks.
“This is it,” she confirms.
“It’s aggressively normal.”
“Yeah. Sorry to disappoint your expectations of chaos.”
“I didn’t say I was disappointed.”
“You okay?” she asks, more quietly now.
Leroy hesitates.
Then through a forced smile. “Yeah. Just not used to quiet places.”
She nods like that made sense.
They didn’t do anything dramatic.
No instant romance explosion.
No confession scene.
Just food that was slightly burnt and a movie neither of them fully watched.
At one point she fell asleep halfway through it.
When she woke up, she was covered with a blanket she didn’t remember getting.
Leroy was sitting on the floor, back against the couch, watching something low-volume on his phone.
He glanced back at her when she moved.
“You’re drooling,” he said.
“Lies.”
She pulled the blanket tighter.
“…Thanks,” she said after a beat.
He shrugged. “You looked cold.”
Like it was nothing.
Like it didn’t matter.
But he didn’t move away.
And she didn’t either.
She never told him.
Not about the circus.
Not about Jax.
Not about how sometimes, when she looked at him too quickly, her brain overlaid a grin that wasn’t his over his face.
She didn’t know how to translate any of it into something human.
So she kept it locked away.
One night she fell asleep on his couch on accident.
She wakes up sometime past midnight.
The room was dark except for the streetlight leaking through the blinds.
Leroy was asleep beside her, turned slightly toward her, one arm hanging off the couch like he’d given up mid-thought.
His chest rose and fell slowly.
So normal.
So real.
Abigail stared at him for a long time.
Then, quietly—so quietly it didn’t feel like sound at all—she said it.
“We knew each other somewhere else once.”
She would never dare tell him while he was awake. But here she can acknowledge it in peace.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t hear.
She exhaled, almost laughing at herself.
“You kind of sucked,” she added under her breath.
Her hand hovered near his sleeve, but didn’t touch.
“But you were also very brave.”