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The air inside the pillow fort was still and quiet. It should have been peaceful, a blip of awareness just long enough for Kinger to hug Caine closer to his chest and drift off again, but his hands found only a cold, empty space where his partner should have been. Memories of rubbing Caine's back as he wretched with morning sickness came spiraling through Kinger's mind, flipping the lights on and prodding him to sit up. He rubbed sleep from his eyes as he peered around, the artificial morning light peeking in through the walls just enough to see by.
Caine was still there. And he wasn't throwing up, just... sitting. He was on the other side of the fort, sitting on one of the thicker cushions, jaws slightly parted as he stared ahead. Still half-asleep, Kinger was taken by the image. He'd thought Caine was handsome long enough that he no longer had the memory of when it started, but he was sure it hadn't ever captivated him as much as it had lately. In these moments of stillness, Caine seemed to smooth out at the edges, his figure settling into a more relaxed shape. His gaze was gentle, unfocused, the arch of his back held up by a single steadying arm while the other hovered closer to his front.
He was watching himself, Kinger realized, in a mirror. It hadn't been there the night before. Rustling the blankets and pillows as he got up, he watched Caine's hand grace the air just over his body, like he was afraid it might burn at the touch.
"Everything alright, love?" The lingering crackles of sleep helped keep Kinger's voice low and hushed as he approached. "I didn't hear you get up."
Caine's hand dropped to his lap, and he turned a bright smile toward Kinger.
"So sorry about that, my dear," he said. "Couldn't sleep again, so I thought going for a walk might shake something loose." His voice expanded to fill the space, a trace of his old showman's persona bleeding through. The others would often flinch at the reappearance of their former ringmaster, but for Kinger, it was more like spotting an old acquaintance in a crowd. The familiarity was never unwelcome, even knowing the hurt it was intended to mask.
"Did you want company?" he asked.
Caine tried to chuckle as he looked away, though what came out was more of a choke.
"Well, that's just it," he said. "You know I would love to see any one of my dear hu—friends. And they might be more pleased to see me if they didn't have to see all of me." He gestured to his lower half: naked, save for the boxers he'd been sleeping in. Kinger tried to offer a small laugh with his eyes alone. Caine wasn't looking at him, though, and when he next spoke his voice had dropped back into its natural register. "So, I started getting dressed, but..."
He looked up at himself in the mirror again. Kinger followed his gaze up to the buttons of his shirt, where the fabric had started to bunch and stretch under the tension of holding itself together around Caine's growing midsection.
"...I don't think this fits me anymore."
It really didn't, and it looked like it hadn't for a while; the creases around his armpits were so pronounced it had to feel like they were cutting into his skin. Kinger stared at them, trying to understand how he could have been oblivious to such dramatic change before now, but then noticed the warping was least severe at Caine's chest. He'd been using his jacket to hide the full extent of his body's conflict with its clothes. It seemed that the only reason Caine was allowing himself to be seen like this now was because he no longer believed he could pull off the continued concealment, as just talking had caused the shirt to ride up, revealing a sliver of checkerboard before he pulled it down again.
"I don't think so," Kinger agreed. "Here, want me to help get it off?"
He reached toward Caine's collar, but stopped when Caine leaned away. At the apex of his curve, the buttons gaped slightly, pressing down into skin that refused to be contained anymore.
"Not... not yet." Caine ducked his head. He sat forward when Kinger pulled his hands back, and while the gaps between his buttons narrowed, it still looked incredibly uncomfortable.
"Okay." Kinger watched Caine wrap his free arm over his front, as though the shirt was at risk of flying off his body entirely. Maybe that was a genuine fear, for a being who had once known complete control over his world and now kept finding himself subject to changes being imposed on him. Who was to say clothing wouldn't start spontaneously exploding, at this point? Kinger sat down beside him, wrapping a hand around his opposite shoulder. Caine's body radiated warmth where it pressed against Kinger's side, and he idly wondered whether that was another side effect of the pregnancy, or just Caine's natural state of being. They hadn't been together long enough for him to know the baseline. What would become their relationship had only been a few brief spur-of-the-moment encounters before this new reality asserted itself, and Kinger had been a bit too preoccupied to notice things like Caine's core temperature. Since then, they'd been in a nonstop game of catchup as they tried to figure out what a relationship between them even looked like, and there were many parts Kinger was still working to pin down, such as how long he should wait for Caine to break a silence before he did it himself.
"This isn't just about the clothes, right?" he asked after what he hoped was an appropriate amount of time.
Caine shook his head, leaning more of his weight against Kinger. He hugged one arm around the bump under his shirt; the fabric at his shoulders strained.
"I..." he breathed out, the only sound in the tent. "I wasn't ready. Which is stupid, we knew this was going to happened. I had a plan to design a whole set of uniforms to accommodate the changes in my model, and then... I never did anything with it. It's not like I didn't have the time; there were all those hours I wasted on adventures that wouldn't work, could've spent a couple of them doing something useful. I just never got around to it. And now with my code all scrambled I actually can't do it, so I'm uncomfortable, I feel enormous, and I have nothing to wear." As he spoke he counted out the three complaints on his fingers, followed by flinging his hand to the side like he was swatting a particularly annoying fly.
It wasn't the right time to point out that Caine wasn't even that big yet, given that he was still able to fit into the form-fitting shirt at all. Their little bun still had months of growing left to do, after all. Kinger decided to focus on the latter issue.
"You know I'll conjure anything you need," he said. He eyed Caine's shirt, the meticulously rendered stitches, the buttons held in place by individual threads. "I don't have your eye for design, but I could probably adjust the clothes you have, with some direction."
Caine shook his head.
"No, no, you can't just keep adding fabric to fill in the gaps," he said. "It ruins the silhouette. Each piece needs to be designed for the body actually wearing it. I know how to do that, I'm good at it, so why didn't I do it while I had the chance? Because I'm such a failure at taking care of people, I can't even take care of myself?" He gestured with both hands out in front of him, like a grand reveal. "And that's something I know I should be able to do. What does that say about the kind of—what am I going to do when there's a person there who actually needs me, for once?"
His left eye flickered. Kinger hoped he'd imagined it, but it continued, glitching in and out of place in short bursts.
"They'll probably grow up hating me, and that's the best case—"
"Caine," Kinger said, voice calm. "Love, it's going to be okay, alright?"
"You can't know that, what if—"
"Alright, fair." He needed to remember to stop trying that one. "Then, can you just try to focus on me, just for a minute?" He squeezed Caine's shoulder. "Do you feel that?"
Caine looked up, teeth parting to respond, but stopped when he locked eyes with Kinger. His hands clenched in his lap. He looked down again, nodding as he did so, gaze now pointed at nothing in particular.
"Mm-hm," he replied. The glitching hadn't stopped, but it also hadn't spread.
"Good," Kinger said. "What do you feel, exactly?"
"Your hand, some pressure. It's nice," Caine said. His eye steadied, pulses slowing down until, with a last failing gasp, the glitch receded. "I like it when you hold me."
"I'm glad," Kinger said, slumping with relief. He let his eyes slip closed to focus on his own breathing, checking that he hadn't tensed up too much. The only way he knew how to get through these incidents was by devoting his entire focus to maintaining a calm facade and monitoring the glitch's progress, but the wave of nervous energy always hit in him in the moments immediately after. He waited for it to pass, now he himself focusing on the solid feeling of Caine's shoulder under his hand.
"Just so we're clear, I still think you're going to be a wonderful dad," he said as he finally opened his eyes. He would repeat it as many times as Caine needed to hear it.
Caine hummed a noncommittal thanks. It was the best Kinger could ask for, knowing that it was part of a much larger conversation that wasn't going to see a neat resolution any time soon. He turned to the problem at hand.
"I didn't realize you cared so much about clothes," he said. "Is it alright if I ask why the design matters so much?"
Caine ran a hand over his stomach, trying to smooth out creases that refused to settle.
"I... I'm not really sure," he said. "I guess it would have to be for the sake of impressing you all, right? What other reason is there?"
"Well, sometimes people like to look nice just for its own sake," Kinger said. He didn't think that was what was going on with Caine, but it was a way to keep the conversation moving.
"No—I mean, I care about my appearance, of course, but it's more than that," Caine said, echoing Kinger's thoughts. "It's more like... creating the circus and making myself its ringmaster, that was the first time I'd chosen to be something. You know how when you get an idea, it's like it's a part of you?" He seemed to have given up on the shirt, and was now absentmindedly stroking his bump. "So when you make it, it's like that part of you goes away and becomes something else. None of that had ever bothered me before, but I loved the part of me that was the circus. If I couldn't keep it, then it seemed like the next best thing would be to make myself a part of it, so I chose to be its ringmaster. And—and I know that's not me anymore," he rushed to add, holding up his hands. "We're equals now, I agreed to it and it's a good thing and I don't want to go back to how things were. But I also... didn't want to lose that feeling." He dropped his face into his hands, body drooping with defeat. "Is that terrible? Am I terrible at being a person?"
"No, sweetheart," Kinger said, reaching over to rub Caine's arm with his other hand until the latter raised his head again. "It can be scary to put something you've made out into the world, where you don't have any control over the effect it will have on others. People feel that way all the time."
Caine sighed. While normally he lit up at any comparison Kinger made between him and humans, today it only seemed to depress his mood further.
"The uniform's been a piece of that feeling I could still hold on to," he said. "And now that's gone, too."
"Only temporarily," Kinger said, taking a gamble knowing how insensitive it would sound if his suspicions were wrong. "The jacket will still be waiting for you when you're ready to put it back on."
Caine tugged down on his shirt again; a seam somewhere creaked ominously. When he spoke, his voice was hushed, like he was telling a shameful secret he didn't want anyone else to overhear.
"It won't be the same."
Kinger, still coming off the stress of the near-glitch, didn't have the energy yet to hold in a chuckle. It wasn't mocking sound; it was one of relief and recognition. He dropped his grip from Caine's arm to his hand, lacing their fingers together.
"That's the thing about becoming a parent," he said. "Nothing will ever be the same afterward. It's something humans have been going through for longer than anyone remembers." Caine's hold on him tightened. Kinger held them both steady, not having to work to keep his voice calm this time. "It's not all good, and it's not all bad. It just is. But for people who haven't had a lot of experience with positive change, the natural thing to do is brace for the worst, even when what's coming is something they wanted."
"So what do they do?" Caine's voice was pinched, the way it sounded right before he threw up. "To—to get past that?"
Kinger thought about it, choosing his next words with care.
"Well, you can't undo the past. So they try to balance it out. Accumulate positive changes, and over time it gets easier to believe that the next ones will work out, too. It's a slow process, and it's not easy. But it's worth it, to not miss your whole life because you were scared of how it might change."
Kinger's mind had started to wander, to long days and nights spend wandering the halls of an empty circus, but he was startled back to the present by the feeling of something wet on the back of his hand. Tears were pooling in Caine's molars and trickling out over the sides as his body trembled.
"Oh." Kinger released Caine's shoulder to wipe them away, even as more formed. "What's wrong? Was it something I said?"
Caine shook his head. Several more tears fell before he sucked in a breath and looked up at Kinger again.
"I don't know if I can do it," he said. "I don't want them to feel like I'm bracing for the worst their entire life. But I don't know if I have it in me to... overcome that. What if I can't do it?"
The question broke Kinger's heart, and he wanted more than anything to point out how far Caine had already come just to be asking it. But he knew that wasn't what Caine needed to hear right now, so he settled for a different truth.
"You won't ever be doing it alone, love," he said. The hand that had been brushing away tears lowered to cradle Caine's jaw. "I'll be right here with you, the whole time. And we'll help each other do the very best that we can for this kiddo."
Tears welled again. Caine lunged at Kinger, pulling him into a desperate embrace and clinging tightly as he shook. Kinger held him in turn, rubbing soothing circles on his back as he murmured a stream of reassurances. The fabric under his fingers felt tight as a drum, the simple act of a hug pushing it to its limit, and it gave Kinger an idea. He waited until the trembling in Caine's shoulders eased before he pulled back so they could look each other in the eyes.
"Maybe we could even start now," he said, "by getting that shirt off?"
Caine's pupils constricted in panic before he looked down at his body, then up at Kinger. He tried to speak once, and the word got caught in his sob-choked throat. He coughed, and tried again.
"Okay."
Kinger beamed. He slid to the floor so he could kneel in front of Caine, getting himself eye-level with the latter's chest. This close, it became obvious how the buttons and sharp creases were pressing into his skin in a way that had to be deeply uncomfortable, if not outright painful. Kinger wondered how long this had been going on for. What other hurts was Caine hiding? Just the idea made his heart ache, but he forced himself once more to stick to the most immediate problem. He reached for the topmost button on Caine's collar, pinching open the hole with one hand and pushing the button through with the other. The shirt was well-made, buttonholes only just wide enough for their buttons, and it took a little push to get it around the full diameter, after which it slipped through the rest of the way on its own. The top button undone wasn't much help relieving the tension on Caine's body, but it did allow Kinger to part his shirt enough to expose his collar bones. He glanced up, meeting Caine's eyes.
"Tell me if you don't like anything, and I'll stop," he said. "We're trying to build positive change, here."
Caine nodded.
"Alright... my dear." He lifted his hands. "What should I..."
Kinger guided them down to the cushion.
"Just lean back, like you were before. Yes, just like that."
Caine did as he was instructed, settling his weight back in such a way that his chest and stomach were pushed forward, giving Kinger ample access to both while exaggerating the stretch of the fabric. Kinger returned to his task, parting Caine's shirt once more so he could run the pads of his thumbs over Caine's collarbones. His index and middle fingers squeezed under the fabric at the shoulders, pressing lightly into the warm, firm muscles underneath.
"You know, it wasn't until the update that I really started to appreciate how much care you put into making bodies that were actually functional," he said, sliding his hands down to the next two buttons. Each gave way with more of a spring than the last, and the fabric around Caine's shoulder's loosened, allowing them to roll forward while his chest sunk back. "You managed to perfectly recreate all the baseline functions of a human body, while replicating the physics of a completely different set of materials. It's a work of brilliance."
"O-oh," Caine said, eyes locked on Kinger's hands as they traced the planes of his chest. He parted the shirt as far as it would allow and leaned forward, pressing a series of light kisses everywhere he could reach.
"I started to wonder why you left your own model so straightforward, by comparison." He pulled back just enough to see what he was doing with the next button. The strain on this one resisted him as he maneuvered it out of its buttonhole, and when it finally pushed through it did so with a silent pop. "Why not show off, with the one body that every guest would be paying attention to?" Though slight, it was here that Caine's middle started to slope outward. Kinger touched it wondrously, letting his finger catch on the next button as his hand trailed down.
"It's only since getting to see it up close that I've come to realize what a work of art it is." The masterpiece in question shivered under his touch. "Muscles that respond to electrical stimulus. Collision detection for each individual bone." He let the next button open with a flick, and Caine made a small noise of relief. It was so cute Kinger had to stop himself from getting distracted. "Skin that maintains its elasticity. It's a level of skill I could only dream of achieving."
Caine's jaws clicked shut and he ducked his head, embarrassed. Kinger paused his exploration of Caine's midsection to reach up and cradle his jaw again.
"Come on dearest, there's no need to be shy," he said. "You've already done all the work. It's okay to let yourself feel appreciated for it."
Caine parted his jaws just enough to peek out at Kinger.
"I... I just didn't think anyone would ever notice," he said softly. His body was meant to be a spectacle, the glowing beacon at the heart of the circus. The fine details, though, invisible to an audience, were the rare works of art Caine made for himself. Creation for its own sake, not intended to impress anyone.
"Then I can't tell you how grateful I am that I get to," Kinger said. "You're beautiful, Caine." He could've laughed at his own corniness, but for the way Caine's eyes were locked on him, drinking in each word like Kinger was an oasis in the desert. He dropped his hand from Caine's chin and let it trail over his collar, down his chest, all the way to the shirt button desperately holding each side together at the apex of his bump. A brief tug at it caused Caine to shiver again.
"And then of course, there's this." Kinger started to undo the button, but one of Caine's hands shot forward and wrapped around his own. He stopped immediately and looked back up at Caine. "What's wrong?"
Caine wasn't looking directly at Kinger, but somewhere off to the side of him.
"I... I want..." He shook his head, jaw slipping shut once more.
Kinger turned his hands over so that he now he was the one holding Caine, rubbing the back of his hand with both thumbs.
"What, love?" he whispered. "What can I do for you?"
When Caine next parted his jaw, he was looking over Kinger's shoulder much more deliberately. Kinger turned around and met the reflection of Caine's eyes.
"Oh! You want to be able to see?"
Caine nodded.
"That's a wonderful idea. Here, let me just..." It took some maneuvering, but they got themselves situated: Kinger now seated on the cushion, Caine in his lap with his back to Kinger's chest, both of them facing the mirror. Kinger laced his fingers at Caine's front to help secure him in place, cradling his bump. Caine, for his part, was looking anywhere other than the mirror. Kinger decided not to rush him, taking advantage of their height difference to lean over his shoulder. From this angle, the gentle slope Kinger was used to seeing was overshadowed by the pronounced curve, giving the impression that he was much bigger around than he looked from the side; no wonder he felt huge.
"Cute." The word escaped Kinger before he realized he was saying it. Caine's eyes snapped to Kinger's reflection as a shiver passed through him, leaning more of his weight against the chess piece.
"Well, it's true," Kinger said, deciding to take advantage of Caine's momentarily lapsed guard. "See for yourself."
He'd unwound his hands and started to play with the next button again by the time Caine's eyes had traveled down far enough to see them.
"See?" he said. "Not just cute, but impressive." He started to undo the button but didn't allow it to snap back right away. He held it there, fabric pinched between his hands and the steadfast form of Caine's form, just to feel for himself the amount of tension Caine's growing body had been putting on the material. Even if Caine had tried to continue enduring his discomfort, it seemed unlikely the shirt could have kept up much longer.
"You've created the perfect place for our child to grow, safe and strong." Kinger released his grip, and the fabric sprung back. Caine groaned in relief. "And you made it all on your own. Just, truly remarkable Caine. What you've done—what you're doing—is incredible." Caine's belly, now fully exposed, was marked with the imprints of his shirt's seams. Kinger ran a fingertip over them, curious about the texture, causing Caine to squirm. His eyes, though, remained locked on the reflection of Kinger's hands as they explored his changed body.
"And you—you like this?" he asked. There was a twitch in his hips, a slight grinding that seemed somewhere between intentional and reflexive.
"Oh yes," Kinger said. He was finding that he could adore Caine's body in any configuration, but there was a unique appeal in seeing his midsection rounded out yet firm to the touch, packed tight with the promise of changes still to come. "Very much. What about you? Do you like it?" He tried to keep his tone neutrally curious, his movements gentle and slow.
"I'm—I'm not sure," Caine said. One hand came to join Kinger's in a caress down his middle. "I like knowing that you like it. The feeling is very... odd, but I like knowing that they're safe in there."
It was a start, and the mention of feeling reminded Kinger why they'd gotten into this in the first place. The last two buttons were more of a formality, all the tension in the shirt having dissolved the moment the outermost button had been released. Kinger loosed them without delay, pulling the flaps of the shirt open like curtains. With everything visible, it was easier to see how the curve of Caine's belly sat just over his hips, his waist no longer pencil-thin to accommodate his growing uterus.
"There's nowhere safer for them," Kinger murmured to him. "You're doing a wonderful job, Caine."
He had Caine sit up a bit to help him tug his arms from his sleeves, first one, then the other, leaving Kinger holding the shirt and Caine, at last, freed from the garment. Kinger would've loved to take his time appreciating Caine's newly topless body, from the curve of his front to the grooves of muscles in his back, but Caine's eyes had snapped to the shirt with a look of such anxious desperation it seemed cruel to make him wait for it. Kinger handed it to him with what he could only hope was an appropriate amount of reverence, and Caine held it out in front of himself like a map, thumbs brushing over the silky material.
"It will be here when you're ready to put it back on," Kinger said, voice hushed as he spoke with his head bowed next to Caine's. "And yes, there's a chance it won't feel exactly the same. But you know it will feel better than it does right now. Right?"
Caine's hands tightened around the fabric, and he drew it in a bit closer to himself.
"Yes," he said, and he let go. The shirt hovered in the air for a moment, then vanished, sucked out of the world with a puff of smoke. Past it, their reflections stared back at them, Caine's topless pregnant form tucked securely in Kinger's lap. Kinger's hands had settled on his shoulders, offering a gentle, calming touch as Caine processed the sight before him.
"Huh," he said, catching one of Kinger's hands with his own, while the other returned to his stomach, tracing the round shape of it. "I look... comfortable."
The word Kinger's mind supplied was human. He knew it would mean a lot to Caine to hear it, but at the same time, he didn't want to derail his current line of thought, so he set the observation aside. It could be something to bring up later, when Caine needed it more.
"It looks good on you," he said instead. "Do you like it?"
"I think I do," Caine said, a touch of wonder in his voice. "I, uh, can't exactly wear it out around the tent, though."
"Oh, right. Try this." Kinger held one hand out and shut his eyes. Concentrating as hard as he could, he heard a pop, and then felt soft fabric in his waiting palm. Opening his eyes, he was relieved to find a simple gray t-shirt waiting in his grip: two arms, one hole for the head and another for the waist. He handed it to Caine, who studied it was the same level of scrutiny he'd given the previous article. "I know it's not much; it's the best I can do off the top of my head. We can try something more stylish later, if you're up for it."
"It's soft," Caine said.
"I based it off something I used to wear in the real world. I think." He was pretty sure that was his sleep shirt he was remembering, but as with most of his memories that far back it was difficult to say for sure. The ambiguity didn't seem to bother Caine, who skipped past his head as he went to put it on, slipping the shirt straight over his shoulders. Kinger had tried to conjure something that would be a bit big on him, and the sleeves hung loosely around his arms, belly swallowed up by the fabric. Caine twisted around, observing how the new garment reacted to his form, and it struck Kinger how stiff the little AI's movements had been in recent days. Now, he didn't move with the same fluid cartoonishness that he once had, but there was an ease to the way he handled himself that had been sorely lacking.
"It feels good. It's good." Caine's voice was hushed; he wasn't looking at Kinger. "It's—it's different, but I like it." He sounded like he was trying very hard to convince himself, and Kinger didn't know whether it was because of the shirt itself, or the fear of what it would mean if he didn't like it.
"And if you ever decide you want to try something else—" Caine was already shaking his head, "—we can make that happen."
"Nnnnope, no takesies-backsies." Caine grabbed the shirt at his chest, scrunching the fabric in his fists. "Mine now, sorry Kinger boy."
The sudden shift in tone provoked a genuine laugh out of Kinger. For a brief moment, it was like the circus' old ringmaster had joined them in the fort and was seconds away from zapping them off on another hare-brained adventure. Caine for his part looked confused yet delighted, and it provoked in Kinger an uncommon feeling of daring. In one smooth motion he stood, catching the backs of Caine's legs on the way up to cradle him in a bridal carry.
"K-Kinger!" he yelped. "What are you—!"
"You said you couldn't sleep, right?" Kinger said. "I want to know if any of this 'knocked something loose,' as you said."
"Ah." Caine allowed himself to be carried back to bed and set down softly in their nest of blankets and pillows. While he got comfortable on his side, Kinger settled in behind him, wrapping his hands over Caine's front and curling around him protectively.
"Is this alright?" he asked. "Comfortable?"
"Yeah." Caine's voice was soft.
"Good." Kinger pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "And how are you feeling about everything else?"
Caine tugged at the neck hole of his new shirt, exploring the seam with his fingers.
"I'm..." he started, but then lapsed into silence.
Kinger tried his best to wait an appropriate length of time. He still didn't know if he was getting it right, but he felt like he was getting closer.
"It's okay to have some mixed feelings," he said. "Sometimes, even the best changes won't leave you completely happy."
"Right." Caine shuffled slightly, pressing himself back against Kinger's chest. "I'm... sad. I'm disappointed in myself. But it's a lot less than before, and I feel like they—" one hand joined Kinger's over his bump, "—will be okay, even if I can't be everything I want to be for them." His fingers rhythmically tapped the back of Kinger's hand. "...Huh."
"What is it, love?" Kinger asked.
"I just realized," Caine said, "becoming a—a parent, it's—well, in a small way, it's a bit like becoming the ringmaster. Choosing to be something."
Kinger's eyes sparkled as he hugged Caine close.
"Absolutely," he whispered. He could have said more, but Caine looked deep in thought, and he didn't want to interrupt whatever was going on in his head. Instead, he let his eyes slip closed, body relaxing into the safety of their bed.
"Kinger?" Caine said softly.
"Mm-hm?"
"Thank you. I... I..."
"I know," Kinger said. "Me too, dearest." And that, at least, would never change.