๋࣭ ⭑⚝UNEDITED⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
The quiet wave underneath the big, striped tent was heavier than y/n expected.
(Y/n) stood tall beside her father, her hands clasped neatly in front of her as she scanned the faces around her. Curious eyes. Nervous smiles. Some cautious, others kind. It wasn't the same circus she remembered watching from the sidelines with her uncle—it was a new world now, and she was stepping right into the center of it.
Her father spoke with ease, introducing himself as the new ringmaster with steady words and a reassuring smile. Beside him, (Y/n) stood tall, her presence carried warmth and innocence yet still presented herself as calm and composed. She knew how to carry herself. She had learned long ago that a single glance could say more than a dozen words and she already felt the way eyes drifted toward her—the way people looked a little longer than they meant to.
She was used to it. It was like a normal walk in the park by now—being adored and whatnot.
She scanned the crowd, reading and memorizing faces like open pages.
Performers, acrobats, and crew stood in rows—tense, curious, some mourning quietly, others unsure what to expect of the arrival of this so called new ringmaster. Her gaze swept past them all until it caught on something—someone—bathed in the soft glow of the tent lights.
She saw him.
A boy—probably her age, maybe a little older—with hair the color of golden honey in the sunlight, standing tall and proud between two performers like he already knew where to place himself. Golden fluffy strands of hair fell haphazardly over his brow, and cute freckles danced across his cheeks like playfully.
She watched as he glanced around, brows slightly furrowed at the tension in the air. His lips pressed together, fingers fiddling anxiously with the hem of his sleeve—though he tried not to show his anxiety. She also noticed the way his weight shifted restlessly on his heels, how his foot caught on a crease in the tarp and nearly made him stumble forward in his own little flurry of nerves, nearly embarrassing himself—keyword, nearly.
(Y/n) forced herself not to laugh, her lips twitching at the corners.
He was—unexpectedly—adorable.
Clumsy in a way that didn't make her cringe, but warmed her. Like watching a boy from a storybook trying to figure out if he was still the hero or just someone swept along with the wave.
Instead of laughing, she let her amusement melt into something else—a bright, open smile. Just for him.
Across the tent, a few adults noticed her expression and mistook it for comfort and reassurance—that they would be alright. She could hear the murmurs ripple behind her father's speech, little sighs of relief that the ringmaster's daughter was so gentle, so thoughtful. That she was comforting them with her quiet warmth.
But they were wrong.
Her smile wasn't for them.
It was for him.
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As your father's speech comes to an end, most of the adults and children came to give you their warm welcomes which you both graciously accept but as they continue to converse with you, you often find yourself looking at the golden boy by the seats who also seems to cant get his sights away from you.
The surroundings seem to become a blur, every sound tuned out as you both continued to gaze at each other. Him reciting his greetings over and over again in his head and you waiting for him to make a move
A few seconds—minutes passed by. He walked over towards the crowd—towards y/n and once he looked up—eyes wide, mouth open as if he was trying to say something but forgot what language he spoke. His face turned a brilliant shade of red, like glistening rubies under the summer light. Then, to y/n's surprise, tears welled in his eyes. He looked down, overwhelmed, shoulders curling in as if the earth might let him sink.
Y/n's heart softened instantly.
Without even one quiet breath, she then stepped towards him at a fast pace; offering him her handkerchief as she spoke.
"Are you okay?"
TBC