He genuinely liked his job. Sure, it sometimes meant up and leaving town for a couple weeks at a time, but for what it was worth Braxton was happy with it, happy with the way a crowd squirmed and flinched and cringed, happy with the euphoria that came with performing. It was a strange field of work; but there were people who wanted to see it, and that was all that mattered.

When Brax had turned eighteen, he’d thought his life was over. Time for the work force, time for the real world, time for everything the world had o offer by way of misery and boredom and professionalism. But rather, he’d done the most unbelievably juvenile thing – had run off literally with a circus. Modifiers, performers: it wasn’t some Ringling Brothers production, was rather something you would see in a Cirque du Soleil show at best: like a gothic performance, convoluted and twisted and sick. He liked – no, loved it. He wasn’t sure how exactly he managed to do it, but somehow Brax got himself in with the crowd, had spent a year and a half flirting with some gothic girl who was also part of the troupe that made a living suspending herself from hooks – and he’d convinced her to show him how, working his way through the ranks, earning a spot on the performance roster.

The instability of the job left him with no purpose for his own home; but at the same time, that meant that the few months that he had off were spent motel hopping. It was hardly enjoyable – or at least, it had been, until he happened to mention it to NAME, and of course everything resolved itself from there. It wasn’t that he liked playing the role of professional house crasher when he wasn’t on the road; but simultaneously, he wasn’t complaining about the proximity, about the fact that he woke up next to her of all people. Fuck the world and their opinions. He loved NAME. End of story.

Brax had no idea if she was even home, but he wasn’t about to ask her either. The buses had pulled in early, he flights switched, and two days ahead of schedule, his feet hit the ground of familiar territory. Home – or home enough. He made the familiar trek to NAME’s house, hovered outside the door for what felt like ages before raising his knuckles and rapping once – then deciding, fuck that, he half-lived here a couple months out of the year, and trying the knob. It was unlocked, and with a half-smile in place, Brax let himself in, closing it as quietly as he could behind him, dropping his duffel bag at the threshold and creeping through darkened rooms until he came upon a darkened figure in the kitchen. Good: he’d kept quiet enough, then. Letting his footfalls hit the ground as softly as possible, he moved up behind her, arms snaking out around her and pulling her back against him, head ducking into the crook between shoulder and neck. “Surprise,” he crooned into her ear, lips bowing against skin. “Guess who’s home early.”

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Ugh, sorry it took so long. And also, sorry MSN has been freaking out on me. But wheeeee, hope it’s okay. I’ll change all the NAMEs to her name as soon as you pick something, ‘cause I forgot to ask before, haha. (: