✰ REMIX ✰ Jax x Reader ⋮ TADC (GN! Reader)

12✮Swing set

                                              ᴅᴀʀᴋ ʙᴇᴀᴄʜ - ᴘᴀꜱᴛᴇʟ ɢʜᴏꜱᴛ
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                                               0:00 ───|────── 0:00

                                               ✮ Y/N's Perspective ✮~

Y/N sat on the swing set, their feet brushing against the soft, cool grass with each forward motion.

The chains creaked rhythmically, a comforting, familiar sound that matched the steady beat of their heart.

Their hands gripped the metal chains, fingers slightly numbed from the coolness, but they welcomed the sensation.

Clang
Clang
Clang
Clang

The plastic seat of the swing rubbed gently against their legs, grounding them in the moment.

Before them, the sun was setting, casting a warm, golden hue across the playground.

The sky was a canvas of vibrant oranges, pinks, and purples, each color blending seamlessly into the next.

A light breeze carried the distant sounds of children playing, their laughter echoing softly, adding to the serene ambiance.

Y/N's senses were attuned to the world around them.

They could taste the remnants of the cake they'd enjoyed earlier, the sweetness lingering on their tongue.

They felt the slight chill of the evening air against their skin, a gentle reminder of the approaching night.

The world seemed to slow down in that moment, the rhythmic motion of the swing creating a meditative state, allowing them to reflect on their day.

The memory of their mother's warm hug, the playful teasing from their siblings, and the joyful conversations with friends played in their mind like a cherished movie. 

The textures of the day remained vivid.

The softness of the cake's icing, the crispness of the wrapping paper being torn away, and the warmth of the hugs they received.

The world seemed perfect, the future bright and full of possibilities.

In the glow of the setting sun, everything felt right,

CRASH.

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I awoke in a cold sweat, my chest heaving as I panted, eyes wide with disorientation.

My fingers dug into the grass beneath me, gripping it as if it were the swing set from my dream.

For a moment, I was back in that peaceful memory, but the harsh reality quickly snapped back into focus.

"Ugh," I muttered under my breath, my voice shaky. "I always wake up in the worst places, I swear."

My hands patted the cold, damp ground behind me, searching frantically for my diary.

The familiar fear crept in, gnawing at the edges of my mind.

I had realized a few days ago that my memory was slipping away, piece by piece, and the thought sent a shiver down my spine.

Finding the diary brought a small wave of relief, and I hurriedly opened it, flipping to a blank page.

My fingers were trembling as I wrote down the details of the dream: the creak of the swing's chains, the smell of freshly cut grass, the warmth of the setting sun.

I paused, staring at the words I had just written. Would I read this entry in a week and have no recollection of it?

The thought was terrifying. It wasn't just the big memories that were fading, but the small ones too.

Little moments, conversations, sensations—they all felt like they were slipping through my fingers like sand.

My eyes drifted to past entries, and a chill ran down my spine as I scanned the pages.

There were entire days, even weeks, that felt alien to me.

I recognized my handwriting, but the experiences described felt like they belonged to someone else.

It was as if my own life was becoming a stranger to me, a series of events I had no connection to.

I vowed to write down every dream, every thought I had about the human world.

Who knew if those dreams were real memories or just my mind's desperate attempt to hold onto something, anything, from my past life?

It didn't matter.

The act of writing gave me a sense of control, a way to fight back against the creeping oblivion.

I took a deep breath, my heart rate slowly returning to normal.

The anxiety was still there, lurking beneath the surface, but I clung to the hope that by documenting my thoughts and dreams, I could keep a part of myself intact.

The swing set dream might have been a fabrication, a comforting lie my mind conjured up, but it brought me peace.

Pretending it was real was enough, for now.

I stood up, brushing the grass off my clothes, and looked around.

The pond in front of me had slight ripples spreading in concentric circles, disturbed by the rain I hadn't noticed before.

Huh, it must be raining, feeling a few drops on my face.

The sound of the rain hitting the water was oddly soothing.

Deciding it was time to get some rest, I made my way back inside the circus, my feet squelching slightly on the damp ground.

I walked towards the hallway of bedrooms, my mind still lingering on the dream and the diary entry I had just written.

As I neared the hallway, something caught my eye—a flicker of movement in the corner of my vision.

I turned my head, curiosity piqued, and saw a figure moving silently around a corner.

Who could that be at this hour?
My curiosity got the better of me, and I found myself following the figure, my footsteps quiet on the floor.

As I rounded the corner, I realized it was Jax, his familiar silhouette just visible in the dim light.

I watched as he turned another corner and started ascending a staircase I hadn't noticed before.
Where could he be going?

With cautious steps, I followed him, trying to stay out of sight.

The staircase seemed to go on forever, spiraling upwards, and I had to stifle a groan at the seemingly endless climb.

Finally, we reached the top, emerging onto a tall platform that overlooked the main area of the circus.

The view was breathtaking, even in the dim light. The circus lay sprawled out below us, the various attractions and tents lit by the occasional flicker of lights.

The rain had picked up, and I could see it falling in sheets, creating a hazy curtain around the edges of the platform.

Jax stood at the edge, looking out over the scene, seemingly lost in thought.

I hesitated, unsure whether to approach him or stay hidden in the shadows.

The air was cool and fresh up here, the rain providing a rhythmic backdrop to the otherwise silent moment.