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Gangle stood in the hallway, staring at the crossed-out picture of Kaufmo. She twisted her ribbon-hands together, debating whether it would be appropriate to go inside. It’d been weeks since his abstraction and the funeral. Had enough time passed?
She didn’t want to disturb his room. It felt almost sacred, like his final resting place. Not even Jax had gone in. He stayed well clear of it, as did the others. But if Gangle wanted her art supplies back, she’d need to enter. Kaufmo borrowed them a few days before his abstraction, raving about “an exit door”, but never returned them.
Now she knew why.
Zooble gently placed a hand on her shoulder, noticing her strange behaviour. “Whatcha looking at?” they asked.
“My art supplies are in there,” said Gangle, frowning.
“Oh.”
Jax, having overheard them from his room, rudely cut in. “Why don’t you just go in? I’ll even open the door for you.”
Although he was smiling, it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was just as affected as the rest of them, even if he’d never admit it.
“I-I suppose it’s been long enough,” said Gangle, but none of them made a move to enter.
As they stood there, several footsteps echoed down the hallway. Ragatha, followed by Pomni and Kinger, paused when they reached them. They all glanced at Kaufmo’s door, feeling just as sorrowful.
“He’s got one of my softball mitts,” admitted Ragatha. “I haven’t had the heart to take it back.”
Pomni hesitated, unable to take her eyes off the door. “Since I never knew the guy, I could get it for you?”
“No, you don’t have to do that,” said Ragatha.
“Maybe it’s time we tidied his room anyway,” suggested Zooble. They turned towards Pomni. “Didn’t you mention there was graffiti everywhere?”
“He went full psycho,” snarked Jax. “The ravings of a lunatic.”
“I asked Pomni, not you,” said Zooble.
Pomni fidgeted awkwardly. “Yeah, he, um, scribbled all over the walls.”
“Like I said, the ravings of a lunatic,” said Jax.
“Then why don’t you go in, hm?” asked Zooble.
Jax immediately backpedalled. “Who said anything about me?”
“Listen, why don’t we all go in?” said Gangle, trying to compromise. She hated when they argued.
Several voices spoke all at once: “Fine.” “Whatever.” “Sounds good.”
It was decided then; they’d all go in.
Jax unlocked the door with a key (where’d he get that from!?) and gently pushed it open. It swung inwards, revealing the mess Kaufmo had been living in. Her stomach sank. How had none of them noticed? Kaufmo was always laughing, eager to share a joke, but this was a clear cry for help.
Every wall was covered in permanent marker, and when Kaufmo ran out of space, he started writing on the furniture, including his bed. There were tallies of the days he’d been trapped in the Circus and plan after plan of escapes, none of which worked.
Everyone stood in the doorway, staring. It was... a lot.
“Should we start cleaning?” asked Pomni.
“Y-yeah, okay,” stuttered Gangle.
She took a hesitant step forward, crossing the threshold. The others quickly followed her into Kaufmo’s room. Apart from the graffiti, there were also piles of junk; stuff Kaufmo had collected over the years. They’d need to sift through it to find everyone’s belongings.
“This might take a while,” noted Ragatha.
“You think,” deadpanned Jax.
“If you don’t wanna be here, then leave,” snarked Zooble, fed up with his attitude.
Jax looked taken aback. “It’s... whatever. Plus, Kaufmo has something of mine I want back.”
“Like what? Your brain?” joked Zooble.
“Pff, it’s none of your business.”
When Jax didn’t elaborate, they decided to let it go. Everyone then broke into pairs. Gangle and Zooble sorted through the junk, Jax and Pomni scrubbed off the graffiti, and Ragatha and Kinger tidied everything else. Cleaning supplies were supplied by Caine, who outright refused to enter the room. It was probably in his code that he couldn’t access places marked “out of bounds”.
As Gangle sorted through the items, she realised that most of what Kaufmo collected were keepsakes—either stuff he’d pilfered from the Circus or during adventures. He'd cared about them, in his own unique way. It was just a shame he never told them.
Gangle glanced at Zooble, then at Jax and the others. No one ever spoke about how they truly felt. It was either false niceties or hidden behind indifference, herself included. Her comedy mask was a physical representation of her fakeness; the smile she wore to protect herself.
She lifted a ribbon-hand and removed it, revealing her true self underneath. Sometimes, it was okay to feel sad, and right now, surrounded by the memories of their abstracted friend, Gangle felt sad.
“You alright?” asked Zooble.
“Yeah,” sniffed Gangle. “I wish Kaufmo hadn’t abstracted. He didn’t deserve that.”
Zooble’s face softened. “Me too,” they whispered. “No one does.”
Together, they finished tidying Kaufmo’s room. All the graffiti was scrubbed clean, and fresh sheets were fitted on the bed. Gangle found her art supplies, Ragatha her softball mitt, and Jax whatever it was that Kaufmo had taken, slipping it inside his overalls. The rest of the keepsakes were placed on Kaufmo’s shelves, proudly displaying what was once his treasured items.
Would Kaufmo have appreciated it? Knowing they tidied up for him?
Gangle didn’t know, but she hoped he would’ve.
“We’ve done a good job,” said Ragatha, admiring the now tidy room.
Jax stretched his back. “Remind me never to clean again,” he grumbled.
Gangle turned to Zooble, a soft smile on her face. “Thanks for suggesting this,” she said.
“Oh, uh, that’s fine,” stammered Zooble. “I’ve been thinking about it anyway.”
“Alright, enough sap. I’m ready to lie down for the next twelve hours,” said Jax.
Slowly, everyone gathered their belongings and left Kaufmo’s room. Gangle was the last to go. She closed the door but didn’t lock it. It would stay open for as long as they needed.