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Clown isn’t sure when he fell for Branzy, but he sure as hell knew he did. He knew when his soft, fluffy hair always getting in his eyes as he tinkered with his red stone was all Clown could think about. He knew when the sound of his tiny little shrieks every time he turns and sees Clown’s mask before attempting to hide what he just did with idle conversation always makes him blush. He knew when he stopped hiding it from himself.
In his mind, Branzy is a weakness. A liability. A mistake to ever fall for. He betrays people left and right for whatever he wants in the moment, and lies like he’s gonna die. To be fair, he usually is. Branzy would be no use in the fights Clown gets into regularly, and would slow him down. He would run if it ever even came to battle. No, Branzy is a bad habit, promising happiness that will never come.
In truth, Clown’s scared. He’s scared of the vulnerability that comes with being in love, and he’s scared of the idea of ever even feeling enough emotion to be so. He’s scared of becoming human again.
Clown is a symbol, a god. When people say his name, they do so in fear. When people see him coming, they tremble in his presence. They know they can’t run. They know if they were his enemies, they wouldn’t have seen him at all. Clown is not human. Pearce is. But Pearce had died in a fire ten years ago and Clown rose out of the ashes. No, Clown will never love anyone. That died with Pearce.
Clown cannot allow Branzy to break down his walls and let out the one inside who was supposed to be gone. He can’t afford to be human. That’s something Clown came to terms with a long time ago.
Branzy knows something’s up when Clown shuts his notebook just as he walks up, getting only a glance at a figure on the pages. He knows something’s wrong when Clown lingers over purple a little longer than he does red. But Branzy dismisses these as a figment of his imagination, looking for any signs of feelings for him. Clown is god, after all. A god doesn’t love a human.
Clown never thinks twice when Branzy gives him a passing compliment. He never wonders if there’s anything more in the gifts he gets. After all, Clown is a god. A human doesn’t love a god.
Clown needs to kill Branzy. He needs to slice his throat, and take his life. He needs to do it again, and again, until Branzy is no more. So Clown tries. He takes his scythe, and he stalks his prey. But when his gaze lands on the soft, white hair, and those sparkling purple eyes, his walls crack. When he hears the small, stifled squeak, his walls start to crumble. And when raises his arm to strike the mistake he cannot make, he sees the questioning look on the face of his only friend. His walls break to dust.
After all, Clown disappeared in that casino. And all that was left was a man named Pearce. A god died that day, but a legend was born.
It’s not everyday someone dies for love.