Chapter Text
There was a circus in town.
Usually, Harlow didn't notice events like this. They were a transplant from a smaller town, and this city was just barely big enough to warrant more than what the county fairgrounds provided. The only time they turned their attention to the local offerings was when Halloween approached, with the usual influx of haunted houses and mazes– and when, like this, it was advertised everywhere.
They spared a thought to the design on the flyer (simplistic, but evocative enough), resigned themself to the inevitability of a weekend-only affair they would never get time off for, and continued on their way to work.
There was a circus in town…
So why were people bothering the circus staff?
Harlow wasn't a stranger to people with dumb ideas and a habit of assigning malice to costumes, but it was surprising to see in a populated area. They hadn't been bothered much about how they looked and dressed since moving here. The tall clown in red shouldn't be drawing as much vitriol as they were. There was a second of hesitation, two–
They were running without thinking by the time the hit connected.
They skidded to a halt in front of the clown, arms spread wide, panting from the short sprint. A glance back, to make sure the startled clown was alright, and then shot the nastiest glare they could manage at the asshole in front of them.
“Are you insane? Get the hell out of here with that. That's assault”
“They–!” The bite back was cut off by a sharp motion of their hand and then tugging out their cell.
“I'll call the cops on you right now. You can't just hit someone on the street, jackass.”
“It's their fault people are going missing!”
“Right, the cops'll believe that, right?” They grimaced. The cops might believe that, actually, they didn't have the highest opinion of the law enforcement outside of work hours. The stranger in front of them seemed to believe it, though, because they went pale and backed off with a spat out curse. Harlow took a deep breath to calm the jackhammer beat in their chest. Turned, then, to the clown on the ground.
He looked… a little pathetic, honestly. All gangly limbs like a deer, flyers scattered around him. They offered him a hand. He looked from their face to their hand with a sort of stunned awe Harlow was used to seeing in particularly sad puppies, offering his own hand to accept the help. It took a bit more hauling than they were expecting, but he was upright and staring at them in good time.
“Well, ignore that jackass. What was he going to do if you were some kind of serial killer, anyway? And otherwise he's just hurting someone to feel big. He's not worth the air he breathes.” They dug around in their coat pockets as they spoke, making a triumphant little noise as they pulled out the bandage tin. The assortment veered from nice little lavender and indigo sunsets to the cutesier bandaids they liked passing out to passersby who fell. They hovered over their stock for a moment, but… well, honestly, it wasn't going to make a clown look any sillier.
They offered him a soft pink one with a little cartoon animal. He stared at it, then them again, and his eyes crinkled in a charming little smile. They felt an answering smile tug across their face. “Are you alright?” A nod, with a quiet little jingle of bells. Their smile grew. “Do you need to sit down for a moment? The cafe I work at is just over there.” He hesitated, visibly torn, but shook his head.
“Well… alright. Stay safe?” Another nod, this time eager, and they laughed despite themself at the little tinkle of bells that accompanied it. “We should stop and chat, if you catch me at a better time.” They beamed at him and spun on their heels to race off toward work.
If they heard the jingle of bells behind them, well, he had to go off somewhere too, didn't he?
☆
They were a little bit late.
Their boss gave them the usual little up-down glance, a paternal gesture that had felt nice four years ago when they started here and had grown only a little chafing as they got older. He was by himself, which meant… well. They had a lot of hope for the latest girl, Carol? but it looked like she'd dipped right before the busy season. A pity.
Nothing Harlow hadn't done before, though. A shift with the boss meant smiling and chatting and watching the customers so he could get some behind the scenes work handled. It was tiring work, but it felt good to be part of an operation like that. The ebb and flow– “nice to see you!” “have you heard?” “better stay away” – wasn't… entirely normal. The man on the street had been the most angry about it, but there was all sorts of gossip rolling around. Twice, Harlow thought they'd caught a glance of red and yellow. Maybe a tall shape in the window.
They considered the clown and hummed thoughtfully. If he was loitering outside, unsure about coming in, they'd better go and see him before their boss told him to get lost. As soon as it was empty, then, and the circus fliers were picked up.
Harlow was just anticipating going out to have a look when the man in blue came in. Their hello caught in their throat, chest tight at the sight of him. This wasn't the operational, perfunct uncanniness of a good clown. They caught their breath and tried again, building a smile with hard won ease. He'd taken a seat while they had been collecting themself. Just…
Watching.
“I'd like a strong, hot coffee,” he said, an eerie smile lighting up his face. Harlow cut a quick glance to the coffee bar, more than a little relieved to see their boss standing and watching.
“Coming up,” they nodded and flashed a reflexive smile, ducking out to pour it quickly. Their boss watched them, but didn't say anything, and they felt a little stab of betrayal. So, clowns were a topic to avoid, but creepy men weren't?
Granted, only one had come inside so far. And he seemed like a paying customer.
“Here it is.”
He took it with all gesture of gratefulness, taking a long sip. “Ah, thank you, it's very cold outside. Say, what were those posters…?”
Harlow looked down at their hand, to the tight fistful they'd collected off of the tables so far.
“Oh, for the circus? Customers keep coming in and leaving them at tables, I'm just clearing them off.”
“How rude of them, to do that in a place of business.”
They laughed nervously, sneaking a glance outside. Had the clown been staying nearby with the excuse of passing flyers out? It would account for the sheer amount of them. “Yeah,” they said reflexively, “it makes a lot of work for the service workers.”
He leaned in, eyes so wide that it seemed to take up his whole face, smile a black scythe. “I could take them. I have some recycling to do anyway.”
They looked down at the crumpled handful, feeling a little sting of regret. They'd been passed out already, though, hadn't they? They'd served their purpose well enough. “That would be great, thanks.”
They handed the papers over, brain retracking to the customer service script smoothly. “Can I get you–”
“Do you like the circus?”
Harlow paused, patiently, the way they'd been trained to when customers talked over them. Usually it helped stop repeat offenses. Something told them that it wouldn't work on this particular customer.
“I haven't been since I was little.” A thread of irritation through their voice, now, hard to stamp out entirely. He smiled wider.
“This one isn't for little kids. It's terrifying, full of freaky–”
“I understand.” They set their jaw, sneaking a glance back to their boss. Bad form, to interrupt a customer, but this man was getting on their nerves well and truly. “It's a spooky circus? I like scary stuff. Maybe I'll go sometime.” Sometime any friday to monday they weren't here, provided the circus didn't leave… “when I have time.”
“Take my ticket.”
They'd just unclenched their jaw. Harlow took a deep breath. “Don't you want to use it?”
He held it up, a flashy pink thing, and offered it with an incongruously flourishy motion. “I won't get the chance to use it. I'll appreciate knowing someone got to.”
“Right.” Harlow took a long look at the ticket, taking it only when it seemed he wouldn't let up on the offer. They tucked it into their barista apron and offered him a tight smile. “Anything else?”
He stood abruptly. “No, that's all. I'll just be… recycling these…”
They watched him pull out his pay for the coffee, watched him stand and tip his head and walk out. Creepy.
“Are you done with that last customer?”
Harlow, braced at last to peek out at the street for the clown, jumped at their boss’ voice.
“I– oh, yes? Yes, he just left.”
“Good. I have an appointment, and I don't want to leave you alone all night. Things should be wrapped up early enough to leave safely, but… well, there's the second wave coming.”
They looked over at the rapidly settling twilight. “You got it.” Another hour, maybe, before the streets started thinning of passerby. It'd be poor hours for a drink then, anyway. “I'll close up, then?”
“Knew I could count on you.” He reached out and chucked them under the chin, getting a scoff and a laugh in return. They shooed him off, promised one more time to be careful, and by the time he'd gone the cafe was filling up again.
It was an hour and a half to clear out, actually. They'd wanted to chat with a regular, and of course someone always came in last second. They'd had the sign flipped to closed for twenty minutes before they were alone in the cafe. A deep breath, two, and they let the stress of it all fade out. This was, secretly, their favorite time. No one in, just them cleaning up and closing down. Chairs went up on tables, cash was counted, messes were cleaned and machines set to their proper order for the next day.
They'd just managed to well and truly relax, before the power went out. Immediately tense, they looked around for the source. Did the boss come back early? Did a fuse bust? How could a fuse bust? They shivered, taking a skittish glance out the windows. It was dark out, now. No one out.
So why did they feel watched from every angle?
A sharp breath in, a hard breath out. Alright, Harlow, the switch first, lets not go grabbing for a knife just yet. They ran.
The switch flicked. Nothing.
They turned to the room at large and swallowed. Their phone… was in the break room, wasn't it. No flashlight.
The breaker sat on the wall, teasingly white against the walls so it could be found in the dark. Like a beacon of false safety: the peril was in the journey. They closed their eyes and ran again, palms smacking against the wall. Fingers twisting the latch, hands shoving it open. They flipped all of the switches on before opening their eyes more than a peek, feeling absolutely ridiculous in the flooding light.
Right. No horror story here. Just an empty cafe at night. Their boss was right; they shouldn't be here so late, if only for their mental health. They heaved a sigh, closing the box and latching it again.
The door bells chimed.
“We– we're closed,” they called, clearing their throat partway through when it came out weak and raspy. “No late ord– oh! Ah. It's you.”
You was the tall clown from that afternoon. He'd slipped past the doorway in the time it took them to focus on it, and had startled Harlow yet again when they turned to see him. Deep breaths. They pressed a hand to their chest and took him in while they calmed themself down. Still tall, still wearing their bandage from earlier, and now sporting a bloody cut on the forehead.
“Oh, are you alright?” their hands were frozen in place, but they managed to sound as concerned as they felt. A miracle, with how tight their throat was. He nodded, leaning in and presenting a tissue rose. Harlow blinked slowly, regained the use of their arms, and reached out to take it. It was twisted expertly with a practiced hand, stained red just as far as the petaled portion and no more.
“Is this for me?” Another nod. Harlow smiled. So quiet. “Thank you. Are you… hm.”
They looked back towards the door, and skirted around him to flip the lock. “Are you alright, though? Hop on the counter, I'll take a look.”
He obliged with less of a hop and more of a little lift, bells jingling at the jostling. Harlow leaned in and grabbed a few napkins from the nearest container to dab at his forehead. It was an odd texture, not exactly hard and defined enough to be a mask, not precisely the feel and give of skin with grease paint applied over top. They made a curious noise, squinting for a seam or a smudge. They opened their mouth to ask about it – then closed it immediately at the sight of him, flushing a deep red.
Oh, cute.
He had a big, goofy grin, staring up cross-eyed at them through his bangs.
They stepped back and covered their exit by balling up the bloody napkin with extras and binning it. By then their face had regained its usual temperature and they felt like they could face him again.
“So, you're very quiet. Is that part of the act?” It would be an odd one, if it was. He wasn't dressed like a mime.
He paused at that. Looked left, then right, then back at the latched door and the inky dark of the windows. They shrank back when he came in closer, face flaming back into its former embarrassing glory, but he only leaned in to speak in a raspy, quiet voice.
“It's part of the act, my dear.”
Deep breaths, Harlow. “Yeah?”
He nodded again, face inches from theirs, breaking into a wide grin. “Yes, my dear, I'm the Pierrot!”
“From the commedia dell'arte?” They asked, something from their teenage years rattling awake from the depths of their mind.Theater education, right. He lit up, though.
“Exactly right!”
What a win for the inner theater kid.
“I'm Harlow,” they said, because anything else out of their mouth would be an embarrassment. Such as, say, “You aren't dressed like a pierrot, though?” They closed their eyes and swore silently. Great, smooth.
He leaned in again, grin stretching out of goofy and into intense. “I know,” he whispered. Then, louder, “we were required to… modernize my outfit. My role remains unchanged, however!”
“I– what, wait–?” He knew? He knew… about his outfit, surely. Said it like a little secret, even. Of course. “Is that… Is everyone a pierrot? The others that go out handing flyers to people, I mean?”
“No, no, my dear, there is only one of me!” he placed a hand theatrically on his chest as he spoke, proud. “We are a small cast, we both advertise and play our roles.”
Harlow leaned in, excited. A flood of formerly locked information unfolded in their mind's eye. School, the desk, the teacher's voice rolling over Italian names and mostly getting them correct. “Are there other members from the classics, then? Zanni and Vecchi… of course with a Pierrot there would have to be a Harlequin–”
“There is.” His tone was curt, and it brought them up short, “a Harlequin. And many others!” He clapped his hands together, set the bells to ringing again with a renewed cheer, “but we do not put on the comedies, we're for…” he paused, faltering, searching for a good word. Harlow knew that look, though. It was the long pause of every scare actor coming out of a week surrounded by other scare actors. The face of a man explaining his haunt job to a barista. So they leaned in conspiratorially, picking up the word they'd used earlier.
“You're for something a little spookier? I heard.” He paused, flushed, nodded a little frantically. “Do all of you have to stay silent, then? Is that part of it?”
He shook his head. “No, I am the only one who does not speak. Ah, except between us, my dear. I make an exception for that.”
“Well, your secret is safe with me.” They reached up and tugged on the loosening edge of the bandage on his cheek. “Hey, this is coming loose. I can get it for you?”
He held very still under their hand as they peeled it back, going redder and redder until it finally came off. “There we go,” they looked down at the bandaid, frowning. How odd, if it was a mask, then how did he get a cut from a hit on it? And the blush… the blush over the mask…
“Thank you, my dear,” he said, and said it so earnestly it caught their full attention. Once he was sure he had it, he stood and flourished something out of a secreted spot, too quick to see properly. “I have another gift for you.”
"A ticket?” Because it was one, deep red and black with the lettering in yellow. They reached for it automatically, like they had for the flower, and then paused. “I already got one, though.”
He went very still again, so suddenly his bells chimed once before falling quiet. “You… did? You obtained a ticket?” His free hand was already reaching, gesturing. “May I see it?”
He was disarming enough that Harlow didn't pause before complying. He looked at it for a moment, eyes tight and impossible to see behind his mask. They had just enough time to become uncomfortable before he held up his hands with a little swinging gesture, palm up at the end so there was only the pink ticket. Seeing the beginning of a trick at work, Harlow leaned in.
He waved his hand over the ticket, bleeding it seamlessly into the red one he'd been offering at the start. Harlow laughed. “Alright, how fun, but why? Do the colors mean something?”
“This ticket was incorrect.”
They faltered at the false cheer in his tone. “As in… a fake ticket?” He lit up.
“Exactly so, indeed, it's a counterfeit. You would not be allowed in with this. Do not accept tickets from strangers, my dear, I would not like you to have trouble.”
Harlow reached for the red ticket. He slid it smoothly into their hand, like it was a magic trick in and of itself. Their hand squeezed tightly over it. “Well. A ticket from a friend is better than tickets from strangers, anyway.”
“A friend?” Oh, he was going to kill Harlow with all of that longing in his voice. It was losing its rasp, a bit, going smooth and melodic and highlighting the desperation that a quiet voice had managed to hide. “We are friends now, isn't that right… my dear, we couldn't be strangers anymore.”
“Not anymore, no, we've met again.” They laughed at his face, waving his ticket. “And you gave me two gifts already. I'll have to get you something nice.”
His eyes went wide and blown out like a cat's. “You don't have to, my dear,” he said, but his voice was trembling. They smiled and motioned for him to slide off the counter. He complied without taking his eyes off of them.
“It's what friends do. I can bring it when I head to the circus, if you want?” That should be plenty of time to make something. Their gaze flicked briefly over his costume, catching on any easy motifs and reviewing their internal catalogue of on-hand yarn. They caught his eyes again and sucked in a breath.
Hearts…?
Harlow swallowed hard, a terrible part of them– maybe that teenage part that took theater and read too many supernatural romances– rolling around a question they never thought they'd have to consider in real life. Is he even human? A crazy thought, to be sure. Maybe it was his mask? If it was a mask.
“My dear? Harlow?”
They blinked, cycling rapidly through ‘customer service representative’ back into ‘normal human being’ as the surroundings and people (person) bled back into their awareness. “Yes? Ah, oh, sorry.”
He did that little eye-smile and head tilt again. “It's quite alright. You were far away from me for only a moment. I said I would cherish any gift you brought for me. Were you thinking about what to get?”
“I… was, actually.” Among other things. They laughed and offered him their hand. “I was also thinking I was supposed to close the store forty minutes ago. We should both be heading out now.”
He tilted his head the other way, watching their face even as his hand inched, slowly, towards theirs. His grip was gentle, but the sharp tips of his gloves still menaced teasingly at their skin. His fingers twitched in their grip like he wanted to squeeze tight. Harlow squeezed his hand as if in return, a reassuring grip.
“I had meant to come in earlier, but…” he was staring at their hands. Harlow was reminded of the little glimpses from before, their repeatedly thwarted desire to peek outside and check if he was lingering around.
“Were you? I thought I saw you earlier, out of the windows.” He stiffened, even though their tone was light and teasing. “I wanted to go and see if you were there– my boss doesn't like people hanging around and advertising in front of his shop, so I thought if I caught you and invited you in…”
He did squeeze their hand, then, almost too tight. His eyes darted from theirs to the hands still interlocked together. “You did…? I was careful, of course, I don't want to cause you any trouble, my dear, any pain! However, to know you were thinking about me…” his voice went rough.
Their face flamed at the same time his reddened, and they tried to break the tension with a little laugh. “Next time, just come in and get something, alright? I'll take your order.” They looked down at their hands, then out at the pitch black windows. “Hey… can I… ask you something?”
“Anything.” It was a quick answer, absolutely unaffected by their attempt to lighten the strange mood between them.
“I… would like you to walk with me? To my street, I mean. It's very dark outside.” They were friends, right? And they had an apartment, besides. Even if he knew what building it was, out of the string of apartment complexes on the street, he wouldn't know which one was theirs. And he was likely more safe than anything else that could go looking for them.
He did look… thoroughly surprised, though. His whole body was tight, right down to his fingers, like he was holding something tremendous back by force of will. They shook their hands, trying to be playful. “Pierrot?” His gaze locked on theirs. Oh, the hearts were back. “You don't have to take me home if you–”
“Of course I'll take you home!” He grinned, taking their other hand and squeezing just a little too tight. “My dear, I'll keep you safe and sound, not a soul will look at you.”
“I'll need both hands to lock up the store.”
He nodded seriously, face and hands dropping all at once. Pierrot followed half a step behind them as they finished their last look-over, only pausing at the door to the break room when they asked him to wait outside so they could bundle up. He was practically on top of them as they exited the little coffee shop. They locked the door and nodded to themself, tucking it away in their pocket. When they offered him their hand, he took it eagerly. He squeezed, this time, just as tight as they had squeezed his initially.
“Ready?” he nodded. “Do you need to stop talking, now that we're outside again?” A pause. He leaned in, bent over close to them. It was starting to become less intimidating and more intimate.
“I will speak very quietly, so only you can hear me,” he whispered. They caught him looking about in their peripheral vision before he spoke again, just a hair louder, “and not if anyone passes by.”
Harlow nodded, stepping in a bit closer to make speaking quietly look a bit more natural. If he wasn't in a costume, they would look like a lovesick couple out for a late night stroll. Well, with the costume even. Harlow liked whimsical things, and dark colors, and they were quick with their crafts. It wasn't as though they were dressed to stand out any less, even with the crisp cut of their work uniform collar poking through. Their sweater today was a wide crochet spiral with uneven colored cuffs; with their colorful hair they suited him a little too well.
“You're off away again, my dear,” he said softly, and they flushed brightly at how close he was, even closer than a moment ago. They flicked their eyes to his, meeting the intense gaze easily without having to turn their head.
“I'm just thinking.”
“What are you thinking about?”
Well, were they feeling bold? Better to be honest about it. “We're just walking very close together. People are going to think we're a couple.”
Those… had to be his eyes, shifting and popping briefly out of sight before flickering back as two enormous yellow hearts. He stopped walking, stopped breathing, tense all over again like bracing against an ocean wave. “Pierrot?” Nothing.
They waited a moment for him to speak, or move, but he just stayed silent, watching them. Eventually, they tugged gently on his hand, and he followed their hesitating steps. “Are you alright?” He nodded, a tiny frantic motion. He followed them all the way to their apartment building like that, quiet and intense and eyes locked on them firmly.
“Well, here it is.” They flexed their hand in his. It took him a moment to let go. Still no words. “Thank you for walking with me.” A nod. They patted his arm a little awkwardly. “You'll be alright getting back by yourself?”
That seemed to snap him back. His head tilted and he beamed at them. “I'll be just fine, my dear.” He let go of their hand and stepped back suddenly, just… watching.
In the dim light of the building, for the first time, they felt a little shiver run up their spine at the sight of him there. “Good… goodnight.”
“Goodnight.” His voice was very soft, just loud enough for them to catch. They nodded firmly, smiled, and unlocked their building door.
☆
It was dimly lit in their room. A tall shadow passed through oh-so carefully, mindful of the gentle slide of the balcony door as it entered. Claws rasped near-silently over various objects. Clothes set out for the next day, yarn pulled out in yellows and oranges and reds and something half-made, just a little circle now that yielded no hint of what it was going to become. The television was on, an old horror movie spilling tinny creepy music and blueish light into the air. A hand hovered over the remote, picked it up.
The room went dark. Quiet.
Yellow eyes glowed dimly in the little space, flicking about, taking everything in. Tapestries of suns and moons, hanging baskets full of little toys and tools, the unrolled case of crochet hooks that must have fallen to the floor at some point. There were crochet flower vines tossed about, twined around fairy lights left off for the night. The walls had old posters for juvenile productions in thin, cheap frames. The bed had a hand made blanket, and hand made dolls tucked in with the sole occupant.
The bed creaked. White hair and softly jingling bells spilled over, framing the sleeping figure.
“Oh, my dear,” Pierrot's voice was trembling, soft only because it had to be, “you are even more beautiful in your sleep. So fragile, so defenseless… ah, and so kind to me, you do not even know me, yet.”
He leaned in, drinking in the sight of them, arms braced on either side of the bed like a living cage. “but I know everything about you. I've seen how you walk, how you talk, who you like to speak to… the way you freeze in confusion, or fear…” he shifted in closer, the cool mask of his face almost touching their nose.
“I knew from the way I saw you, today, it was just a glance, but something inside me…” there was a shift, a little murmur from them that quieted him. They settled again, unaware, unconscious.
“You're too trusting,” he said softly, intently, “my dear, do you simply feel what I feel? That instant sensation, my sincere devotion? You must, surely. It's why you let me do so much, isn't it? I had to see you, to know you were real; and here you are.” A quick glance up at the room again, drinking in the information it had to give, back down inexorably to the fixed point of attention. “And now there is nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. Nothing left but to be mine.”
He lunged forward.
☆
Harlow jolted awake in the light of twilight, a heavy taste in their mouth and their sheets crushed into tight rumples.