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You.
You, you you you you. The only thing that has been on his mind these past few days was You.
The object of his affection, the one who holds his heart in their hands, the one who looked at him like that, talked to him like that. The one who gave him your hand. You offered up your soul. It was just so easy.
You have corrupted his mind. Every waking moment was dedicated to you. His performances were for you. He rehearsed for the sake of making you smile. His assistants were hand picked based on which one he thought would make you the most happy. Every rude customer, every childhood bully, anyone he could get his claws on that had ever slighted you- he will not hesitate to decimate them in order to bring just a sliver of joy to your gorgeous expression. And you will always be none the wiser. It’s just an act after all, right? It’s all just special effects. Just special effects.
It was like he was being boiled alive day after day. Burning beneath his skin, igniting every action he took. Every held breath in the shadows so he could follow you to work and back every day, every dip into the break room, every trip to the back to restock, and every bit tongue every time Harlequin tries to steal you away- which would never happen. He will never let that happen again. Just the idea made his fists clench until he lost feeling in his fingertips.
Now Pierrot has found himself on that small balcony you have. The one with a glass sliding door that leads directly into your bedroom. The inside is completely covered by the navy blue curtain you adorn for privacy, but that hardly matters. His palm presses against the glass, unable to feel the texture through his thick leather gloves, and he shakes. Anticipation? Excitement? Pure adrenaline? Such feelings don’t need names. They simply need to be felt. He pressed his forehead against the glass, hot breath clouding on the surface of the glass. He waited. He listened. He didn’t hear any noise. No fans, no music, no voices. You must be asleep. He hummed quietly to himself as he pushed open your sliding door. The lock? Already picked with his claw days ago. It doesn’t function at all anymore. But you don’t know that.
He ever so quietly enters your bedroom. It’s completely dark, but that hardly impairs his vision. His glowing yellow eyes scan the room, immediately darting to your bed. Something is immediately wrong. The usual lump in the center of the mattress isn’t there. Something sinks in his chest as panic starts to quicken his heart rate. What. Does he have the wrong apartment? Impossible. He has every square inch of it memorized! The wrong hour, then? It’s very late at night. The clock on your bedside table proves that fact, showing that it is well past midnight. Where on earth-
The lights in your room suddenly flick on. Pierrot flushes hot all over as he dreads turning around. He’s been caught red handed. “Pierrot? How the-” fuck fuck fuck fu- “What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?!”
“My Dear!” How does he even explain himself here? ‘Oh hi yes you make my body burn so badly that if I don’t see you every hour or so I go incredibly insane’ even Pierrot knows he can’t just say that to you!!! “I, well-” He can hear your fearful heartbeat. He can see panic in your eyes. The guilt is gnawing at him. Painfully. “I don’t quite have the best explanation.”
“Yeah, no shit.” That’s when he notices your wrists. Or rather, what’s around them. Grocery bags hang from each hand. One looks far heavier than the other. Perhaps that’s where you were? But this late at night? What kind of errand could warrant a trip out at this hour? “Pierrot, this is breaking and entering! I could call the cops and have you arrested for this.”
“I know My Dear.” Pierrot sighs. His shoulders slump forward and he frowns intensely. Are you going to kick him out? Tell him to leave and never come back? His heart ached at the idea. Do you hate him now? Do you think he’s a creep? “I just wanted to see you, My Dear. I just finished my obligations for the night…” He sounds pathetic right now, doesn’t he? What will he do if you scream? You have neighbors. They’d easily be able to hear. This is bad.
You let out a long, frustrated sigh. The hand with the lighter bag weighing it down goes up to your temple. “Okay. So let’s not do this ever again.” Pierrot looks up at you, hope widening his eyes. “Breaking into my room is creepy and weird. Not okay.” That hope deflates out of him. “Did you come in through the front door?”
Aaand there goes his way in. He limply raises an arm to point towards your dark blue curtains. “The lock is broken.” He mumbles, averting his eyes. His face is flush with shame.
“Noted.” You huff, now crossing your arms in front of you. “Just because it’s broken doesn’t mean you’re invited in, Pierrot. I have to be here and I have to actively invite you in for you to be here, okay?” He nodded along with your words. With each inflection in your voice his heart shattered just a tiny bit more. He hated seeing you upset. You pause for a moment. The awkward silence only makes the dread pooling in Pierrot’s gut stronger. That gnawing is now eating him alive. “How often do you break in?”
Breaking in is such a strong term. Pierrot holds himself, shifting his weight to the side. You really don’t want to know the answer. But here you are. Waiting. Forcing him to say it before that nasty disapproving gaze can be removed. It feels like daggers into his soul. “...Every night.” He watches you shudder. It does not seem like a good shudder. “I don’t do anything My Dear! I promise! I just… watch.” His face feels warm. The intense burning in his chest blossoms forth. It fights with his dread. “You look so vul- so beautiful and peaceful when your chest-”
“OKAY let’s not go into detail.” You hold up a hand, the shuffling sound of plastic accompanying your voice. “Pierrot, that's really creepy. You seriously can’t be doing that anymore.” He knew it. You do think of him as a creep. This is it, isn’t it? He’s going to have to take drastic measures, isn’t he? He’s going to have to- “You have to promise me that you won’t do that anymore, okay?”
He blinked at you. A promise? You’re giving him a chance? You extend your hand towards him, pinkie extended. He tilts his head to the side. He brings his hand towards yours, mirroring your action. You take your little finger and wrap it around his. He mimics. Your hand is so small and cute against his. He glances down into the grocery bag. It looks like you bought plastic spoons. His eyes darted to the other bag. Just barely through the top he can see a container. Ice cream? And it looks to be your favorite flavor. Just a simple ice cream run. That’s why you were gone. He got found out because you had a craving for ice cream at one in the morning. How unfortunate for him.
“Okay. You pinkie promised.” You state, breaking him from his train of thought. “Which means you can’t ever break in here again. You’ll have to knock and I have to let you in, okay?” Your tone is almost the same as Jester’s when he’s lecturing him and Harlequin. It makes him smile.
“Of course, My Dear. I promise to never enter without your express permission again.” He watches as the stern bravado immediately washes away. It’s replaced with the lovely and cheerful person he fell in love with. All that dread and panic washes away in him too. You are so forgiving. He loves that about you.
“Alright. With that taken care of, I’m going to finally have this ice cream I’ve been thinking about my entire closing shift, then I’m going to head to bed.” Pierrot nods. He steps towards you, but you hold your hand up to him again. “Which means it’s time for you to go, Pierrot.” Disappointment is written all over his face. His shoulders drop and his frown is immediate. You sigh. “I’ll be at the circus tomorrow. I promise. But right now I’ve had a really long day and I just want to be left alone.”
“Of course, My Dear. I shall leave you be.” He steps back, the guilt lingering in his gut. “I will see you tomorrow.” He gives you a small bow before turning away and walking towards the window.
“Pierrot?” You ask, but the door is already slid open. “Pierrot wait-” Your voice is dulled out by the rush of wind. “PIERROT I’M ON THE SECOND FLOOR!!!” Pierrot lands perfectly on his feet as though he just stepped down a stair. He looks up at you from the sidewalk below. You’r gripping the railing of your balcony, almost halfway over it. Your worry for him is adorable. It lights up that dulled fire. “Oh my god you’re going to give me gray hairs, Pierrot!” You shout at him, but he knows that there is no real bite to your words. He watches you go back inside, shutting the sliding door behind you. The curtain flourishes, covering up any trace of the room within. And now Pierrot stands outside. It’s cold out tonight, isn’t it?
He could always just wait for you to go to sleep and sneak right back in. What would you even be able to do about the broken lock tonight? It would just take an hour. Maybe two. But no. Pierrot looks to his pinkie finger, the one that clasped with your own. A pinkie promise. He gave you his word he wouldn’t sneak in anymore. As much as he longs to shatter that glass door and take you home with him, as much as he wants to engrave you into his vision forever, as much as he wants… he isn’t going to. For you, he will show restraint. For you, he is willing to hold himself accountable and fix his behavior. That way you’ll love him. Want him. Choose him.
Pierrot glances up and catches sight of a green glimmer. He darts into a nearby bush, hoping that he was not spotted. He watches as the bastard hops onto your porch with a wicked grin. His finger slides into the broken lock. His eyes flash brighter as he slides the door open with ease. Hatred’s taste soured the inside of his mouth. Seconds pass. Moments pass. Minutes pass. Would you talk to him the way you did to Pierrot? Were you just that kind to everybody? He hoped you weren’t. He wanted that kindness reserved for him. But then he watched as that same green figure was quickly found back on that porch. Miscellaneous items were being thrown at him in the dark. He quickly jumped down from the porch, nearly in the same spot Pierrot once was. He grinned wildly from within that bush as the fellow clown slinked away.
You gave Pierrot mercy. You showed compassion. You gave him a second chance. While all Harlequin got was a bunch of shoes chucked at him. Oh, and is that a hair brush? Emerging from the bushes, Pierrot quipped down to pick it up. He’ll have to return this to you. When you visit him tomorrow. As you said you would. He looked back up at your apartment.
It seems like you have chosen him.