Only three days ago did you defend that circus clown and cater to his wounds. You’d imagine that this would be your only interaction with him unless you decided to visit the circus itself. But, with that guess, you’d be wrong. You see more of him, and a lot more of him.

He’d interact with you every day. It seemed like it was at every opportunity he could seize. Every morning on your way to work, every afternoon just near closing, and sometimes even before you would go to bed, they would be there, unannounced. Though if you had to guess, he would probably back off if you asked him to.

Tonight, you were visiting the circus. Again. For free, of course, since you had Pierrot’s ticket. Unlike every other time you come through, Pierrot walked you back to his tent, silently leading you by the hand. His grip was insistent, almost uncomfortable, but the look of pure joy on his face held you back from commenting on it. You were almost there anyway.

The time you spent in his tent was typical, like any other day with Pierrot, just not the usual setting. He would prompt inquiries just to listen to you speak; his eyes were locked so intensely on your face that it was hard to tell if he was even listening to you or not. If was safe to say that you did the majority of the talking.

Some time later, his eyes narrow for a moment, and he raises a finger when you question him, a silent way of saying ‘wait’. He stood up from his spot on the cot and stalked over to a vanity in the livelier corner of his tent. He seems to be picking up a few things before he turns back to you.

He hums, coating a white base on your face, the paint smooth and cold. He focuses keenly, reaching up to cup your chin with a hand that almost covers your whole face as he continues silently, admiring.