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Que te ofrezco cariño? si me ofreces todo tal vez te de un poco.

[hsh200]

[blacktulipam]

One Thing | GreenApple |

Autora: BlackTulipa (Yo)

Idioma: Español

Capítulos: 4.5

Descripción:

La carne llama y la pasión le responde. Porque solo se trata de eso, ¿no?

Este únicamente es contenido de fans para fans. ☟

☞ ¡Los personajes pertenecen a Neko Bueno, o nekoboydreams en Tumblr! ☜

Advertencias:

۵ Posiblemente los personajes no sean tan fieles al canon en algunas partes.

۵ Ship: GreenApple (Pierrot x Harlequin). Si no gustas de este contenido, puedes buscar un fanfic que se adecúe a tus intereses.

۵ Contenido sexual semi explícito.

۵ No existe MC.

Enlace para apoyar en Wattpad: One Thing

Tengo otra historia en Wattpad que está en emisión, ¡pueden darle una mirada si quieren! ;3

También, esta publicación va a ser MUY larga... tómense su tiempo.

Odio intenso

Los visitantes estaban en silencio, dejándose atraer por la atmósfera de la carpa, el escenario y la música instrumental, ignorantes de lo que ocurría a sus espaldas.

Harlequin los observaba de uno en uno, buscando a alguien que pareciera lo suficientemente interesante como para pasar una noche liberadora, cambiando el rumbo de su atención al sentir un pinchazo psicológico en la nuca.

Quizás solo era idea suya, pero Pierrot no le quitaba los ojos de encima.

Ambos se hallaban al fondo de la carpa de Jester, escuchando la historia de este al no tener otros espectáculos pendientes para esa noche, demasiado lejos y rodeados de gente como para que una mirada fija pudiera ser tomada como coincidencia.

Tras algunos segundos de hacerse el loco, Harlequin giró el cuello apenas lo suficiente para corresponderle la guerra de miradas, alzando brevemente una ‘ceja’ al comprobar que, efectivamente, lo estaba viendo a él. Fijamente, para colmo.

Pierrot ni siquiera disimuló al ser atrapado.

Entonces, curioso, Harlequin le hizo un gesto a Pierrot con la cabeza, retándolo a que fuera hasta él y le dijera lo que estuviera guardándose, sonriendo ampliamente cuando el más alto rodó los ojos.

Al mismo tiempo, le fastidiaba que continuara persiguiéndolo sin dejar claras sus intenciones, pero nunca iba a darle la satisfacción de saber que estaba a punto de colmarle la paciencia.

Siempre que lo encaraba al respecto y discutían, porque entre ellos dos no existían las pláticas civilizadas, salía a la luz el mismo tema reciclado, haciendo creer al de lengua bífida que Pierrot simplemente estaba buscando una excusa para justificar sus desquites de ira.

Pero, en este punto, y por su culpa, Harlequin estaba demasiado hambriento como para dejarlo pasar.

Es decir, ¿por qué lo había seguido hasta ahí si solo iba a intentar fastidiarle el día con sus malas vibras? ¡No había conseguido a nadie en meses porque no le daba la privacidad necesaria! ¡¿Esta era su venganza?!

No, sería un plan muy elaborado para esa cabecita suya…

Pensando con la mente fría, Harlequin lo atribuyó a que, como solía ser, Pierrot se había acordado del detonante de su rencor y estaba planeando cómo eliminarlo sin que Ticket Taker lo pillara; algo que al de verde había empezado a darle igual.

Pierrot no buscaba eliminarlo con la seriedad que debería, y Harlequin tampoco lo mencionaba, prefiriendo mantener su cuello intacto el mayor tiempo posible.

E igualmente no podía dejar de pensar en ello.

O sea, si ya sabía que solo se repetiría el ciclo de violencia entretenida e innecesaria, ¿por qué Pierrot seguía intentando provocarlo? Actuaba como si quisiera que él empezara algo para luego poder culparlo del resultado.

Además, sus miraditas causaban un efecto contradictorio en Harlequin, y este suponía que se debía a que no había tenido carne fresca en mucho tiempo.

Y, curiosamente, Pierrot le parecía una pieza de primera calidad…

Se relamió los dientes, coqueto, sonriendo de forma extraña cuando su compañero le vio con desagrado y desvió la vista hacia la función.

Le gustó pensar que lo había dejado tímido, pero sabía a la perfección que solo había empeorado su descontento, cosa que tampoco le disgustaba.

Fingió que también prestaba atención al acto, aburrido de escuchar la misma cháchara, apenas bostezando cuando el pecho de una mujer fue abierto de costillas.

No lo recordaba tan dramático, y era muy poca sangre. Además, sentía que había fallado como escena trágica, puesto que incluso le había abierto el apetito.

Disimuladamente, volvió a mirar a Pierrot para ver su reacción. Había entrecerrado los ojos con repugnancia ante lo que pasaba frente a él, quizás intercambiando a los personajes dentro de su cabeza. Planteándose formas de cambiar los acontecimientos.

Un montón de reflexiones inútiles.

Harlequin puso los ojos en blanco, algo cansado de ese show de “sí, mírenme, soy muy sensible, amable, y, por supuesto, súper inocente. Wiwiwi”. Pura mierda.

Comió la carne del pato, y ahora culpaba al cazador por llevárselo a la mesa.

Ush. Quería fastidiarlo un poco, pero sus intentos por corromper a ese sujeto siempre terminaban con un objeto punzante clavado en su cuerpo.

Está de más decir que prefería esa misma descripción, pero en otro contexto. Uno que no fuera doloroso para ninguno de los dos, sino todo lo contrario.

Bueno, no obtienes lo que quieres si no vas a por ello, así que Harlequin decidió colarse por alguna apertura del muro entre ellos.

Una vez la mayoría de los visitantes salieron, se acercó a Pierrot, haciéndose el ciego ante la intensa mirada que le dictaba un claro “aléjate”. Estaba decidido a encontrar algún vacío legal.

Jester los vigilaba desde su puesto en el escenario, haciéndolo pasar como su responsabilidad de asegurarse de que los tontos se encargaran de dejar el suelo radiante. Harlequin lo saludó con la mano, inocente, girando su cuerpo en dirección a la salida sin dar el par de pasos necesarios para atravesarla.

En vez de esto, y sin hablarle directamente, hizo una breve seña a Pierrot para indicarle que se reunieran afuera, tentado a jalarlo por el sombrero cuando este no se movió, ignorándolo.

El de verde chasqueó la lengua, dando una corta miradita a sus espaldas solo para comprobar que su superior seguía atento a ellos.

No iba a sugerirle sus intenciones con Jester chismorreando.

Determinado, se movió lentamente en dirección a su embravecido acompañante, poniendo su mano en el espaldar de un asiento y apoyándose en esta. Así, quedó de frente con Pierrot, quien insistió en mantener su vista en algún punto lejano.

Las caderas de Harlequin quedaban en un ángulo bastante empinado al encorvarse de esa forma, significando un golpe en el ego cuando su presa ni se dignó a vacilarlo.

Tampoco iba a rendirse solo por su usual desinterés.

Ya que lo tenía sin cuidado, alzó su brazo disponible para juguetear con los cascabeles en la parte delantera del traje de su némesis, parpadeando bruscamente cuando su muñeca fue atrapada a mitad de camino.

Al parecer, había colmado la paciencia que Pierrot no tenía, y fue el turno del larguirucho de darle seguimiento a la guardia de Jester. El venenoso le sonrió al saber que no podría apuñalarlo en esas condiciones.

Comprobando lo mismo que Harlequin, soltó al mencionado, cumpliéndole el capricho de seguirlo con tal de que lo dejara en paz.

Una vez en el exterior de la carpa, Harlequin pensó brevemente en algún lugar para llevar a cabo sus planes malvados. Tenía que ser discreto y, al mismo tiempo, que contara con la posibilidad de que cualquiera encontrara su cadáver instantáneamente si salía mal.

Teniendo eso en cuenta, sus tiendas de campaña estaban descartadas. Cualquiera de sus compañeros entraría instantáneamente si escucharan algún sonido diferente a ronquidos. Así mismo, tampoco podía contar con el bosque. Los peligros eran evidentes, y no valía la pena arriesgarse tanto por un polvo. Ni hablar de un motel; el único que había visto por el camino estaba demasiado lejos, y yendo a pie corría más riesgo de que Pierrot decidiera aprovechar la privacidad para hacerle diez aperturas y abandonarlo en medio de la carretera.

Entonces se dirigió a una de las partes más alejadas del circo, donde no había tontos, atracciones o alguien que pudiera estorbarles, sentándose sobre una caja con una sonrisita en la cara.

Pierrot no lucía ni la mitad de animado, cruzándose de brazos mientras mantenía las distancias.

“¿Qué quieres?” Su voz había sonado ronca, completamente normal si se tenía en cuenta que había pasado el día entero sin hablar. Quizás incluso desde antes.

Harlequin se hizo el indeciso únicamente por jugar con su tolerancia, cediendo a la presión con una risita al ver como Pierrot sacaba un cuchillo para amenazarlo.

“Estás bastante tenso últimamente”. Jugueteó con el nudo de su capa, apenas tirando lo suficiente para desenredarlo. La tela cayó silenciosamente a sus espaldas, captando fugazmente la atención de Pierrot. Quiso creer que se debía a la leve exposición de su cuello. “Pensé que podía ayudarte con eso…” Dejó la insinuación flotando en el aire, agudizando su mirada cuando su acompañante retrocedió la cabeza, impactado.

Tras varios segundos de análisis y procesamiento, Pierrot frunció el entrecejo, mirando alrededor como si recién lo comprendiera todo.

Se acarició el rostro lentamente en un vago intento por calmarse, jadeando.

Eso era un no. O un “vete a la mierda”.

Harlequin lo entendió al instante, y lo instó a seguir presionando.

Quizás así podría obtener la mínima cosa de él.

“Siempre actúas como si fueras a matarme, pero…” Se levantó de su lugar, abandonando la prenda sobre la caja mientras caminaba hacia Pierrot, pavoneándose. “¿No piensas que eso sería demasiado rápido?” Sus ojos verdes se movían deleitantes sobre su enemigo jurado. Sus facciones imbuidas en desprecio, lo poco que su traje exponía de su cuello, su mano sosteniendo el arma con la disposición de apuñalarlo si decidía pasarse de listo. Le encantaban los huesos duros de roer. “Te ofrezco la oportunidad de hacerme sufrir tanto como quieras…” Negoció en tono sugerente, apenas propasando el límite impuesto por el otro a la vez que empezaba a rodearlo. Acecharlo. Actuando como si fuera la Tierra alrededor del Sol.

Pierrot se mantuvo firme, siguiéndolo con los ojos hasta que se perdió tras su espalda. Que no se volteara daba a entender que tenía confianza en que Harlequin no le daría una puñalada rastrera. Al menos, no en ese instante.

“No todo se trata sobre ti”. Intentó defenderse Pierrot, con sus argumentos desmantelándose por sí solos si se tenían en cuenta todas sus actitudes violentas y exclusivas para la cobra venenosa.

Harlequin levantó una ceja, mostrando abiertamente lo poco creíble que habían sido esas palabras para él.

¿Ahora iba a actuar como si tuviera más rivales por ahí? Cómo no.

“Sí, Pierrot. Lo hace”. Usó la punta de su dedo para trazar una línea deliberada en el centro de la espalda ajena, asegurándose de que sus garras no rasgaran la tela. Al no conseguir una reacción notoria, se paró de puntillas, acercándose lo suficiente para que un susurro fuera demasiado audible para su interés nocturno. “No te he visto intentando apuñalar a nadie más”.

Pierrot se cubrió la oreja como si esta no se encontrara escondida, volteando la cabeza hacia Harlequin con el entrecejo fruncido, mostrándose tenso ante la cercanía contraria.

Aun así, no se quejó ni intentó apartarlo, cosa que dejó perplejo a Harlequin.

¿Por qué…?

Respetando la ley silenciosa entre ambos, el más bajo simplemente decidió seguir con su intento de seducción, subiendo sus manos lentamente por la espalda frente a él y deteniéndolas en sus hombros, dándole una especie de masaje improvisado que consiguió que Pierrot volviera a centrar su atención en otro lado.

Pensativo, el de verde continuó con sus movimientos lentos y profundos, percatándose de la forma disimulada en que Pierrot empezaba a dejarse llevar por su toque.

¿Por qué él…?

¿Quizás disfrutaba de esta versión servicial de Harlequin? ¿Posiblemente tenía dotes de masajista? Es que no veía qué podía estar pasando por la cabeza de Pierrot al actuar tan receptivo. ¿Estaba tan desesperadamente solitario como para aceptar complacerse con él?

Ladeó la cabeza, jalando un poco hacia atrás para apoyar su barbilla sobre el hombro de su compañero, asegurándose de que su aliento cálido llegara a su cuello.

“Puedo prometerte que lo disfrutarás…” Su voz salía apresurada, impaciente. Sus manos volvieron a recorrer la misma espalda antes de encontrarse con los dedos temblorosos del más alto, acariciando la punta de estos sin importarle la presencia de las garras. “Y que me dolerá…” El tono fue más bajo que antes. Más necesitado. Casi como si estuviera suplicándole martirio en vez de retándolo a proporcionárselo.

Para su sorpresa, Pierrot se estremeció ligeramente mientras un corto jadeo escapaba de sus labios, haciendo que el menor sonriera con suficiencia.

Ya había sembrado la semilla de la duda en él, y solo restaba esperar a que el árbol germinara… o no, debido a que el de cabello plateado se apartó como si el roce indirecto con su piel le quemara, mirando a Harlequin con una expresión de horror que solo podía significar una cosa: lo había considerado.

Obviamente, la primera reacción de Harlequin fue intentar burlarse de él, siendo detenido por una mano cerrándose sobre su boca, obligándolo a tragarse sus palabras. Los ojos de Pierrot continuaban con esa hostilidad de animal herido, luciendo decidido a evitar a toda costa que revelara lo que ambos pensaban.

Aunque no pasara nada erótico esa noche, Harlequin se sentía logrado al haber conseguido que Pierrot viera en él algo más que un saco de boxeo, soltando una risita nasal que le hizo ganarse una mirada rencorosa de su contrincante.

Y Harlequin podría pasar horas así. Disfrutando al máximo de ser el centro del universo de Pierrot… aunque fuera de una forma retorcida.

Entonces Pierrot respiró hondo, como si se estuviera rindiendo después de una larga batalla, inclinándose fácilmente sobre Harlequin hasta que sus rostros estaban a escasos centímetros.

Claramente, lo primero que pasó por la mente del de menor tamaño fue que Pierrot le iba a escupir en la cara y decirle lo mucho que le asqueaba su mera existencia, emocionándose un poco al verlo suspirar con cierta resignación.

De todas formas, sus ojos no se suavizaron en lo más mínimo, haciendo que Harlequin se planteara si esto había sido buena idea…

“Si es sufrimiento lo que quieres, lo tendrás”.

Desprecio

Dicen que es mejor sentir dolor antes que no sentir nada en absoluto, y cierto individuo podría estar de acuerdo con ello…

Bueno, parcialmente.

Una vez sus necesidades fueron saldadas, e ignorando el hecho de que aquel encuentro debería ser catalogado como intento de homicidio con un arma contundente, Harlequin cayó en cuenta de que, como había pensado con anterioridad, meterse con Pierrot había sido igual que comerse diez hamburguesas después de una dieta prolongada.

Ese tipo se había tomado personal lo de desquitarse con él, apenas dedicándole algunos minutos a los juegos previos antes de empujarlo contra una caja y reubicarle los órganos. Lo que el menor no se esperaba era que su contraparte durara más tiempo del que creía posible tratándose de un virgen, dejándolo con las piernas temblorosas y el estómago revuelto durante dos días.

Ugh… en verdad había querido burlarse de él por ser un precoz o algo del estilo. Se sentía estafado.

Jerter chasqueó dos dedos frente a su rostro, captando la atención de Harlequin, quien se había distraído durante su labor de apartar nieve para… pues, en realidad, no estaba prestando atención. Solo sabía que lo habían mandado por su cuenta a estar paleando agua congelada como un condenado.

Maldita sea. Por su culpa volvía a ser consciente del frío…

“Últimamente estás demasiado distraído”. Lo acusó su superior, su mirada entre juzgona y curiosa.

Obviamente, el de verde no planeaba exponerse (más por lo que podría hacerle Pierrot que por el qué dirán), disculpándose con una sonrisita mientras volvía a su tarea.

Jester soltó un sonido similar a la aceptación, alejándose algunos metros antes de sugerirle que se abrigara un poco más.

Harlequin se lo pensó un poco, decidiendo que el clima no podía más que él. Además, en secreto, le preocupaba que Pierrot pudiera verlo como un debilucho por estar con cinco capas de ropa encima, prefiriendo aguantarse como el hombre que era.

Entonces, invadido por el desgane, movió la pala como si realmente estuviera haciendo su tarea, demorando apenas unos segundos en recaer en los pensamientos de los que tanto intentaba escapar.

Es decir, recordaba perfectamente las palabras de Pierrot tras aquella primera vez. Primera de muchas. Y seguía sin saber qué creer al respecto.

Como se esperaba del tipo rencoroso que, según él mismo, ‘había hecho eso por despecho’ y ‘nunca en su vida quería tener algo que ver con Harlequin otra vez’, Pierrot había sido bastante claro con el “no me hables de nuevo” que gruñó mientras se ponía los pantalones.

Y, evidentemente, el de verde estuvo de acuerdo, puesto que ya había conseguido lo que quería. Quizás incluso más, en realidad…

Pensó que su alocada aventura iba a llegar hasta ahí. Una noche inolvidable debido lo traumatizado que había quedado su trasero tras aquella experiencia.

Lo gracioso no era que ahora necesitara un descanso de ese tipo de actividades, sino que Pierrot, contradiciendo sus propios principios, tenía otras ideas en la cabeza.

Cuando fue él quien acorraló a Harlequin tras bastidores, juntando sus cuerpos como si la necesidad lo quemara por dentro, el más bajo se encontró a sí mismo abriéndose para él, dejándolo poseerlo con la misma rudeza de antes. Disfrutándolo como si sus caderas no se quejaran con cada choque contra las opuestas.

No supo en qué momento el trato había pasado de “oye, vamos a hacer lo que ya sabes y te dejo tranquilo” a “voy a dejarte usarme hasta que se te pasen las rabietas”. Y tampoco entendió cómo Pierrot le agarró tanto gusto al asunto.

O sea, se suponía que lo odiaba hasta el infinito y más allá. ¿No?

Teniendo eso en consideración, ¿qué lo motivaba a seguir buscándolo cuando él mismo había puesto límites claros? ¿Quizás el tenerlo dominado y sumiso? Gritando su nombre en un tono tan reclamante y necesitado que definitivamente le subía el ego por las nubes.

Harlequin chasqueó la lengua al acordarse de esto, pateando el suelo emblanquecido en un pequeño arranque de ira. Se aseguró de que nadie le estuviera viendo antes de darse este gusto, volviendo a usar la pala en vez de sus extremidades inferiores.

El caso era que se había vuelto una especie de rutina entre ambos. Se encontraban en cualquier lugar desolado, se ‘peleaban’ y cada cual por su lado. Típica historia con final feliz que no debería durar tanto como esta lo ha hecho.

La víbora quiso excusarse con que Pierrot era ciertamente un amante formidable. No atento, o cariñoso, ni siquiera considerado… uhh… bien. Definitivamente tenía que pensarse una excusa para no haber puesto fin de una vez a sus encuentros.

Queriendo cambiar de tema en la conversación que estaba manteniendo consigo mismo, empezó a conspirar sobre lo raro que se le hacía que, cuando alguno de los otros miembros del circo preguntaba cualquier cosa con respecto a su extraña complicidad reciente, solo basándose en que ya no intentaban matarse tanto como antes, Pierrot no negaba nada. Ni aceptaba, tampoco. Simplemente se quedaba callado, aprovechando su rol para hacerse el sordomudo.

Harlequin tenía toda la seguridad de que, si esto hubiera pasado unos meses atrás, Pierrot se habría puesto como una fiera ante la mera insinuación de que estaban empezando a tener una relación decente, aumentando las dudas del más bajo a cada segundo.

Pero escogió ahorrarse las preguntas con respecto a este cambio, prefiriendo asociarlo a que su coleguita solo actuaba así porque era como esas señoras amargadas sin marido.

Al menos podía decir que le estaba haciendo un favor a Pierrot. ¿Quizás?

Su arrogancia creció al acordarse del tiempo que había pasado hasta la actualidad, pasando sus días entre viajes exitosos y amoríos infructuosos de Pierrot, quien siempre terminaba regresando a Harlequin cuando su amante de turno le miraba horrorizado por ser él mismo.

Y este, claro, lo recibía regocijante con los brazos abiertos, sintiendo toda esa pasión que no era para él.

Ni siquiera el cambio de las estaciones consiguió que el larguirucho se apartara de su lado, únicamente uniéndolos más cuando las similitudes de Harlequin con las serpientes pasaron a ser un verdadero problema.

Ya no se podían dar el lujo de reunirse a la intemperie y ‘resolver sus asuntos’, puesto que el de verde estornudaba ruidosamente tras cada roce del viento, así que decidieron dar un paso más íntimo, encontrándose en la caravana del otro una o dos veces al día.

Sí. En ambas ocasiones, exactamente para eso.

Era agotador. De una forma deliciosa, obviamente, pero ni siquiera Harlequin podía lidiar con tanto ejercicio todo el tiempo.

Maldita sea, que incluso podría jurar que había perdido peso pese a estar comiendo un poco más que de costumbre, y Pierrot siempre lo acosaba con esos ojos que pedían más y más.

Hasta lo llevó a dudar quién era el adicto pervertido en esa relación.

¿Qué habría de malo en que decidiera darse un pequeño descanso de aquello?

A ver, no consideraba que estuviera haciendo algo útil, para ser sincero. Suponía que Jester lo había mandado a esa tarea sin sentido para que todos estuvieran entretenidos y no notaran cómo se llevaba a Ticket Taker a su tienda de campaña, y, por tanto, él mismo tampoco notaría como Harlequin se daba una escapadita al bosque, igual que una princesa huyendo de la bruja malvada.

En su caso, de la pala, literalmente.

Dudó un instante, puesto que el clima tampoco se lo pondría fácil, pero sabía que esta sería su única oportunidad. Pierrot se encontraba moviendo algunas cajas con el Doctor, y posiblemente estaban al terminar, así que era ahora o nunca.

Dejó su herramienta en el suelo, asegurándose de no hacer ruido antes de correr a hurtadillas hasta que la maleza le impedía ver el campamento.

Al fin. Privacidad.

Se estiró en el lugar, chasqueando la lengua por la forma en que sus articulaciones se quejaban de las bajas temperaturas.

Incluso abrigado, sentía como el frío le calaba los huesos, temblando mientras se adentraba en su viaje turístico por la naturaleza.

De repente se daba cuenta de lo colorido que era el mundo incluso cubierto de blanco. Las ramas verdosas de los pinos, la textura de su madera, el cantar de algunos pajaritos y, por supuesto, la luz del sol, que apenas era suficiente para aportarle un poco de confort.

Vaya, que todo era hermoso, hasta las piedras que en más de una ocasión se encargaron de esconderse bajo la nieve para hacerlo tropezarse como si fuera fan de besar el suelo.

Buen intento, pero eso no lo iba a detener.

Ignorando todos los obstáculos que le ponía el universo para fastidiarle la escapada, siguió su camino hasta que se cruzó con un lago congelado, estando lo suficientemente aburrido como para observarlo y burlarse de los peces atrapados en el hielo.

Parecían de un tamaño decente para ser comidos, y convenientemente cerca de la superficie para que fuera tentador meter la mano y sacarlos de su martirio.

¿Quizás debería atrapar un par para que Pierrot los cocinara?

Lo pensó un poco más, sabiendo que eso sería demasiado estúpido. El hielo podría no ser tan grueso como aparentaba y, con su suerte, posiblemente terminaría en un épico enfrentamiento contra algún caimán hambriento.

Decidió hacerle caso a su cerebro, prefiriendo mejor no tentar a la fortuna, buscando otra forma de distraerse.

Se percató de la presencia de algunos conejos blancos a una distancia decente, soltando algunas risitas sádicas mientras se dedicaba a arrojarle bolas de nieve a los pobres animales silvestres que se toparan en su camino.

Su instinto de cacería le daba suficiente adrenalina para seguir correteando tras ellos sin importarle el hormigueo creciente de sus dedos, riéndose a carcajadas cuando lograba alcanzar a alguna de sus presas y sostenerla entre sus manos, observándolas patalear antes de liberarlas porque no valían la pena ni como merienda.

Ya se robaría alguno de los dulces de Pierrot al regresar al campamento…

Tras varios minutos de pura diversión, se vio forzado a detener su actividad cuando sus dedos se encontraban fríos al punto de ser doloroso, cubriendo su boca con ellos en un intento vago de calentarlos con su aliento.

No funcionó, dándole a entender que, si no quería una hipotermia, debía apurarse a volver bajo sus mantas.

Dio media vuelta, encontrándose de frente con un árbol donde se suponía debía estar su camino en línea recta. Lo rodeó, deseando no confirmar sus sospechas.

¿En qué dirección estaba?

No había carpas grandes debido a que era una parada rápida, en lo que esperaban que el clima aminorara un poco, y sus huellas habían sido tapadas por una corta nevada que no había tomado en cuenta hasta ese instante.

Bien. Lo importante era no perder la calma. Respira, respira.

Intentó captar algún aroma familiar cerca, percatándose de que el único que podía sentir era el de Pierrot directamente en su piel. Lo había marcado al punto de que, incluso en esta situación, se las arreglaba para aparecer en su cabeza, molestando a Harlequin por estorbarle en sus ideas de supervivencia.

Cuando usar sus sentidos no le sirvió, optó por subirse a un árbol, pero eso significaría quitarse los guantes para usar las garras, o romperlos, y ninguna de esas opciones le hacía gracia. Corría demasiado riesgo de romperse una uña, y sumándole el dolor en sus extremidades con el frío, eso sería demasiado.

¿Debería esperar a que alguien se percatara de su ausencia y lo buscaran? ¿Eso cuánto tiempo demoraría? Faltaba poco para que el Sol se pusiera y todavía no había escuchado su nombre en gritos desesperados.

Exhaló su pesar, viendo como el aire se mostraba con demasiada claridad.

No la iba a contar.

Frotándose los brazos como un completo desquiciado, aferrándose a lo único que le daba un poco de calor, se sentó en el suelo, sintiendo un nivel de agotamiento superior a su preocupación por enfriarse las nalgas.

¿Qué hago? ¿Qué hago? ¿Qué hago? ¿Qué hago?

Necesitaba pensar urgentemente en algo que le sacara de esa situación, pero su cabeza se burlaba de él al no darle ninguna idea aparte de aceptar su destino y morir.

También, como un método extra para torturarlo, le hizo acordarse de varios eventos de unas semanas atrás, despreciándose a sí mismo por haber rechazado la sopa de pollo que Pierrot le ofreció apenas empezaron a bajar las temperaturas.

Justificándose, como solo se la había ofrecido a él, asumió que finalmente se había hartado de sus encuentros y estaba intentando envenenarlo, arrojando la comida al suelo frente al chef sin preocuparse por cómo él podría tomarse eso.

Aquel día lo pagó bien caro, haciéndolo desear que ojalá se hubiera tragado la ridícula agua con sal y veneno de rata.

Que Pierrot se negara rotundamente a tocarlo fue aterrador, casi como una amenaza silenciosa de que las cosas empeorarían. De que volverían a ser como antes, en realidad. Y Harlequin no quería eso.

Ya se había acostumbrado a no recibir puñaladas después de hacer una broma fuera de lugar, a besuquearse con Pierrot hasta que las cosas escalaran a algo más, a dormir a su lado cuando este estaba demasiado agotado para echarlo, gozando de su cómodo calor corporal.

Quería pensar que solo estaba hablando desde la comodidad de la monotonía, teniendo en cuenta la frecuencia con que se juntaban.

Tuvo que insistir bastante para que lo perdonara, pero al menos pudo convencer parcialmente a Pierrot de que nunca haría algo así de nuevo, y que se comería todo lo que le sirviera, aunque le agregara alacranes vivos o ratas de alcantarilla.

Pero Pierrot nunca volvió a cocinar algo exclusivamente para él.

Pensando sobre ello, lo entendía perfectamente. Pierrot era callado por obligación, pero sus comidas se sentían cada vez más elaboradas después de que llegaron a su acuerdo, casi como si finalmente encontrara la motivación para mejorar sus dotes culinarios.

Cocinar con amor, como diría una persona sentimentalista.

Harlequin no creía en esas estupideces, pero definitivamente apreciaría devorar una buena cena en ese momento.

Y no la recibiría si se quedaba ahí sentado.

Poniendo más esfuerzo del que creía necesario, logró ponerse de pie, sufriendo a cada paso por el frío infernal que se aseguraba de dificultarle la existencia.

Había desperdiciado demasiado tiempo, y ahora el clima había empeorado bajo la luz del crepúsculo.

Caminaba demasiado lento, temblando con cada mínima ventisca que chocaba con él, cruzando los dedos por estar tomando el camino correcto.

Entonces, para variar, una raíz se tomó la molestia de reemplazar a las rocas y derribarlo, haciéndolo sentirse impotente por no poder completar una tarea tan sencilla como volver a casa.

Mas, ¿quién podría juzgarlo?

En este punto, de verdad parecía que alguien ahí arriba tenía algo en contra suya y anhelaba verlo morir de una forma ridícula. Mordiendo el suelo. Humillándose a sí mismo por la mera creencia de que vería la luz de un nuevo día.

No le daría el gusto.

Enterrando los dedos en la tierra y derrochando determinación, logró que sus manos aceptaran soportar parte de su peso y lo ayudaran a levantarse, bastándole una mirada de soslayo para ver algo que le devolvió las ganas de pelear por su supervivencia.

Si hubiera tenido las fuerzas para ello, habría dado un salto de alegría en cuanto reconoció el lago congelado a la distancia, contentándose con tener la motivación suficiente para avanzar un poco más rápido, atravesando un par de arbustos que finalmente lo llevaron al lugar que tanto anhelaba.

Todo su cuerpo dolía, moviéndose a una velocidad cada vez menor a medida que veía su objetivo más cerca de él, cayendo al suelo tras un par de pasos, cuando la emoción dejó de ser motor suficiente para tenerlo en pie.

¡Maldita sea! ¡Que acababa de levantarse! ¡¿No podían darle un respiro?!

Por mucho que lo intentara, no encontraba en sí mismo la voluntad para levantarse de nuevo, haciendo un esfuerzo vergonzoso por al menos arrastrarse sobre el suelo, buscando una fuente de calor que le ayudara a pasar esa mala racha.

Fue ahí cuando lo vio.

Pierrot estaba a una distancia sospechosamente próxima, observándolo detenidamente con unos ojos que hacía tiempo no veía en él.

Harlequin no lo había notado antes, puesto que su visión se había tornado cada vez más borrosa a medida que el frío lo consumía, entendiendo instantáneamente que no lo iba a ayudar.

Lo dejaría ahí hasta que se convirtiera en una paleta de hielo, lenta y dolorosamente, pudiendo regocijarse en que esa muerte se la había ganado él solo.

Asumiendo esto, le sonrió, decidiendo que no iba a morir dándole la satisfacción de verlo rogando en sus últimos momentos.

Y su consciencia se desvaneció.

Celos

“Quiero confirmar algo”. Hizo una pausa, acomodándose en el pasto mientras fingía que no miraba todo el rato por encima del hombro. Tenía que asegurarse de no tener espectadores ocultos.

Columbina lo miró con curiosidad, apartando la vista de la corona de flores que estaba trenzando.

Al confirmar su privacidad, prosiguió. “¿Te gusta Pierrot?”

La cara de la chica se mantuvo inexpresiva un par de segundos antes de empezar a colorearse, obligándola a mostrar una mueca que rozaba la exageración. Se sonrojó, dejando en ridículo a los atardeceres, moviéndose con nerviosismo mientras titubeaba sin parar.

Ella y Pierrot se parecían bastante en ese aspecto. Siempre exhibiendo inconscientemente lo que pasaba por sus mentes.

Qué exagerados.

Harlequin bufó, rodando los ojos ante aquella ingenua confirmación.

“Qué linda parejita”. Su matiz denotaba algo diferente a una alegría sincera por ellos, irritándole más que nada el saber que eran el uno para el otro.

Era asquerosamente obvio que querían casarse, tener hijos y todas esas boberías de humanos, pero lo que no acababa de entender era por qué no daban el gran paso.

En lugar de confesarse para poner fin a la vergüenza ajena que causaba siquiera verlos, se miraban como dos adolescentes que morirían de pena únicamente por tomarse de las manos. Apenas hablaban sin terminar iguales a un tomate maduro y, para colmo, huían de la idea de aclarar sus sentimientos.

Solo les faltaba encajarse un cartel gigante en la cabeza con la palabra “VIRGEN” para terminar de confirmar las teorías de Harlequin.

Tenía tantas ganas de romper esa dulce y empalagosa historia de amor.

Columbina, en todo ese tiempo que él había estado divagando, continuó fabricando su corona de flores, entregándosela a su amigo una vez estuvo terminada. Definitivamente no era su mejor trabajo, con varios amarres dudosos y un par de pétalos sobresaliendo de más.

Harlequin levantó una ceja, preguntándose para qué le daba esa cosa inútil en vez de entregársela a su Romeo.

La aceptó únicamente para ganarse una mirada rencorosa de Pierrot por haber recibido algo que él no, apenas pudiendo aguantarse las ganas de presumírselo en la cara.

Tristemente, carecía de otras formas para conseguir su atención, así que se adaptó a fastidiarlo en medida de lo posible.

“¿De verdad crees eso…?” Columbina habló lentamente, con un tono tan bajo que incluso parecía estar escondiendo un secreto de estado. Harlequin entendió perfectamente a lo que se estaba refiriendo, pero prefirió hacerse el desentendido para obligarla a confesarse. “Es decir, lo de Pierrot y yo siendo una…” Se detuvo algunos segundos, su rostro con un sonrojo creciente. “Pareja”.

Cuando cubrió su rostro y chilló, agitándose con una emoción digna de alguien que tiene sentimientos desbordantes, el de verde entendió que este era un caso perdido.

Había pensado en varias formas de desencantar al par de bobos. Desde intentar seducir a uno de ellos, lo cual fracasó por los insistentes rechazos de Pierrot y la ignorancia de Columbina a sus intenciones; crear problemas hasta que entendieran que una relación entre ellos sería horrible, irritándose al verlos superar los obstáculos y pegoteándose todavía más; meterse en medio para que casi nunca tuvieran tiempo a solas, lo cual al menos retrasaba lo inevitable; acusarlos con el cirquero humano para que este les impidiera acercarse de más, lo cual solo provocó que las atenciones de este hacia Columbina se volvieran algo extrañas…

Fue demasiado tarde cuando se percató de que esto podría ser peligroso para ella, pero igualmente se negaba a echarse para atrás.

Simplemente no podía.

Y, ¿por qué hacía todo eso si verdaderamente creía que serían una pareja excepcional?

Él tampoco lo sabía, justificando sus actos por ser víctima de un calor burbujeante que llenaba sus entrañas. Verlos juntos, riéndose con timidez y mofletes sonrosados, acercándose lo suficiente como para que pudieran ver cada cicatriz o marcas en sus rostros. Le daban tantas ganas de estrujarlos entre sus manos hasta que toda esa esencia cursi saliera de ellos, volviendo a cómo eran las cosas antes de que Columbina se uniera al grupo.

La quería fuera.

Cualquiera podría pensar que la odiaba, pero era todo lo contrario. Le tenía el mismo aprecio que todos los demás, aunque eso no quitaba que constantemente deseara que volviera al agujero del que salió.

Siempre causaba problemas, atrayendo la atención de humanos repugnantes con su porte angelical y su amabilidad nata.

Lo peor ocurrió cuando Pierrot también se dejó arrastrar por sus dulces palabras sinceras y la ternura de sus manos, destruyendo la línea de lo que Harlequin sería capaz de hacer por quitar ese obstáculo de su camino.

No quería matarla.

Solo que se mantuviera alejada.

“Coman”.

Ya no hay vuelta atrás.

Lo supo en cuanto sintió el sabor de la sangre llenando su boca, la textura de su carne moribunda, los ojos de Pierrot mientras le suplicaba que la dejara en paz.

Sus gritos desgarradores fueron ignorados por todos los presentes, quienes estaban demasiado centrados en asegurar la supervivencia como para recordar a quién estaban consumiendo.

Este era el final de todo por lo que había estado luchando durante años, siendo convencido por su desesperación de que se resolvería si esperaba lo suficiente.

Al menos, si lo odiaba, no podría dejar de pensar en él.

Dependencia

Soltó un quejido al sentir una de sus pantorrillas acalambrándose, viéndose obligado a soportarlo por culpa de sus extremidades, que se negaban a responderle.

Se esforzó por convencerse de que el dolor no estaba ahí, relajándose considerablemente cuando algo cálido fue introducido bajo las mantas. Los dedos de sus pies instantáneamente buscaron la fuente de calor, ignorando el calambre que empezaba a disiparse.

No cuestionó lo que ocurría a su alrededor, determinado a dejarse llevar por la sensación de somnolencia. Lastimosamente, la vida no parecía querer dejarlo hibernar, haciéndolo sisear al sentir como su cobertura era parcialmente apartada de él, al igual que sus prendas superiores, dejándolo tembloroso por la exposición.

La situación mejoró un poco cuando algo suave y tibio empezó a ser delicadamente frotado sobre su piel, sacándole algunos jadeos satisfechos.

En otra situación habría pensado que, quien quiera que estuviera tocándolo, era un completo atrevido, y posiblemente le habría dado su merecido por estarlo manoseando sin permiso, pero algo en esta acción lo convencía de mantenerse tranquilo y obediente.

Los trazos parecían entrenados para hacerlo perseguir frenéticamente aquel tacto gratificante, poniendo una presión mayor en las áreas que le provocaban cosquilleos en el abdomen, motivándolo a moverse con tal de intensificar el toque.

Mentiría si dijera que esto no le estaba causando estragos en ciertas partes del cuerpo, culpando de todo a Pierrot por haberlo magullado al punto de hacerlo consciente de cada mínimo roce.

Únicamente se dignó a abrir los ojos tras escuchar una risita burlona, quedándose boquiabierto al toparse con el susodicho apretujando uno de sus pectorales.

¿Estaba cuidándolo o aprovechando las circunstancias?

Bueno… si lo que estaba buscando era calentarlo, no necesitaba disimular con el paño calentito en su mano.

Pierrot, al notar que Harlequin ya era completamente consciente de su entorno, volvió a mirarlo con el desinterés usual, haciendo como que era un enfermero muy profesional al sumergir el trapo en agua y escurrirlo hasta dejarlo prácticamente seco.

Harlequin tenía demasiadas dudas en ese momento, pero su boca entumecida le hizo entender de que hablar sería toda una encrucijada para él.

Se ahorró el cuestionarle nimiedades como “¿Qué haces tú aquí en vez del doctor?”, “¿Por qué no me mataste?”, “¿Por qué me estás ayudando?” o “¿Por qué no estás usando camiseta?”, limitándose a toser un poco, aclararse la garganta y obligar a las palabras a salir.

“Quiero sopa”. Murmuró con la voz ronca y debilitada, demandante pese a todo, teniendo una extensa guerra de miradas con Pierrot, quien pareció estar procesando lo que quería decirle. Tal vez no le había entendido, o simplemente no le daba la gana hacerle ese recado. Entonces, rindiéndose, Harlequin se las arregló para agregar un “¿Por favor?” con incluso menos auge que lo anterior.

El larguirucho lo tomó de la muñeca, usando la tela recalentada para continuar con lo que hacía antes, manteniéndose en silencio el tiempo suficiente para dar a entender que no haría nada de lo que le pidiera.

Para Harlequin, él ya había insistido demasiado, sintiendo como su ego le pinchaba el cuerpo por haber sido ninguneado de esa forma.

Chasqueó la lengua, desviando la cabeza en una dirección donde Pierrot ya no estuviera en su campo visual.

Tras varios segundos de caricias cómodas, el mayor tomó la otra extremidad y obligó a su compañero a voltearse para tener mejor acceso, deteniéndose en seco al escucharlo quejarse debido a la rigidez de sus músculos.

Lo más fácil para él, y posiblemente satisfactorio, habría sido fingir que no lo escuchó y seguir con lo suyo, sorprendiendo a Harlequin cuando rodeó la cama para estar mejor posicionado con respecto a su objetivo. Evidentemente, no faltó la cara de haber pisado mierda, aunque el de verde creyó escucharlo burlándose cuando nuevamente giró la cabeza para ni verlo.

¿Cómo esperaba que actuara? ¡Ese maldito tres piernas lo había humillado! ¡Le dará una lección en cuanto se mejore!

“Doctor dijo que no deberías comer hasta recuperarte”. Esclareció el de cabellos plateados, dejando a Harlequin algo confundido ante la repentina confesión.

¿No habría sido más fácil que se lo hubiera dicho desde el principio? Podría haberse ahorrado el pedirlo con educación…

Refunfuñando, Harlequin aceptó sus argumentos, fantaseando igualmente con el calor de una sopita bajando hasta su vientre. Tal vez solo se trataba de alguna excusa para seguir sin darle exclusividad alimenticia, mas tampoco tenía fuerzas suficientes para hacer una tormenta alrededor de eso.

“Podría pudrirse en tu estómago”. Como si fuera necesario seguir explicando, Pierrot soltó este detalle, dejando a Harlequin con una sensación de incomodidad al descubrir algo de sí mismo gracias a su colega.

Entonces, reflexionando en el cómodo mutismo que siguió a esas palabras, se percató de que Pierrot en verdad había estado atento a lo que decía el doctor con tal de no empeorar su estado, haciéndolo sonreír con arrogancia.

Habría sido tan fácil para él guardarse este detalle y envenenarlo, y escogió advertirle en su lugar.

Claramente, el engreimiento de Harlequin aumentó al sentirse indispensable para Pierrot, al menos lo suficiente como para que este no lo asesinara aprovechando su estado.

Ante esa mueca, el de mayor altura terminó con su cuidado básico y volvió a esquivar la cama para guardar las cosas, mirando desdeñoso a su paciente antes de taparlo con su manta.

Harlequin se sintió un poco desanimado por ello, puesto que la sensación había sido demasiado agradable, quedándose confundido al ver como Pierrot se abrigaba y se acercaba a la puerta.

¿Qué va a…?

Su cuerpo actuó antes de que él siquiera llegara a descubrir los planes de Pierrot, obligándolo a sentarse en la cama, aguantándose el dolor corporal que le causó el movimiento repentino. Vio su propia mano aferrase a la ropa opuesta antes de que estuviera fuera de su alcance, conteniendo la respiración en una espiral de dudas.

Ambos se quedaron en silencio ante esta acción, puesto que Pierrot posiblemente solo estaba ahí por petición de Doctor, y Harlequin había estado actuando todo el rato como si le molestara su mera presencia.

Se mantuvieron así por un tiempo, mirando los ojos del otro con la misma intensidad de una presa y un cazador haciendo contacto visual.

Sentía que se volvería loco si no decía algo pronto.

Tragándose su orgullo como si no tuviera otra opción, el moreno continuó reteniendo la tela, esforzándose por no hacer una cara patética mientras preguntaba: “¿Te vas?”

El larguirucho observó los dedos de Harlequin firmemente cerrados sobre sus prendas, sonriendo con sorna al responderle con otra interrogante: “¿Quieres que me quede?”

¡Agh! ¡Este imbécil se había vuelto demasiado creído!

Harlequin chasqueó la lengua, soltándolo con cierta brusquedad, casi como si buscara expulsarlo.

Pierrot se encogió de hombros, cruzando el umbral y cerrando la puerta tras de sí.

Entonces, en la soledad y el silencio, Harlequin se percató de un pequeño detalle: El día anterior no habían hecho nada. O sea, teniendo en cuenta que el exterior se veía radiante, no podía tratarse del mismo día. Quizás Pierrot lo estuvo cuidando toda la noche, quizás incluso se saltó la hora de la cena, el desayuno y el almuerzo con tal de asegurarse de que su temperatura no bajara, quizás había perdido el interés en él por verlo vulnerable y estorboso.

No, no, no. Pierrot no lo dejaría de lado tan a la ligera, ¿verdad? Es decir, ellos tenían una compatibilidad demasiado buena… pero existía la posibilidad de que, como se reunían exclusivamente para tener sexo, si no conseguía brindárselo, Pierrot podría descartarlo.

Podría incluso estar buscando a alguien más en este momento.

Harlequin sintió una punzada dolorosa en el pecho, respirando con agitación mientras se acordaba de todas las humanas que hasta ese momento le habían dado completamente igual.

¡Al carajo! Que Pierrot se podría enamorar hasta de una piedra si esta lo trataba bonito. Estaba jodido.

Cubriéndose con la manta, Harlequin obligó a sus piernas a levantarlo de la cama y correr (a ritmo de tortuga) fuera de su caravana. Para este punto, Pierrot debía estar algo lejos, pero el frío no iba a detenerlo. Iría tras él y…

¿Y qué? No tenía derecho a reclamarle. No eran nada.

Puta vida. ¿Por qué estaba tan sentimental? Esta actitud melosa no era digna de él.

Y saberlo no le quitaba las ganas de buscar a Pierrot y soltarle alguna excusa para que se quedara a su lado…

Qué ridiculez.

Con sus músculos tensos esforzándose por recordarle que no debería estar haciendo esto, Harlequin se apresuró a abrir la puerta, apenas llegando a bajar un par de escalones antes de toparse de frente con el imbécil al que planeaba perseguir algunos segundos atrás.

Este, mostrando la misma confusión que el prófugo, no perdió tiempo a la hora de cargarlo y volverlo a meter en su habitación, arrojándolo sobre la cama como si eso fuera un escarmiento por sus actos impulsivos.

Harlequin le soltó veinte insultos en portugués que Pierrot ignoró con facilidad, ofreciéndole un vaso con agua que logró acallar al menor.

El líquido estaba tibio, lo cual sirvió para que el de verde se sintiera hidratado sin que sus entrañas se congelaran.

¿Para eso había salido? ¿Para traerle algo de beber?

Harlequin sintió sus mejillas ardiendo al ser atrapado en su búsqueda teatral, cubriéndose con las mantas lo suficiente como para esconderse por completo e igualmente poder dar más sorbos a su bebida.

Estúpido. ¿Para qué había hecho tanto drama si iba a volver en menos de dos minutos?

Si hubiera tenido las fuerzas para eso, el moreno le habría saltado encima con la intención de jalarle las greñas hasta que en verdad se arrepintiera por rebajar a un hombre enfermo.

Porque, claro, ya lo entendía. Estaba actuando así por la fiebre. No había otra opción posible.

“¿Por qué saliste?” Pierrot tomó el recipiente vacío de las manos de Harlequin, volviendo a llenarlo con una jarra.

Por su lado, el de lengua bífida intentó forzar a sus neuronas a inventarse esa maravillosa explicación que hacía unos instantes planeaba lanzarle. Su mente se quedó vacía, no queriendo decir algo que lo hiciera hundirse todavía más en lo absurdo.

Cuando pasaron varios segundos sin respuesta, Pierrot dejó el vaso con más agua en la mesita de noche, desplazándose como si planeara marcharse otra vez.

Harlequin no sabía si volvería, y ya se había degradado bastante como para insistirle.

Tenía que hacer algo para que se quedara.

“Follemos”.

Pierrot giró su cabeza hacia él a una velocidad que casi lo hizo preocuparse porque se hubiera roto el cuello, mirándolo incrédulo, casi perturbado.

Sus pensamientos parecieron aceptar la proposición, puesto que sus mofletes se colorearon un poco, pero retrocedió a la hora de la verdad, haciendo una expresión culposa antes de negar con la cabeza. “Doctor no estaría contento si se enterara”.

El moreno apretó la mandíbula ante la manera en que lo estaba rechazando, mencionando a un tercero para quitarse las culpas de encima.

Obviamente no le gustaría enterarse. ¿Y qué? No es de su incumbencia lo que haga con su cuerpo. ¿O era que estaba buscando excusas para dejarlo? Distanciarse lentamente de él hasta que no quede nada que los una. Tener una dudosa relación que no se base en el odio ni en la pasión, sino en la camaradería obligatoria que compartía con los demás.

Dejar de tener peso en su vida…

“No se ha enterado hasta ahora. Nadie lo ha hecho. ¿Qué es diferente?” Su voz remarcaba lo frustrado que estaba, haciéndolo fruncir el entrecejo, molesto consigo mismo por desafiar la máscara de coqueto irresponsable que tanto se había esmerado en crear.

Pierrot bufó, cruzándose de brazos y viéndolo con incredibilidad. “¿Te estás escuchando?” Sí, ya. No necesitaba recalcarle lo innecesaria que era toda esa discusión. Solo cierra la boca. “Estás enfermo. Casi mueres ayer. ¿Necesitas que te explique eso?”

Ojalá su pecho dejara de oprimirse cada vez que intentaba dejarlo ir. Eso definitivamente resolvería todos sus problemas.

Pero NO. Tenía que seguir arrastrándolo a situaciones que, años atrás, lo habrían hecho burlarse de sí mismo y compararse con esas señoras mayores fanáticas del drama.

Claro, eso significaba que debía mentir descaradamente para seguir saliéndose con la suya.

“Mi habitación se enfría fácilmente”. Se excusó, removiéndose bajo la manta como si estuviera tiritando. No inventaba su entumecimiento, puesto que había salido y sido abrazado por el clima invernal, aunque tampoco estaba tan mal como antes.

Pierrot lo observó fijamente, preguntándole con la mirada qué tenía eso que ver con él, forzándolo a argumentar su patraña. “Y las serpientes no generan calor por sí solas”.

El más alto abrió la boca, dispuesto a protestar, deteniéndose en seco.

Se humedeció los labios mientras sus ojos analizaban el cuerpo oculto de Harlequin, terminando por rodar los ojos y soltar un ruido de rendición, igual que si estuviera realizando un sacrificio universal.

Con aparente desgano, levantó las mantas y se deslizó junto a su compañero, cediendo a sus caprichos al dejarse desnudar apresuradamente por él.

El calor en la tienda de campaña improvisada crecía con cada prenda retirada, aunque era difícil decir si se debía a sus respiraciones acumuladas o la forma en que sus cuerpos reaccionaban rápidamente a los roces del otro.

Pierrot casi podría jurar que, pese a que sus movimientos eran lentos por el frío, Harlequin mostraba una urgencia inusual, como si buscara llegar al punto de no retorno antes de que el de cabello plateado pudiera arrepentirse.

Y eso debería estar haciendo.

La víbora había insistido, pero aquello estaba mal, ¿no? ¿Y si lo hería por estar acostumbrado a la rudeza? Sería demasiado evidente: el enfermero cargando con la culpa de la cojera del paciente. Los descubrirían, y Jester se reiría de él por la forma en que estaba “haciendo las paces” con su enemigo jurado.

Intentó apartarse, buscando una posición más cómoda para ambos, siendo detenido por los brazos del bífido aferrados a sus hombros.

Tendrían que verse las caras, entonces.

No era su culpa que Harlequin fuera tan… convincente. Siempre lograba que volviera por más. Tal vez porque había sido su primera vez, y esa marca nunca se borra.

Verlo pavonearse por ahí, con su trasero insinuándose, era una tentación imposible de resistir.

Pese a sus pensamientos intrusivos, Pierrot se vio a sí mismo devorándole la boca con la misma audacia de noches pasadas, hasta que se obligó a detenerse al recordar el estado de su amante.

Harlequin mantuvo sus manos firmemente cerradas sobre su nuca, dándole a entender que no quería parar ahí.

Y Pierrot tampoco, mas entendía que no podían precipitarse como siempre, así que optó por otros métodos.

“No voy a meterla”. Murmuró, sus labios rozando los de Harlequin mientras hablaba.

El menor pareció dudar ante su proposición, terminando por acceder tras una corta reflexión.

Pasaron horas así, explorándose con una intensidad distinta. Sus cuerpos no estaban juntos al mismo nivel de sus otros encuentros, aunque los suspiros de Harlequin transmitían un alivio sincero que Pierrot no terminaba de entender.

No estaba retorciéndose, gimoteando o pidiendo más a gritos, pero definitivamente estaba siendo sobrellevado por el acto, arqueando constantemente su espalda ante las atenciones de Pierrot.

En la penumbra que le brindaba tener los ojos cerrados, Harlequin ignoraba la mirada persistente de Pierrot, que lo estudiaba en busca de cualquier signo de dolor o incomodidad.

Pierrot se convencía de que no era preocupación, sino simple precaución para evitar problemas con sus superiores.

Harlequin no significaba nada.

…

Entonces, ¿por qué se quedó a dormir con él en vez de marcharse?

Vínculo

Cuando Harlequin apoyó más de su peso sobre él, sin la mínima consideración por el (inexistente) daño que podría estar causándole, Pierrot no tuvo otra opción aparte de rendirse y ser su colchón viviente, ignorando que ambos se encontraban recostados en su cama.

En cuanto acabaron sus respectivas funciones, el bajito se había colado en su caravana con la misma confianza que el dueño mismo, quitándose un par de prendas estorbosas antes de obligar a Pierrot a ‘descansar’ y posteriormente colocarse a sí mismo en la cima de la jerarquía, restándole importancia a que el mayor todavía tenía gran parte de su traje cubriéndolo.

Disimulando considerablemente su comodidad ante la cercanía, Pierrot se dejó arrastrar por sus pensamientos, enrollando un dedo en los rizos de Harlequin y acariciando suavemente su espalda baja. Estaba esmerándose en despeinarlo sin que este se diera cuenta, parpadeando lentamente con tal de observar su rostro con más detenimiento.

Le parecía extrañamente adorable la forma en que fruncía el ceño al quejarse de lo inútiles que eran los tontos, la forma en que su sonrisa se curvaba mientras presumía cuán radiante había estado durante su función, como se callaba y le prestaba toda su atención al notar que se demoraba mucho en responder. La conversación iba prácticamente en un solo sentido, algo común entre ellos, pero Pierrot se sentía partícipe debido a la forma en que Harlequin le daba relevancia a sus breves afirmaciones o negaciones.

El momento parecía un poco demasiado idílico, haciendo que Pierrot se cuestionara de dónde había salido ese filtro rosa y meloso que rodeaba al de verde.

Pese a que el menor estaba despotricando sobre lo irritante que había sido encontrarse a un niño correteando por el circo, gesticulando con una mano como si dramatizara cada palabra, el de cabello plateado apenas lograba seguirle el hilo. Respondía con monosílabos en los momentos oportunos, cuidando que su distracción no se notara.

En realidad, lo que lo mantenía atento no eran las quejas del menor, sino la forma en que jugueteaba distraídamente con los cascabeles del sombrero de Pierrot, moviéndolos con suficiente suavidad para que no interrumpieran su monólogo.

Su mente no paraba de divagar sobre la forma tan casual en que Harlequin se encontraba recostado sobre su pecho, preguntándose en qué momento su voz había pasado de ser insoportable a algo necesario para que su día se sintiera completo.

Inconscientemente, se relajó bajo el peso de Harlequin, manteniendo el contacto visual pese a que el mensaje que intentaban transmitirle había pasado a segundo plano.

Sus ojos continuaron analizando a Harlequin, lo poco que la posición en que se hallaban le permitía ver, sorprendiéndose a sí mismo al encontrarlo mucho más atractivo que antes. Tentador en un sentido nada saludable. Comparable con una adicción, como si fuera digno de rezos y alabanzas.

Parpadeó con fuerza, preocupándose algunos segundos al no lograr librarse de esa visión maravillosa, terminando por convencerse a sí mismo de que no tenía nada de malo.

Es decir, siempre lo había calificado como un sujeto agradable a la vista, aunque…

Fue abrumado por un escalofrío, suspirando al recordar el motivo por el que antes se sentía incómodo a su alrededor, sintiéndose un poco culpable por olvidarse de un hecho tan relevante.

¿Qué tenía en la cabeza? ¿Cómo podía dejarlo pasar tan a la ligera? ¿Se había dejado convencer por un año de encuentros acalorados?

En un intento por defenderse a sí mismo de la falsa Columbina que lo juzgaba con la mirada, Pierrot se justificó con que, de hecho, ya no hacían leche condensada a la mínima oportunidad que tenían.

Últimamente eran más civilizados; se reunían para charlar de temas banales, dormían juntos simplemente porque sí, se daban besitos de buenos días y buenas noches. A veces solo se quedaban uno junto al otro, sin decir nada, acercándose lentamente hasta que sus manos se entrelazaban.

Cosas normales para hacer con el tipo al que odias…

Por algún motivo, el larguirucho sintió una punzada en el pecho ante esta última reflexión, acusándose internamente de ser un traidor en el IMPOSIBLE caso de que, quizás, ya no despreciara tanto a Harlequin.

Qué va. Estaba malinterpretando las cosas. Mejor escuchar al duende verde para distraerse de esos pensamientos estúpidos.

“Y entonces, después de que mi show terminó, esas chicas de antes se me acercaron para pedirme mi número de teléfono. Ni que tuviera uno”. Se mofó, notando el discreto cambio en la expresión de Pierrot, mas no lo mencionó. ¿Mujeres buscando la atención de Harlequin? No era nada del otro mundo, pero igualmente se irritó un poco al enterarse. Definitivamente eran ciegas si no habían notado que esa cobra rastrera ya tiene dueño. “¿Crees que debería llamarlas? Podríamos llevarlas a algún callejón oscuro y cenar. Es una cita”.

Pierrot le dio un ligero golpe en la frente, indignado porque siquiera pensara en tener contacto nuevamente con ellas, aunque se tratara de una trampa beneficiosa para ellos.

Recordaba lúcidamente como Harlequin solía estar en esas andanzas de seducir humanos y hacer cosas con ellos, fastidiándose debido a la territorialidad común en él.

Entonces, con un subidón de ego capaz de borrar cualquier complejo o molestia, recordó que el moreno ha sido exclusivamente suyo desde que empezaron… lo que fuera que tuvieran, apenas pudiendo ocultar su sonrisa victoriosa al saber que pudo y sigue complaciendo al más putero del circo.

Harlequin acarició la zona lastimada, regañando a su amante por agredirlo sin sentido.

Al parecer, ya se había olvidado de todas las puñaladas que recibía a diario, y, curiosamente, el más alto no sintió la necesidad de recordarle sus viejos tratos.

En realidad, ya no se veía a sí mismo agrediendo nuevamente a Harlequin. Al menos, no con la intención de matarlo.

Puede que darle un pequeño escarmiento de vez en cuando, reavivar la pasión que traen las peleas y la rivalidad, pero con límites y varias precauciones que nunca planeaba revelar.

Antes de darse cuenta, se vio a sí mismo dándole un corto beso al lugar que había golpeado con sus dedos, mostrando una expresión de sorpresa similar a la del moreno.

Maldita sea. Actuó porque quería aliviar su dolor, pero tampoco buscaba tratarlo como a una novia.

Los latidos de su corazón se aceleraron un poco al saber lo íntima que había resultado su acción, percatándose del leve sonrojo en los mofletes de Harlequin, sintiendo a su vez el pulso descontrolado de este debido a la nula distancia entre ellos.

Podría parecer una bobería para cualquiera, pero eso definitivamente había sido algo, sobre todo teniendo en cuenta que el afecto estaba centrado en los labios o las áreas… especiales.

Se apartaron como si el mínimo contacto fuera el equivalente a mil agujas incrustadas en la piel, sentándose a una distancia respetuosa, impactados.

Pierrot apenas podía tolerar el ardor creciente en su rostro, intentando calmar sus pensamientos, que le repetían en bucle el terrible vengador que era.

Esto está mal. Muy mal. Debía tener un agujero en el cerebro. Un embrujo.

No pensaba que Harlequin tuviera esa clase de conocimientos, pero viniendo de él, siempre era adecuado esperarse lo peor. Posiblemente le había hecho un amarre con tal de mortificarlo por el resto de su existencia.

Tomando aire, tenso, Pierrot encaró a su compañero, poniendo todo de sí en no enredarse con las palabras por culpa del nerviosismo. ¿Por qué actuaba como si fuera a preguntarle algo prohibido?

“¿Qué me hiciste?” Soltó en un tono poco planeado, tembloroso, contentándose con que al menos fue entendible.

El de verde lo observó algunos segundos, perplejo, medio ofendido al no saber de qué se le estaba acusando. “¿Ahora? Nada”. Prácticamente cambió de opinión al momento, mostrando su clásica sonrisa socarrona a la vez que acercaba su mano al muslo del mayor. “Aunque si quieres que empiece a hacer algo, solo dime qué—”.

Pierrot lo agarró de la muñeca con una fuerza ligeramente mayor de la necesaria, deteniéndolo a la vez que le decía con la mirada que quería tener una conversación seria con él.

Harlequin cedió, guardándose una protesta cuando el de rojo lo soltó, claramente huyendo del tacto.

“No me refiero a eso”. Rectificó Pierrot, haciendo que Harlequin rodara los ojos debido a lo obvio que era. Agradeció que el más alto no lo notara, puesto que parecía verdaderamente afectado por lo que estuviera pasando por su cabecita. Con un semblante poco optimista, Pierrot se giró completamente hacia su compañero, contagiándole un poco de su inexplicable temor. “¿Qué me hiciste, Harlequin? Porque yo no soy así. Yo no...” Se interrumpió a sí mismo, sabiendo que era demasiado vergonzoso terminar la frase.

Es decir, era una ofensa a su historial el asumir que se había vuelto dependiente de Harlequin. Que lo extrañaba cuando no estaba cerca, que se ponía celoso al verlo hablando muy animadamente con otros, que podía imaginarse fácilmente un futuro a su lado, siendo capaz de descartar todo lo ocurrido en el pasado como un simple error.

Milagrosamente, Harlequin empezó a corresponder su estado meditativo, guardándose las sonrisas para después de esta conversación.

A fin de cuentas, solo le quedaba esperar que terminara lo suficientemente bien como para que todo su tiempo juntos no fuera tomado como un chiste.

“¿Por qué hablas como si esto fuera mi culpa?” Murmuró, recibiendo una mirada extrañada por parte de Pierrot. “Tú fuiste el que empezó a preocuparse por si me lastimaba. Tú fuiste el que dejó de empujarme después de tener sexo. Tú eres el que me busca cuando no voy contigo”. Su corazón revoloteaba al liberar todas esas pequeñas acciones que había percibido, manteniéndose ligero gracias a la falta de rechazos del mayor. “Yo solo te ofrecí un cuerpo. Tú decidiste quedarte con algo más”.

Pierrot abrió los ojos de par en par, consternado por lo sincero que estaba siendo Harlequin. Por la forma en que hablaba, casi parecía que estuviera confesando algo que ambos evitaban, pero el más alto prefería seguir negándolo.

¿Qué es ese ‘algo más’?

Negó frenéticamente con la cabeza, acunando su rostro con sus manos. “Yo no quería esto… ¡yo te odiaba!”

Harlequin hizo una mueca agridulce, colocando su mano a modo de consuelo en el hombro de Pierrot. Agradeció mentalmente que este no lo apartara. Su orgullo le habría impedido volver a intentarlo.

Tampoco sería la primera vez que mintiera, en esta ocasión, para no exponer más de lo necesario. “Y yo a ti”. Le ardió la lengua al decirlo, tragándose esa amargura. “Pero aquí estamos, Pierrot. Jodidos los dos”.

Guardaron silencio un rato, observando diferentes rincones de la habitación como si las respuestas a su drama estuvieran escondidas por ahí.

Entonces Pierrot agarró a su colega del brazo, sujetándolo con dedos temblorosos, viéndolo como si temiera que se marchara al asumir que esta relación era muy problemática de mantener.

“Dime que no soy el único que se siente así”. Suplicó con un hilo de voz, aferrándose a Harlequin cuando este se acercó a él para abrazarlo. Consolarlo igual que todas las noches en que la memoria de Columbina se superponía con algún rostro similar.

No fue necesario ningún discurso de consuelo. Bastó con que el menor lo estrechara entre sus brazos algunos minutos para que Pierrot calmara su ansiedad, intentando disimular al secar varias lágrimas acumuladas en sus cuencas.

Por esta vez, Harlequin prefirió no echárselo en cara, dando un par de palmaditas en su espalda sin la verdadera intención de separarse.

Fue Pierrot quien rompió el contacto, apartándose solo lo necesario para volver a recostarse y abrir los brazos en dirección a Harlequin, invitándolo a que fuera él quien recibiera su cobijo.

Este accedió sin rodeos, recostándose nuevamente contra su pecho, suspirando de alivio al sentir los brazos del mayor envolviéndolo.

“Esto está mal”. Incluso con esas palabras rondando entre ellos, Pierrot enterró su rostro en el cabello de Harlequin, apretujándolo contra sí en un desesperado intento por asegurarse que no se marchara de su lado.

“Lo sé”. Harlequin tampoco parecía interesado realmente en la moralidad de su relación, estirando su mano para acariciar suavemente la mejilla de su amante. “Pero no vamos a dejar de hacerlo, ¿verdad?”

Pierrot ni siquiera dudó. “No”.

Por mucho que pudiera llegar a despreciarse a sí mismo por ello, no podía negar que este sinvergüenza se había colado en su subconsciente al punto de tenerlo como prioridad.

Incluso si lo intentara, sería arrastrado de vuelta por su aroma disperso en cada rincón de su caravana, su risa estridente al lograr fastidiarlo, la forma en que sus acciones constantemente se revelaban contra sus arrogantes afirmaciones.

Él no era Columbina. Nunca lo sería. Pero eso estaba bien.

Tal vez lo prefería así…

Fin.

¿Les gustó la historia?

¡Sí! Fue increíble.

No estuvo mal, supongo.

Estaba culera.

Voting ended onMay 16

[fool-of-love]

Hi lovelies! Truly didn't mean to leave you all with nothing for so long, I became suddenly very busy with work and had a few health complications, but I will soon be able to give you something tasty, hopefully!

My current main project is the Harlequin x Everyone fic (which is proving to be surprisingly difficult to write, considering how my own interpretation of a few of the characters has changed) and I feel like I owe you all a little tease!

[blacktulipam]

Run your mouth [Eng version] | GreenApple |

Author: BlackTulipa (Me)

Language: English

Chapters: 13

Description:

Harlequin "saves" Pierrot instead of MC, and now the taller one owes him a favor (according to Harlequin).

This is purely fan content made by fans for fans. ☟ ☞ The characters belong to Neko Bueno, or nekoboydreams on Tumblr! ☜

Warnings: ۵ The characters may not be entirely faithful to canon in some parts. ۵ Ship: GreenApple (Pierrot x Harlequin). If you don't enjoy this pairing, you can look for a fanfic that suits your interests. ۵ No sexual content (neither implicit nor explicit). ۵ Slow-paced story (possibly with some filler). ۵ There is no MC. ۵ Open ending.

Link to support on Wattpad: Run your mouth

This post is going to be very, VERY long… take your time.

Taking Advantage of the Circumstances

Handing out flyers is crap.

Humans tend to ignore you, threaten you with pepper spray, or even insult you for no reason, as if your mere existence around them were offensive.

Clearly, they wanted to blame them for the pile of papers scattered everywhere, but it was the humans themselves who spread them inside shops and tore them off walls just to stomp on them.

Still, Harlequin, determined to keep his feline elegance, limited himself to smiling and accepting rejection, wondering internally what had those weaklings so worked up.

It was obvious nothing noteworthy ever happened in that place. Damn it. Weren't they used to people disappearing overnight? What a nightmare. Stopping in that pathetic little town was going to be hell.

Deciding that interacting with the locals was a waste of time, he opted to sabotage a few businesses, plastering their windows with ads. He found it hilarious-until he noticed strange movement out of the corner of his eye.

He peeked just in time to see Pierrot being shoved by some random guy, insulted and accused of things they honestly did do.

The man's complaints dragged on longer than Harlequin could watch without getting bored, surprised when the taller one did nothing to defend himself.

No one did anything, really.

Was he planning to just let himself be trampled? Where was the Pierrot who panicked and annihilated everything around him?

The man kept threatening lawyers and police, while Pierrot avoided his gaze, fists clenched in a visible attempt to keep an indifferent face.

Harlequin was starting to get irritated.

It didn't look like anything interesting would happen. Pierrot would protect the circus's reputation, even at the cost of his dignity, so the green one could just ignore it and move on...

That would definitely be the most reasonable choice.

Instead, he took a deep breath and walked calmly toward the guy. He tapped his shoulder twice to get his attention, striking a pose like a bow.

The man spun around sharply, startled by how easily Harlequin loomed without truly invading his personal space, his expression meant to be calm but looking threatening.

"Sir, I'm sorry if you've had any inconvenience with my companion, but his role prevents him from speaking." He paused, subtly stepping between them, keeping the man's focus on him. "It's not right to pick on someone who can't defend himself." He felt hypocritical saying it, but was relieved when a couple of bystanders backed him up and the man stormed off, still fuming.

Good. Now he could brag to Jester about being such a good Samaritan, defending Pierrot from a whiny human. He'd probably exaggerate it, adding a sharp weapon and a victim begging for help-just to spice up the story.

Speak of the devil-he turned to mock Pierrot's surely pitiful, humiliated state, only to find an expression of confusion so obvious it was almost comical.

Oh, right.

Considering he was still healing from a stab wound Pierrot had given him just the day before, it was fair to assume Pierrot would feel out of place if his sworn enemy suddenly jumped in to defend him.

What excuse should he give?

Not even Harlequin himself had a damn clue why he'd intervened. Screw Pierrot. Right? He was a pathetic crybaby who, without someone to stop him, would've already killed the fork-tongued one multiple times.

Are you a masochist or something, idiot?

How could he spin this to make sure Pierrot was annoyed enough that it didn't look like an act of goodwill?

They'd stayed silent long enough for Pierrot to recover from the initial shock and feel the need to clarify his doubts.

Harlequin rushed to speak first, cutting him off before he could ask. "You owe me a favor!" He shouted with little planning, pointing at Pierrot instead of helping him up.

Pierrot quickly stood, stepping closer only so Harlequin couldn't snitch on him for breaking the mutism rule. "I don't owe you anything!" He hissed, poking Harlequin's chest with a claw. "What are you planning now?"

Phew... relief. He was playing along.

Harlequin shrugged, deciding he could stretch this new narrative a bit longer. He knew it would sting Pierrot's ego to owe him-even a ridiculous debt-and he'd definitely do whatever Harlequin asked, even denying the facts.

So, the green one chose to annoy him in a way far too elaborate for his usual antics: by asking for nothing.

I mean, what could he possibly want from Pierrot?

That bundle of resentment and depression did nothing but look for a replacement for what Harlequin had taken. He had nothing worth stealing.

Maybe he could ask for a temporary truce or small favors, but that was too simple...

He'd have to think it through. Savor all the possible scenarios where Pierrot would be at his feet, resigned to fulfill some petty whim.

So, he played it cool, letting the taller one drown in intrigue.

After looking him up and down without the slightest subtlety, Harlequin stepped back, letting Pierrot gain ground. Just this once.

"Oh. No, no. Debts get paid, darling." Just for laughs, Harlequin slapped one of his leftover flyers onto Pierrot's face, sparing himself from seeing his homicidal glare as he walked away. "And I always collect!"

What I Want

Just as Harlequin expected, Pierrot kept dodging that supposed debt a week later, still acting like he wanted to get rid of it.

It only took a little focus to catch him moving in the corner of his eye, noticing from the start how he constantly shadowed him, listening in on his conversations in secret, clearly wanting to end it without admitting anything.

Didn't he realize Harlequin was only playing with him? Testing the limits of what he'd do to escape that favor.

The green one, always eager to push further, made sure his victim of extortion was nearby, pestering Ticket Taker just enough to make his act believable.

All he had to do was speak in a spoiled tone, hinting he wanted something, and the object magically appeared in his caravan.

"I'd like a crocodile-skin coat." Jester rolled his eyes when he said it, sending him off with curses for interrupting.

Later he'd get an imitation, but that seemed fair.

"I'd like an extra mattress." Doctor vaguely replied they could afford it if they made more money at the next stops, then went back to his experiments.

Suddenly Pierrot looked tired and sore in the back, though Harlequin enjoyed his new bed.

"I wish I had one of Pierrot's daggers." The assistant in front of him, spaced out, only repeated her scripted monologue about helping circus customers, making the fork-tongued one purse his lips in mild annoyance.

He didn't want it at all, but was surprised to find it stabbed into his pillow-a clear threat.

He loosened his cape knot, swallowing hard. Now he'd have to ask for a new pillow...

The funny part, at least to him, was how easy it was to get these little offerings. All he had to do was tell Pierrot, with a mischievous cat grin, that they still had something pending-as if oblivious to all the gifts received.

The taller one, visibly burning through his patience, stopped responding after the third taunt, limiting himself to growls and eye-rolls.

Harlequin knew he couldn't milk this forever. Sooner or later, Pierrot would confront him, demanding directly what he wanted.

And that was an excellent question.

No matter how much he debated it, Harlequin couldn't find any request outrageous enough for Pierrot to refuse-and keep the fun going.

Maybe something physical? Ask him to stab himself, just enough to feel it but not lethal.

Or something humiliating-like showering Harlequin with compliments every time they met, or performing exclusive shows for him, dancing ridiculously and insulting himself until the snake was satisfied.

There was also the dangerous route. He could listen to his intrusive thoughts which, no matter how he tried to purify them, almost always ended in the obvious: he'd prefer something hot. But he knew better than to risk his skin like that.

So that's how things stood.

Pierrot acted relatively calm, stalking Harlequin to squeeze out information and stay ahead, while the "savior" basked in being the center of that giant's attention.

Of course, ignoring that sometimes the hunter becomes the prey-which happened one particular day.

The roles flipped when Harlequin saw Pierrot leaving Doctor's tent with a sour face, making him wonder if he could exploit the situation to find out what went on inside.

He was used to seeing them meet in private, but curiosity gnawed at him since the redhead never gave hints.

What did they do? Shock therapy? Illegal substances? Autopsies for gourmet ingredients?

He wouldn't be surprised if Doctor convinced Pierrot to be a guinea pig, testing drugs on him-especially since he was so resilient.

It felt unfair not to let him enjoy the show.

With light steps, almost skipping, the green one grabbed one of Pierrot's bells and tugged it to get his attention, letting go only when the taller one forced him to.

Hands behind his back, he leaned toward his colleague, laughing when Pierrot stepped back to keep distance. "What were you two doing?" He asked cheerfully, widening his grin when Pierrot shot him that look of contained disdain.

"What's it to you?" Pierrot spat, mimicking his tone, cutting the conversation as he turned to leave.

But Harlequin wasn't going to make it easy, trailing close.

"Well, I'm bored and curious. Who knows? Maybe telling me would be the favor that-"

Pierrot froze, tense, leaving Harlequin wondering what cruel words he'd unleash. The smaller one waited a few seconds, barely imagining a joke that never left his lips.

Unfortunately, he had to swallow his words along with a startled squeak when the tall one grabbed his shirt and shoved him into an empty tent.

As darkness fell over them, Harlequin fought to regain composure, brushing Pierrot's hand without trying to escape, stepping closer as he spoke in a low, almost intimate tone. "Oh, Pierrot. If you wanted it so badly, you could-"

Again, the silver-haired one cut him off, shoving him so hard he nearly hit the floor.

"I'm sick of you." He declared, his words dragging heavy on his tongue. "Ask. NOW."

Harlequin swallowed hard, raising his hands in truce as if that would stop Pierrot from lunging at him.

So no more stalling...

Thinking fast, he analyzed his surroundings, Pierrot, finally locking eyes on his face. The way his eyes narrowed the longer he delayed, his furrowed brow, his typically pale cheeks, his mouth twisted in that scowl crafted just for him.

Oh.

A lightbulb went off in his head, making him wonder why he hadn't thought of it before.

It was bold, no doubt, and Pierrot would never give it to him-not even if his life depended on it.

Simply perfect.

He took a deep breath, bracing himself for a few seconds before dropping the bomb.

"I want a kiss."

Consequences

Needless to say, the only thing he got for blurting out such nonsense was a violent kiss from Pierrot's knuckles, landing lovingly on the corner of his mouth.

Yes, he deserved it-but he hadn't expected the taller one's hand to be that quick, striking him the instant the sentence ended. Shit, he hadn't even had to think about it.

Did he disgust him that much? Incredible. And Harlequin was even making the effort to brush his teeth every day.

After a few seconds trying to adjust his jaw-and as if he had the right-Harlequin retaliated, ending up in yet another of their scorned-housewife brawls. Hair-pulling included, of course.

Their war cries grew loud enough to draw the attention of the circus's more sensible staff, who pinned them to the ground while Jester began listing all the reasons why they were basically trash and should be left to starve until they learned their lesson.

Or maybe Harlequin was exaggerating it in his head. Who knows.

The point was, since they clearly weren't willing to stop their childish fights, extreme measures had to be taken.

Harlequin didn't want to know what could be worse than mopping every tent after performances, left blank when one of his wrists was cuffed to Pierrot's.

Neither said a word, staring at the object binding them.

Pierrot looked almost ready to cut off his own hand just to escape the nuisance.

Unlike him, the smaller one had to suppress a smile at the macabre way this tied them together, pretending it was torture for him.

"Get along for a week and we'll release you." The leader concluded with a cynical but tired smile, leaving the pair alone with their new obligation-mainly, not breaking the chain by accident.

It didn't take a genius to see the punishment was about humiliation, forcing them to do everything together.

The comfortable and the uncomfortable. The ugly and the pleasant. Even the most private things could come to light, but clearly the boss was tired of counting to a thousand.

He probably saw it as an innovative chance for them to get to know each other better and patch holes in their relationship... or he planned to risk everyone by including Harlequin in certain activities.

And there he was-helping in the kitchen, though everyone knew his mere presence there was a bad omen.

Pierrot didn't know whether to focus on keeping the green one from touching anything or on making sure the food was prepared properly, choosing the latter every time his partner blew him a kiss, referring back to the earlier conversation without considering that the taller one had far too many knives at hand.

Harlequin could hear the irregular melody of metal, clattering whenever the cook emphasized his actions, noticing he was stirring something without needing to check.

He smiled maliciously at the thought of yanking the chain suddenly, but left the idea aside-Pierrot wouldn't spare him if he wasted food.

That big guy could use a few extra pounds anyway...

Deciding he didn't want to remember why Pierrot had eating issues, Harlequin let himself drift into thoughts-memories of freedom, fantasies about chains and his focused companion-unconsciously pulling back when Pierrot extended his hand, opening and closing his fingers as if asking for something.

The green one raised a brow, realizing Pierrot wasn't even looking at him.

"Give me the sugar." The long-haired one clarified, grumbling as if his assistant were psychic.

Harlequin grimaced in disgust when he peeked and saw they weren't making sweets, rummaging among condiments until he found one to "improve" the chef's request.

"You're putting sugar in soup? Gross." Then, pretending to follow the order, he handed him chili powder, covering the container with his hand and making sure to brush Pierrot's fingers in the process, knowing it would distract him from checking.

He felt the heat of his skin, heightened by the steam, noticing a slight tremor before Pierrot quickly pulled away.

As expected, the taller one shot him a look of disgust and suggested-because it wasn't a request-that he never do that again, sprinkling a bit of red powder before realizing the trick.

He turned slowly toward Harlequin, gripping the container hard enough to crack the glass, starting an uncivilized attempt to throw chili in his assistant's eyes.

Luckily, Jester popped in just in time to keep the dark-haired one from lifelong blindness, forcing them to pretend they were best friends.

He watched them closely, smiling when he saw nothing out of place. Then he left, oblivious to the vein about to burst on Pierrot's forehead.

Pierrot didn't continue his revenge, shoving Harlequin aside to grab what he'd asked for himself, handing him a meat mallet with equal disdain.

The smaller one figured annoying Pierrot was no longer an option, snorting when he was given the material to work with.

He was bored-even though his only task was pounding boiled meat with a mallet. He did it half-heartedly, tempted by the texture of the unmashed meat.

He popped a piece into his mouth, deciding the taste was too bland... but maybe, with a little salt...

Completely different.

Pierrot was behind him, miraculously not noticing his cheeks stuffed with the new flavor. Fixing his mess was apparently more important than checking Harlequin's work-something the snake took advantage of until he realized he'd left almost nothing on the cutting board...

Damn it.

Pierrot finally noticed the lack of movement behind him, only needing a glance to see the missing meat and the grease on Harlequin's lips.

The smaller one made a quick gesture to calm him, swearing it wasn't intentional, barely dodging a frying pan aimed at his head.

Once again, the racket they caused was enough to alert their companions, and Jester, seeing they'd made a mess in the kitchen this time, was forced to release them and cut their food rations.

He hoped fatigue would calm them down a bit.

Rations

With the vitamins in hand and a face like he was chewing raw worms, Harlequin weighed the different options available to escape his torment: Option 1: Take them one by one and endure the textures and flavors piling up in his mouth. Option 2: Swallow them all at once, risking that they'd get stuck in his throat (again). Option 3 (the most tempting): Wait until no one was watching and toss them into a bush, even knowing it would mean a long, energy‑less day.

He cursed the fact that Jester, instead of properly apologizing for starving them, handed out those disgusting pills as "supplements." Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath before trying a new strategy: chewing them.

The result was even worse than everything before, and it was a huge relief when Doctor handed him a glass of water. It didn't erase the repulsive taste coating his tongue, but at least he escaped the ordeal without throwing up.

Maybe life would be better if he just ran away...

His dying groans were cut short by an unusual chuckle. Harlequin spun around instantly, more annoyed than curious, and found Pierrot openly enjoying his misery.

The taller one flipped him off and walked away to carry out the boring morning task, casually remembering that debt imposed weeks ago.

Harlequin knew Pierrot wasn't going to pay it, and every reminder ended with him beaten up, so for now he planned to let it slide.

Clicking his tongue, he covered missing‑person posters with circus flyers, scolding himself for not asking for something truly worthwhile.

What good had his prank done except leave him starving all day? If he'd known it would end like this, he would've forced Pierrot to treat him to dinner. Maybe, after enough wine and meat, Pierrot would've been comfortable enough to join him in his caravan, chat, get closer, and...

He smacked his forehead a couple of times, trying to chase away the filthy thoughts creeping in.

There'd be time for that at night.

(...)

After a couple of hours, with the heat rising and fatigue gnawing at him, Harlequin sat in an alley to enjoy the shade, cursing the lack of any breeze to cool him down. He figured it'd be better to move somewhere more open, but froze when he noticed who was approaching.

Pierrot, with "dehydration" written all over his face, was trudging in his direction, head down, too exhausted to even notice the younger one. Clearly on autopilot, probably heading back to the circus, judging by his empty hands.

He was definitely suffering more than Harlequin under the forced diet. If it was already hard to believe blood reached his brain, anemia was only going to finish him off.

Or maybe the guy in green was exaggerating and Pierrot was at a healthy weight-but it was hard to tell with all those layers of fabric.

At the snail's pace he was moving, the bifid had plenty of time to plan how to check his width, hiding mischievously in the alley.

When the older one passed by, Harlequin lunged to grab his belt, freezing when he felt how thin his torso was. Even he wasn't that skinny. A heavy pang hit his chest as he realized Pierrot was in that state because of him.

He was always dragging him into trouble, pestering him until Pierrot fought back, and both paid the price for it.

The guilt distracted him until Pierrot smacked him on the head-hard, but not as hard as usual. More reason for Harlequin to sink into self‑criticism, wondering what would happen if a group of humans surrounded the silver‑haired one and he couldn't defend himself in such a weakened state.

There had to be some way to make things right...

"How dare you hit me when you can't even return a favor?!" he snapped, relieved to see anger flicker back into Pierrot's expression as he adjusted his tight clothes and started walking away. "Can't you at least buy me dinner as compensation?!"

He waited for a reaction, but Pierrot was already too far.

(...)

That night, before the shows began, the snake barged into Jester's caravan without asking, shamelessly ordering Ticket Taker to leave so he could talk privately with the boss. The circus heads exchanged looks, and the bicolor finally obeyed after receiving a nod from the purple‑haired one.

Harlequin plopped down on Jester's desk, crushing what were probably important papers, striking a "sexy" pose that only earned him a disgusted glare.

"Hey, bossy." He greeted, leaning toward the group's "mother," grinning when Jester rubbed his forehead. Amazing-he was already stressed, and Harlequin hadn't even done anything yet.

"If you're here to cry about Columbina again, I'll tell you the same thing as always: you weren't in any position to choose, and we've all forgiven you." With that, he shoved Harlequin off with some force, silently mocking him as he landed on his ass.

Indignant, the brunette stood and slammed his hands on the desk, acting demanding.

"I want to make a deal with you."

Jester raised a brow, curious about the sudden desire.

"We're not handing out more pink tickets until the next city."

Too bad. Knowing him, he'd use that to torture them for a few more days.

"That's not it..." Harlequin muttered, glancing around carefully, as if someone might be hiding under the table. "I want you to give part of my rations to Pierrot." The words tumbled out fast, his cheeks heating with embarrassment at saying such nonsense.

He'd asked for worse things without shame. Why did this make him blush?

"Oh! No way." Jester looked at him with the same tenderness reserved for a child learning to speak, though he couldn't hide his twisted grin. "Did you say it backwards? I think you meant: Give me part of Pierrot's rations." Harlequin snorted at his childish tone, shaking his head. "Seriously? What a miracle. Why?"

Harlequin hesitated, knowing the leader would catch any lie instantly, but he'd rather throw himself into a lion pit than confess the truth. "I think I'm gaining weight."

The vaguest excuse of the century. Jester scanned him up and down, dissatisfied, but shrugged and agreed.

"Trying to win Pierrot's friendship?"

Harlequin stiffened, frowning. "Don't you dare tell him! He doesn't need to know about this conversation." Sweat trickled down his back just imagining what the lanky guy would do if he found out. He'd probably think the green one was trying to poison him or something, and that would only make things worse.

Better he believed it was his boss's goodwill.

Jester narrowed his eyes, watching Harlequin sink quickly into nerves. "Answer me truthfully." He ordered, overwhelming the younger one with his piercing stare. He was starting to feel dizzy. "Why do you want to help Pierrot all of a sudden?"

Harlequin swallowed hard, blinking rapidly and shaking his head, relieved to break free of the trance.

He avoided his superior's eyes, annoyed at the lack of trust. "I'm not as bad as everyone thinks..." And he rushed out, feeling even more offended when he spotted the ungrateful red one a few meters away, drinking water like his life depended on it.

Fury drove him to kick the back of Pierrot's knee, making him collapse unprepared. The water spilled, soaking them both-and Ticket Taker, who was unlucky enough to be standing in front of Pierrot. The ticket man scolded Harlequin harshly for ruining his outfit and tattled to the boss when Jester came to ask what happened.

Visibly exhausted after hearing about the new prank, Jester flashed Harlequin a disturbing smile. "Since you don't learn, your rations will go entirely to Pierrot for three days." Then he winked, acting like he was doing him a huge favor.

That bastard was just doing whatever he wanted!

Harlequin protested the decision, since he never intended to go as far as starving himself. Naturally, everyone ignored him, leaving him to wonder if he should go back to his roots and hunt a wild boar.

Wander

⚠️ Warning! Mild mention of themes that may be uncomfortable for some readers (Blood and corpses). Read with caution.

— ꓾ —꙾ ꙼

Jester often got creative with punishments, expressing a sadism that revealed his morbid delight in keeping control at all costs, regardless of how much it complicated the lives of those around him. The one who most often endured the tortures of his twisted mind was Harlequin, the group's young soul, who tended to believe he knew it all and that no one could tame him.

He had been convinced of that—until recently.

It was now the third day of his forced fast, and hunger had calmed him to the point where he looked like the walking dead.

Since Jester had nothing but malice in his heart (according to the green one), he also forced him to sit at the table, making him watch them eat, rubbing in his face that it could be him if he stopped messing around.

Even Pierrot looked uncomfortable, eating timidly without daring to meet the eyes of the companion they had sacrificed in his name.

Harlequin was glad at least he looked a little better. Not like him, who, despite being mistreated by his "mother," was still forced to work. The purple-haired one hadn't allowed him to leave the circus since his new punishment began, knowing he might faint. He had to be grateful for that small consideration. Instead of handing out flyers, he was forced to practice his acts, help design sets, and above all—meditate.

What crap. As if connecting with the universe would fix his life.

Trying to ignore the irritation building in his head, distracting himself from the sound of chewing, the dark-haired one let his gaze wander to the dismembered corpse on the table, thinking he was starting to hallucinate. Columbina's face appeared in place of whoever that person was—though Harlequin knew it wasn't possible, since it was a male body.

He clicked his tongue, thinking her ghost had waited for this moment to mock him, grabbing a table knife and stabbing it into the corpse's eye.

Everyone fell silent at the sudden act of violence, watching him with a mix of curiosity and concern.

Harlequin's hand trembled, still holding the utensil, tongue clicking as he stared at that mocking face laughing at his descent into madness.

"I'm so hungry I could eat Columbina again." He spat, more to insult his hallucination than to be heard—only realizing he'd practically shouted it when Jester shot up and slapped him.

The younger one took the blow without protest, knowing the weight his words carried for Pierrot, who now stared at his piece of meat as if it were speaking to him.

No insults, no argument, nothing.

Jester, after looking at him with disappointment for a few seconds, simply ordered him to start organizing the sets.

(...)

Watching blood color the water irritated Harlequin—not only because he had to keep changing it to finish his task, but because at that moment he would've licked it off the floor if it gave him any relief.

He wet his lips, letting the metallic smell fill the place, imagining the texture of a delicious steak, realizing the boss might forbid him food for another day for giving in to his schizophrenia.

He sighed, cursing himself for that stupidity.

He barely survived thanks to sneaking food now and then, but he was tired of it. Snacks didn't fill him, and he was increasingly tempted to pounce on cashiers.

He slammed the mop against the floor, offended when the red liquid splashed everywhere, adding to his work.

He was about to discreetly call some fool to help when he felt a presence behind him, praying Jester hadn't discovered his intentions.

"Why do you keep bothering Pierrot?" The voice was slow, patient, but clearly tired of the subject.

The dark-haired one kept mopping the bloody floor, whistling a made-up tune to ignore his superior's question. It almost seemed like he'd waited for this moment to corner him.

Jester scoffed at the ridiculous attempt to ignore him, elegantly stepping on the mop handle to force his attention. "Harlequin, you were too cruel. Pierrot was calm until you said that... can't you let him breathe a little?"

The snake nearly rolled his eyes, holding back knowing his superior wouldn't take it well.

Sure, it would be easy to leave the silver-haired one to reflect, heal, and move on—but what about him? He got bored easily, and Pierrot's hostility was the only thing keeping him upright, the only way he felt he deserved nothing but repulsion.

He cleared his throat, shrugging, trying to act disinterested.

Fortunately, he had plenty of excuses to give without sounding like a regretful fool who hated himself, excuses true enough that Jester couldn't tell he was lying. Still, those purple eyes on him dried his mouth, making him wander.

He almost felt like his mind was being read, the typical headache creeping in before becoming a stranger in his own body, sending a shiver down his spine.

He thought of summarizing his feelings in cheap truths like "I like his angry face," "It's his fault for being easy prey," or "It keeps me active since I have to dodge his attacks constantly," desperate to avoid that debt that, in some way, kept Pierrot tied to him. It was a shame he no longer gave him gifts, since the request had been made—but it felt good to have some power over Pierrot. That's what he liked to think.

At the same time, he knew it was better his superiors didn't find out. He didn't know how they'd take it.

When silence dragged too long, since Harlequin practically forgot to answer, Jester snapped his fingers in front of his face, startling him.

The leader leaned closer, tilting his head without breaking eye contact, pressing more weight onto the mop. Harlequin didn't let go, lost in the gaze.

"Don't you think he'll end up hating you at this rate?" Instead of contempt or accusation, the snake heard a trace of sorrow in his words, leaving his mouth slightly open.

He analyzed the message, forcing his face to stay indifferent as he realized one detail: Pierrot doesn't hate him yet?

He understood because Jester spoke as if it weren't the case, but rather a growing nuisance twisting into something impossible to smooth out. Still, in the unlikely case it was just bad blood, what could he do to fix it?

He knew Pierrot wouldn't accept any apology, no matter how he explained, justified, begged, or let him vent everything...

His expression had turned serious before he noticed, eyes lost in the reddish fluid drying on the wood.

"I don't think anything will change if..." He murmured, stopping mid-sentence, breathing heavily as if snapping back.

He looked at Jester with a hint of terror, who returned a curious gaze. Harlequin was grateful it was just his dissociation and not the long-haired one invading his mind. Again.

Trying to erase his reaction, he put a hand on his hip, acting arrogant.

"If he can't handle a simple joke, he won't get very far." He concluded, suddenly exhausted, waiting until Jester moved his leg so he could continue his work.

Clearly, the "mother" of the group wasn't satisfied—but that wasn't his problem.

Both turned when Ticket Taker revealed his presence, arms crossed with a smug look like he'd solved a mystery. "Are you afraid Pierrot will leave you if he stops belittling you?" His tone was as confident as his face, forcing the younger one to think fast, cornered.

He kept his cocky pose, pretending to be offended by the second-in-command's statement.

"Instead of worrying about me, you should start putting stricter age limits. An old man slipped in a puddle and yelled at me for hours."

Desires of Unreachable Things

For the first time, Harlequin was glad to leave a town, associating it with the immense amount of misfortunes he had suffered there. He returned only to release his pent‑up stress, throwing leftover flyers at any villager he came across and cursing them loudly. Their surprised and angry faces were delightful to him, especially when the same man who had harassed Pierrot appeared in the crowd looking for a fight.

He gave him a well‑choreographed slap and left satisfied, skipping away, too ecstatic to even consider they might seek revenge against him.

Once he reached his destination, wrapped in an aura of radiant euphoria, his good mood was shattered by a simple order from his superior: Help Pierrot dismantle and transport the equipment.

He was already sick of seeing the tents after all the hours he had spent cleaning them in recent days—and now he had to take them apart too? It sounded gratifying in theory. In practice, it meant fighting with anchors, tangled ropes, the risk of being trapped under canvas... wait—with Pierrot?

He was sure he'd heard right, and his boss didn't look like he was joking.

"I didn't think you were so eager to bury me." The green one crossed his arms, clicking his tongue in disappointment, wondering if his employer had planned this just to force him to spend time with his enemy.

The leader, too relaxed for Harlequin's taste, smiled smugly, patting his shoulder lightly. "I need to see if you'll behave without starving you."

Harlequin instantly acted offended, shaking off the spot dramatically. "How dare you?! You know that lunatic will kill me the moment we're alone! I won't go!" The narrowed eyes of his superior made him step back. Now he had to choose between Pierrot's claws or Jester's sadism—the answer was obvious. "This is abuse of power! Keep in mind I'll come back from the dead to haunt you!"

Grumbling about how annoying it was to meddle in his way of solving problems, Harlequin went looking for his nemesis, who stared at him with growing confusion as he approached.

Truth be told: he was terrified.

He only pretended to be tough in hopes Pierrot wouldn't jump at his throat. And since nothing happened when they locked eyes for several seconds (face to face thanks to Harlequin standing on tiptoe), he assumed he was safe.

Pierrot sighed, ironically breaking the silence. "Looking for something?" He turned his face away, cheeks faintly colored, though Harlequin missed it.

Holding back the cliché line about maps and getting lost in his eyes, the snake snorted, snatched a box from Pierrot's hands, and placed it with the others. Then he sat on it, playing the tragic victim.

"The boss wants us to work together." He put a hand to his forehead, fake‑sobbing without tears, making Pierrot roll his eyes at the bad performance.

Pierrot picked up a hammer lying nearby, making Harlequin tense, assuming he'd be hit with it. Instead, the long‑haired one avoided closeness, clearing his throat.

This is weird.

"In that case, stack the seats from this tent into that truck." He pointed with his head toward the vehicles. "I'll take care of dismantling the stage."

Harlequin blinked, unsettled. Why wasn't Pierrot hysterical about having to endure him for hours?

He even seemed indifferent.

Had Doctor drugged him? Had Jester threatened him? Had Ticket Taker scolded him? Or was he simply too depressed to care?

Testing reality, Harlequin pinched his arm, then tried to pinch Pierrot's. The silver‑haired one slapped his hand away and ordered him to work, forced to keep an eye on him since Harlequin constantly tried to escape.

Reluctantly, the younger one continued, sticking his tongue out at Jester whenever he checked on them. Jester even praised them for being "good boys," earning looks of disgust.

Pierrot, meanwhile, worked hard to avoid facing his companion, moving quickly whenever Harlequin came near. The snake assumed he was holding back from beating him, remembering Pierrot's horrified face at his message to the corpse.

Still, Harlequin kept pressing.

How could he resist when having that giant flee from him was the most fun in the world?

By pretending to help, Pierrot would scurry like prey. By acting lazy, Harlequin got the opposite—mocking glances, sometimes even casual touches.

Pierrot was like a boomerang, always returning, and Harlequin felt this day would be remembered more fondly than expected.

Perhaps that pressure was why they finished relatively early, granted freedom before departure.

Pierrot climbed a hill to relax—listening to the birds, smelling flowers, watching the sunset. Who knows, typical "pretty boy" stuff. And of course, Harlequin followed, as if he had nowhere else to go. As if this were the only place he wanted to be.

Miraculously, the red one didn't protest when he sat beside him, disappointing the snake, who expected his invasion of personal space to make him nervous.

Instead of throwing him out, the older one kept his gaze fixed on the horizon. On the town they were leaving behind.

Curious, Harlequin searched with his eyes for whatever had Pierrot so absorbed, snorting when he found nothing relevant. "What are we looking at?" he asked, squinting as he leaned a little closer, pretending he wanted to analyze the scene better.

Pierrot stayed calm, fixing a strand of hair blown by the wind. His companion followed the movement with delight, swallowing the teasing remarks that would have exposed his admiration.

"I feel like I missed something..." Pierrot confessed softly, sounding a little downcast.

Annoyed for no apparent reason, and instead of appreciating the attempt at emotional openness, Harlequin rolled his eyes, muttering sarcastically, "Sure, the love of your life."

That broke Pierrot out of his indifference, making him face the dark‑haired one with a frown and a look that screamed: Son of a bitch. I'll cut out your tongue, cook it, and make you eat it.

That's how the snake interpreted it.

"What do you want?" Pierrot asked dryly after a long stare‑down, during which Harlequin shamelessly let his eyes drop to Pierrot's lips, smiling every time the silver‑haired one grew angry and looked away.

Harlequin shrugged, leaning a little closer, lowering his voice. "You still owe me something." He touched his own lower lip with the tip of his claw, tilting his head at Pierrot's almost nonexistent reaction—just a disinterested glance and a slight movement of his throat as he swallowed. "And even if I had better things to do, I feel like being here."

After looking at him like a terminal patient, Pierrot smirked slyly, making the younger one paranoid about whatever he might spill. Dirty secrets, surely.

"Jester told me." He confessed, turning his face away while his smile trembled, trying in vain to hide a faint blush.

Harlequin fell silent, reflective, wondering which of his secrets had come to light. Which one could make Pierrot react like that—victorious and embarrassed at the same time?

He had to go through several of them, feeling his cheeks burn as he remembered the most recent. He nearly choked on the air he breathed, blinking repeatedly. "Rations...?" was all he managed to say, cursing himself for speaking in such a weak voice. Pierrot nodded, making the green one want to strangle his boss for gossiping. "I don't know why you're so happy. Now you owe me two favors!" he shouted, trying to escape public humiliation—only to be shoved hard enough to roll down the hill.

Once the dizziness from the somersaults passed, he cursed Pierrot for leaving him covered in dirt and grass, only to freeze when he focused on his face.

He had a smile unlike any other; not forced, tense, or polite, but radiant. Authentic.

That he was mocking him didn't matter. Harlequin's chest fluttered, greedy to be worthy of that feeling.

If only...

Sadly, ecstasy couldn't last forever. It ended when Pierrot came to his senses and walked away.

(Supposedly) Without Favoritism

The passenger seat window was half open, making the air feel a little more stagnant than it should.

Harlequin tended to lean half his body out during long rides, reminding himself that the world wasn't just those hard seats. But sitting next to Jester, that wasn't possible. His boss's braids had come undone several times thanks to the gusts, and he wasn't willing to risk an accident with all that hair flying in his face. So they settled for a single window cracked open.

That way the air circulated, and the green one could content himself with sticking his head out. But it didn't ease the guilt pressing on his chest. Every so often, he shot Jester a judgmental glance, which the leader pretended not to notice in order to keep the peace.

Of course, they'd already had too many talks about expressing feelings openly and not bottling up negative emotions. Which gave Harlequin free rein to refuse to keep his mouth shut.

He leaned closer to his superior, even frowning at him so he couldn't play dumb about the subject.

"Why did you tell him?" His tone was accusatory, one arm draped over the driver's seat. He knew it would cost him, but he wanted to intimidate him-or at least make him understand that being the boss didn't give him the right to talk behind his back.

He didn't know what to think when Jester smiled for an instant, as if recalling something tender. Then he hesitated-or so it seemed, with the silence before a confession.

"Pierrot asked me why I'd been so cruel to you." He glanced away from the road for just a moment, checking Harlequin's face, now frozen in confusion. "I mean, why I chose to leave you without food for three days just to give it to him, since normally I'd just reduce your rations."

Harlequin felt a shiver overwhelm his ribs, imagining the possibility that the silver‑haired one had worried about him-only to quickly dismiss it as mere curiosity about unusual events. Surely he just wanted the reason so he could mock him with evidence.

Recovering from the mini heart attack, he clicked his tongue, pressing closer to the older one without caring if it distracted him. "So you're going to break my trust just to please that crybaby?"

Jester let out a brief "hmm," reacting as if he'd just realized how close they were.

"Did you enjoy your quiet time with him?" he asked back, not so gently pushing his companion's face away without taking his eyes off the road.

Embarrassed by such a low blow, the snake bit his tongue and growled, crossing his arms dramatically. "That's not the point!" The memories of that afternoon were still fresh, stirring feelings Jester had no reason to discover. He swallowed hard, praying not to be caught thinking about it. "And I'm not answering you either, in case you go and tell your golden boy."

The leader rolled his eyes, drumming his fingers on the wheel. Harlequin feared he'd exhausted his patience and pulled back a little, just in case.

"I'm sorry," Jester finally said, leaving his companion speechless. "I shouldn't have said it without your consent, I get that." Harlequin heard the accelerator pressed and released, his boss looking both regretful and determined. "But I didn't see another way for you two to get along." He gave him a scolding glance, relaxing only slightly. "If you'd just stop pestering him and talk like normal people, you'd be the best of friends."

The snake snorted, sticking one hand out the window to knead the wind.

He didn't want to be Pierrot's friend.

He'd already tasted that cake, and the flavor was too sour. Too empty. At the same time, he didn't feel he had the right to be anything more. He was walking scum. That's why he made sure to ruin everything whenever things started to go well. It would be too painful to have him around without being as close as he wanted, or to influence him, contaminate him until he became something else.

As selfish as it was, he wanted him just as he was: unhappy, moderately healthy, and, thankfully, far away.

After a few seconds reflecting on those stupid feelings that haunted him as much as guilt, he sighed, stroking one of his exposed horns. "We're not people."

Jester made a brief grimace at the reminder, nodding in agreement. "You're right," he conceded, breaking the somber air by ruffling Harlequin's curls with his free hand. "And so you don't whine, I'll make it up to you with a good meal. Wait until we reach the next place."

"Are you trying to buy me with food?!" he accused, struggling to free himself from the hand, fixing his hair with his fingers once he escaped. "I want a huge steak, or I'll eat Pierrot!"

The older one held back from joking "you've done similar things", simply making a sound of acceptance.

The atmosphere returned to calm, almost boring, so the scaly one stared out the window, ignoring his colleague's sudden shift.

"You... do you care about Pierrot?" The leader tried to be careful, hesitant-surprising Harlequin, whose brain processed the words slowly.

"What do you mean...?"

He guessed it wasn't good when the older one practically mocked him, covering his mouth to calm himself. "You're too obvious."

"Shut up!" the passenger blurted, panicked as if Pierrot were right there. Noticing his superior's angry look, he was forced to growl a "sorry," starting to gnaw on one of his claws, wondering if he'd been expressive enough for him to notice.

Only now did he realize he'd been too open when asking for that kiss, but he hoped Pierrot had taken it as just another attempt to ruin his day.

They spent a while listening to the roar of the engine and the breeze through the window, each lost in their own thoughts, until Jester grew tired of the negative emotions consuming the dark‑haired one.

"Do you want to spend more time with Pierrot?"

Harlequin snorted. "Are you going to read my mind if I don't answer?"

"Of course." His tone showed it was only a joke, but it mortified the younger one anyway.

He pressed his forehead against the glass, ignoring how the vehicle's movement kept knocking him off balance. "Cheater," he muttered with a childish pout, stopping to look at his reflection. He looked nothing like her. No soft features, no gentle eyes, no naturally angelic voice. Next to her, he was a damned demon. "I just wish..." The words died instantly in his throat, trapped by his clenched jaw.

Jester assumed he was about to sink into self‑criticism again, determined not to let him in his presence.

"At the next curve, you'll be driving."

The victim of his tricks jolted at the new task, rising from his ashes.

"That's not fair! Pierrot spends all his time sleeping while we drive!"

"He doesn't have a license."

"Why don't you make him a new one?! He's just using that excuse to slack off!"

"Pierrot works harder than you."

"Stop playing favorites for once!"

They were wrapped in silence again when Harlequin hugged himself, grumbling, scanning for a bush soft enough to jump out the window and land on.

"I don't prefer either of you. That's why I push so hard for you to make peace." He reflected on his own words, clearing his throat to correct something. "To make peace with yourself."

The green one narrowed his eyes, annoyed at having his sanity constantly questioned.

As revenge, he struck a coquettish pose to reinforce his insinuations, smiling at Jester as if he had him in the palm of his hand. "If you want Pierrot and me equally, do you feel the same way about Bil?"

He was about to laugh at his boss's cheeks coloring at the innocent question, but the emotion vanished when he heard the reply. "If you have energy to chatter, you can start driving."

"NOOOOO!!!" He reacted as if his uncle had been shot, but his complaints fell on deaf ears.

Don't Touch Me

The tents were already set up, the audience swarming the space like ants exploring a candy shop, and everything pointed to yet another typically boring night of shows. Same stories, same acts, maybe one or two events worth mentioning-but in the end, the same old chatter.

Harlequin was finishing getting ready when he heard Jester calling him from outside his caravan, asking him to come to his own once he was done. He rolled his eyes, wondering what he could possibly want.

He knew perfectly well he was free of reprimands, and he'd kept his venom away from the big guy so he wouldn't start the week fasting. That made him curious about this summons. In other words, he doubted it was anything good, coming from the purple one.

He took his time arriving, opening the door while announcing himself with a chant, pulling a face like a dog chasing motorcycles when he spotted the unwanted third wheel in the room.

Had Pierrot made up some story to ruin his good mood? Damn it. He was worse than him.

"It wasn't me." He declared firmly, staying at the entrance with his arms crossed.

Jester and Pierrot exchanged confused looks, shrugging simultaneously before the boss gestured for Harlequin to come in.

He did so reluctantly, glaring at the lanky one, still convinced by the theory he'd invented in his head.

"I wanted to inform you of the decision I've made." The green one was about to ask if Bil's, Doctor's, or even their opinions didn't count at all, but his superior cut him off. "You're going to have a joint act tonight."

The younger one didn't take even a second to burst out laughing, treating it like some kind of cruel joke. When Jester didn't join in, his throat went dry, and he made sure not to look at Pierrot, afraid of what his expression might be.

He was grateful he hadn't been stabbed on the spot.

"Seriously? What garbage." He tried to act like he wasn't rattled, putting a hand on his hip and discreetly wiping sweat from his neck. "Am I supposed to tell a story while this tragic guy throws knives at me?"

He heard a small growl from the older one, swallowing a sigh of relief when no retaliation came.

"It can be whatever you want." Jester pulled out a thick, slightly dusty book, possibly meant for learning the language of their next destination. "Decide together."

Striking a pose as if several spotlights were on him, Harlequin made sure to show off all his charm and potential, ready to throw streamers over himself if he had them.

"No need, since whatever we do, I'll end up stealing the spotlight." His ego spoke for him, fading slowly as he noticed Jester's look. It wasn't the usual implicit threat-it was more like a pleading, miserable please, try. He sighed loudly, dropping his shoulders with disdain before finally turning to Pierrot. "What do you want to do?"

He watched his companion put a finger to his chin and furrow his brow, adopting a thoughtful pose for barely a second before smiling without shyness. "We could tape you to a wheel and spin you, plus blindfold me while I throw daggers."

With more confidence than usual, the younger one gave him a light smack on the side, hearing him let out a chuckle. "Don't say that! The boss might actually grant you the wish!"

Pierrot gave him a gentle shove, staring off into nothing, maybe imagining that catastrophic event.

Once Harlequin noticed the faint itch in his palm and the absence of a beating, he was tempted to ask why the silver‑haired one had been so... receptive? Indifferent? Tame?

Why was he acting like nothing was wrong?

Knowing it was best for his physical safety, he kept it to himself, straining to remember the last time they'd had direct friction without it ending disastrously.

"You both have to agree." The manager clarified, looking slightly irritated at the small gaps in the pages. He closed the dictionary and set it in a corner of his desk. "And no violence."

This time, the threatening tone came from him, glancing between them, waiting for innovative proposals.

Ticket Taker broke the uncertain atmosphere by poking his head through the door, showing a confidence that caught the younger one's attention.

"Have you decided yet? The shows must start soon."

So the two‑tone one was in on this scheme too? What bastards. They were like a mafia of gossiping old ladies.

"They're working on it."

"May I suggest something?" He assumed the silence that followed was acceptance, stepping elegantly into the room. "Why not do a synchronized dance? You're both... flexible."

"Do you mean ballet? How disgusting. I refuse to dress in pink and hop around."

"We can still go back to the knife war."

"Do whatever you want." The leader cut them off, rubbing his forehead without worrying about stretching the skin. "Either way, we already announced there would be an experimental show. If you fail, we have the excuse."

Harlequin was a little surprised at how thoroughly Jester had planned to ruin his night, leaving the room irritated with Pierrot at his back.

How much chance did he have of escaping if he tried right then?

The long‑haired one was behind him, walking in the same direction, since all the scattered flyers on the ground pointed to a specific tent-the one where this "new" show would take place.

Why hadn't he noticed while handing them out?

Once they entered backstage, keeping a cautious distance, he asked Pierrot what he planned to do, growling when no answer came.

All he could do was wait to be called onstage and improvise, hoping it wouldn't end with him making a complete fool of himself.

During his warm‑up exercises, he noticed the presence at his side shifting, thinking he saw him approach out of the corner of his eye. His suspicions were confirmed with a quick glance, causing a thunderous pounding in his chest.

Damn. He was so close.

Not right next to him-he could stretch out his arm and still not reach-but it was strange that Pierrot hadn't fought to keep his distance. Not before, not now. Again acting like he didn't care.

What did he want? Push him as soon as they were in the spotlight? Make him trip until he ate dirt? Step in front to overshadow him with his body?

Part of his mind told him he deserved all that and more, but he refused to accept it.

Let it end quickly...

Jester's voice rang out as the curtain opened, announcing the start of the ordeal.

Harlequin was ready to go his own way, maybe flirt a little with the audience until he thought of something interesting-paralyzed like a frightened goat when he felt Pierrot's hand wrap around his wrist and pull him to the center of the stage.

The spotlight followed them there, making the rest of the place blur into darkness.

"What are you doing...?" the dark‑haired one managed to murmur, tense in an uncomfortable, painful way.

Pierrot, staying in character, refrained from answering, looking curious as he brushed a strand from Harlequin's face, destroying the space between them just as the music began to play.

The first thing the green one did was search for the source of the sound, exhaling all the air in his lungs when he felt the other's hand rest gently on his lower back, fingers intertwining, the warmth overwhelming all his senses, melting him like ice in summer.

What kind of trap was this?

He couldn't even resist the improvised waltz Pierrot seemed to want, wondering what rhythm to follow, since the pounding of his heart deafened his ears, making him timid and clumsy.

He could barely breathe without focusing on it, desperate to escape as sweat soaked him from nerves-quickly realizing that wasn't possible. Every attempt to pull away was interpreted, maybe not intentionally, as an invitation to quicken the pace.

Pierrot held him firmly before pulling him close, then torturously letting him go. Harlequin trembled when their bodies collided, avoided eye contact unless his chin was lifted to force his gaze upward, and could only be grateful the lights blinded him from seeing his opponent mocking him-for his helplessness, his fear, every repulsive feeling twisting his insides. He gasped, burning as a light squeeze on his waist forced him into a spin.

After the elegant pirouette, he fell back into the other's arms, miraculously finding the courage to face his nemesis.

Instead of the expected disgust, he was caught staring into eyes with an expression that, at that precise moment, he couldn't comprehend-feeling like he was trespassing where he shouldn't.

Shit. What face did he himself have right then?

He smiled weakly, pretending this was a choreographed performance and not emotional blackmail.

Still, determined to prove he wasn't just a mannequin to be moved at will, he tried to contribute to the dance-shuddering when the other's breath brushed his face during an unusual closeness.

He was sure Pierrot had noticed, and how could he not? His body shook like it was having spasms, and the arrogant smile aimed at him didn't help his confidence.

How embarrassing.

He feared the lanky one planned to end the act with a knife to the heart, just to add drama, clinging to his shoulders when he was gently dipped backward.

"Do you remember the debt?" The word was spoken with a trace of disdain, answered with a barely perceptible nod.

Of course he remembered-and cursed it-but he didn't understand what it had to do with this. His confusion turned to panic when he saw Pierrot closing his eyes, holding him so he couldn't escape his determination to torment him.

Harlequin struggled under his grip, pleading in a faint voice for him to end the farce, squeezing his eyes shut as he assumed he'd have to accept it.

The lights went out.

Run, Little Hare

I can't do this.

Harlequin felt the red one's breath stop just inches from his face, clearly distracted by the darkness that had fallen over them, and he knew this opportunity couldn't be wasted. Trying to break free from his grip, and with no better idea, he kicked him in the groin (or where he thought it was, since the sudden change in lighting had been too abrupt to see). He heard an agonized groan and slipped easily from the other's hold, running as fast as adrenaline allowed.

He could barely see his surroundings, hysterical, crashing into several people and knocking them to the ground-but he didn't care. Every instinct screamed at him to find safety, to hide, and he was too alarmed to remember not to act like a savage.

Once he felt far enough, constantly glancing over his shoulder for a pursuer, he didn't think twice before ducking into an empty tent, hiding behind some crates.

He hugged himself tightly, forcing deep breaths to process what had happened, collapsing again and again into the same question: Why was he trying to kiss me?

Knowing the nature of their relationship, and ignoring Pierrot's recent strange behavior, Harlequin decided he was only trying to settle the debt. But that made no sense. You don't try to repay a favor you've denied from the start-not him-and to attempt it in public...

What the hell was that?

Dance, touches, and then a kiss? How corny. All too sweet and syrupy, Pierrot‑style.

He was probably trying to humiliate him. Yes, exactly. He wanted everyone to see him as the submissive he wasn't-or simply make him look like a weakling who couldn't even decide who touched him. Disgusting, shameless bastard, grabbing him like that...

A shiver overwhelmed him as he felt the phantom touch of his enemy, vivid from the short time he'd had to recover.

Damn it. He was acting like a complete fool here. The situation couldn't even brush against eroticism, and there he was, trembling with nerves and pulse racing like cornered prey. That he hadn't coughed up his heart through his throat was the only point in his favor.

He tensed again, still defensive, when he heard footsteps approaching. If it was the lanky one, he unsheathed his claws and hid in a strategic spot, unwilling to let him continue where they'd left off...

What?

No. Harlequin wasn't some scared kitten. Besides, he himself had asked for that stupid kiss! He should just accept it and try to convince Pierrot to go further, not run away the moment he seemed even slightly willing to give him what he wanted.

He tried to relax his body, but it was useless when he discerned a figure opening the tent entrance.

By now his vision had adapted to the darkness, and he noticed the confused expression Jester showed for just an instant before their eyes met.

Neither spoke for a moment, and Harlequin tried to act like the tough guy who hadn't just fled from... physical interest, maybe.

"Are you okay?"

The snake's eyes widened, expecting any question or criticism, but never something so friendly. How sweet. One of the culprits of this situation worrying about the consequences. Someone give him a gold star.

Again, he tried to play the stone‑hearted one, minimizing the gravity of his panic attack. "Duh. I'm exhausted." Theatrically, he wiped the sweat from his forehead, scolding himself for how absurdly much there was. "I just came to relax."

"To the tool shed?"

"What's wrong with that? I want to learn tricks with saws, like cutting myself in half, you know." He raised and lowered his eyebrows suggestively, snorting at the long‑haired one's persistent seriousness.

Boring bastard.

"Was he crossing your boundaries?" Surprised by the constant hypocrisy, Harlequin wanted to snap that the main violator of privacy was his own leader, but he stayed silent when Jester came closer, looking at him with absolutely unpleasant pity. Don't pity me. That makes it worse. "You looked terrified..."

Predicting what seemed like an incoming hug, the green one pulled away from his superior and covered his face with his hands, wanting to rip it off from the second‑hand embarrassment invading him.

You didn't have to say it, boss! I already knew!

He sighed half the air in his lungs, slowly circling the older one to leave the place. He was starting to feel suffocated. "Well, if that brute grabbed you out of nowhere and bent you to his will, you'd be disgusted too."

"Your face definitely wasn't disgusted."

Harlequin rolled his eyes, annoyed that the purple one refused to drop the subject. He crossed his arms, grateful that his emotional frenzy had calmed enough for his voice to sound normal. "Stop exaggerating. It was nothing." It seemed he was trying to convince himself more than the one interrogating him, but luckily Jester let it slide.

He surely knew the snake wouldn't say anything, and wasn't going to insist on a lost cause.

Even so, he held Harlequin by the arm when the younger thought he could finally be free, making a brief grimace of aversion before letting go. "You should shower."

The younger one lifted an arm and sniffed himself without modesty, glaring judgmentally at his boss. "But I don't smell bad."

"You look like you've been in a sauna for hours."

...

Touché.

Harlequin could still feel the sweat cooling on his body, absolutely unpleasant, so he gave in, leaving while downplaying the older one's inquisitive look.

Knowing his solo show was coming up soon, he hurried to his caravan, searching for wet wipes in the mess of his wardrobe. Unfortunately, there was no river or lake nearby, so it was either that or renting a motel to wash up-and obviously one option was cheaper.

Oh, Jester. Damn cheapskate.

He stripped off his upper garments, standing in front of his full‑length mirror before starting to clean himself up. He had the excuse that he needed to get rid of every drop of sweat, rubbing a couple of wipes over his arms. When he reached his torso, he let out a snort at the number of scars there-some older than others, but at least none were fresh.

In fact, he'd gone more than two weeks without adding new marks to the collection, which was a record.

He traced the most recent ones, casually noting his overall figure, sticking out his tongue in disgust when he saw his waist wasn't narrow enough.

Columbina was thinner, more delicate.

He'd have to be literally skin and bones to reach that extreme, so no thanks.

He jumped when the door opened, alarmed at being caught in a vulnerable state. Things shifted a little when he met Pierrot's gaze-indifferent, despite half his body being exposed.

Blind fool.

He covered his chest with his hands, acting as if he were truly embarrassed to be found like that. They had shared changing rooms a few times, after all.

"Pervert~" he squealed, twisting 'shyly,' automatically throwing himself onto his bed and striking a blatantly suggestive pose, patting the empty space for the intruder to lie down.

Hopefully he wouldn't actually throw himself on top of him. He'd had enough with what happened earlier. And Pierrot too, judging by his long face.

Looks like he hit the mark.

The taller one gave his torso a glance-maybe-since it was so fleeting Harlequin doubted it had happened outside his imagination.

Then, cautiously, the silver‑haired one began closing the distance between them, ignoring how Harlequin tensed as his hand drew closer. It was hard not to notice how the green one looked at him-threatening, acting as if Pierrot's hand were a burning iron.

He was about to reach him when Harlequin pulled away, bristling like a startled cat.

Realizing he'd escaped even though nothing was actually happening, he pretended to act uninterested, desperate to avoid explaining why Pierrot's proximity made him feel insecure.

He was used to him coming close only to hurt him. They'd had that dynamic for so long there was no chance of magically getting used to being friendly-or whatever game the big guy was playing. That idiot didn't need to know; or rather, Harlequin had no intention of telling him.

The silence stretched too long, and it would be suspicious if he kept a hostile face.

Relax.

"What? Do you have hidden intentions with me?" he joked, realizing he didn't sound as much of a jerk as usual.

"Why do you pull away when I get close?"

So he noticed-and didn't care.

Harlequin shrugged, pulling out a spare costume so he wouldn't have to look at him. "It can't be anything good when it comes from you." He muttered the half‑answer, hoping he'd be satisfied with that, since he wasn't going to say more.

Pierrot gave him a brief look of disbelief, shaking his head. "Look who's talking," he whispered, turning to leave, stopping before ducking through the door. "Good luck with your show."

The younger one watched him go, cursing him for making him feel that way.

Pathetically defenseless.

Let Go of the Leash

Pierrot is distant.

It could be considered a good thing, since at least his withdrawal doesn't seem tied to some evil plan of revenge or hatred creeping back in. He simply looks lost in his own world, reflective, pulling his hips away from Harlequin's legs whenever the younger passes near him. Like a dog hiding its tail between its legs.

Clearly, the green one has taken full advantage of this privacy, pestering the older one knowing he's back to being defensive around him.

Though he seems guilty, in a way.

He doesn't go straight into fighting the snake for messing up his cooking ingredients, barely reacts to taunts or untimely shoves, and doesn't even get annoyed when cruel comments are thrown his way.

That indifference was so strange in him it felt like another person.

I mean, if his goal was to become as much of a bore as Jester, he was playing the role perfectly-since the chances of seeing him respond were as nonexistent as Doctor's scoldings.

And this, paradoxically, only irritated the snake more.

So had they reached the point where it wasn't even worth despising him? Did he really not care what Harlequin did anymore?

Harlequin didn't want to think that way-about his irrelevance in Pierrot's existence-but his new behavior suggested exactly that.

You screwed up, useless.

He was sinking into the shadows, starting to feel sad even though just days ago he hadn't wanted to see the red clown's face at all. It was unbearable to be ignored like this. Even disrespectful. First he tried to steal a kiss, and now he pretended he didn't exist? Excellent. He'd rip his lips off with a bite.

Grumbling, he shifted on the double mattress, squeezing his eyes shut and forcing his mind to go blank.

His hopes of forcing himself to sleep were in vain, since his head kept dragging him back to when the lanky one entered his room, when he came closer, the spark of guilt that crossed his eyes when Harlequin pulled away skeptically. At the same time, he knew that wasn't possible-not in a million years. He must have hallucinated from stress. Pierrot couldn't... shouldn't feel pity for him. It was humiliating that his own enemy might see him as a fragile‑minded creature.

Besides, why hadn't he mocked him instantly for his state? For running away.

He had everything he needed to destroy his self‑esteem and let it slide, leaving as if he were the one dragging unforgivable sins.

Or was he waiting for the right moment? Would he corner him in public again? Would he really act like a weakling and let him carry out his mischief?

Damn it, Pierrot. Do whatever you're going to do!

He jumped up, clawing at his pillow in a fit of frustration. Feathers scattered at his feet, soft and wasted, tickling as they fell.

Shit.

He took a deep breath, collapsing to his knees beside the bed. The mess would stay there until he felt like dealing with it, so he pressed his forehead to the mattress, letting his gaze drift into nothingness.

He wasn't sleepy.

Even less in the mood to seduce some human to burn off his energy, so he chose to leave his caravan and get some fresh air.

He assumed his companions were asleep at that hour of the night, so he didn't bother putting on anything more elegant than shorts and a t‑shirt, strolling calmly through the grounds. The breeze carried an uncomfortable chill that made his bare legs bristle, but he kept walking, noticing something creeping into his thoughts.

The beginning of something terrible.

Suddenly, the crickets' chirping became the most annoying sound on Earth, making him cover his mouth with one hand and bend forward, dizzy.

He knew that feeling.

He forced himself to stay upright, to contain the nausea clouding his vision. His breathing faltered with constant retching, and panic bloomed instantly as his lungs ran out of air.

Endure it.

...

Why did he always invent excuses to resign himself to suffering...?

The first time Pierrot stabbed him, the pain was so intense he couldn't hold back his screams. And he accepted it. He convinced himself it was the right thing. That even if that agony killed him, it was fine.

Columbina must have had it worse while being eaten alive.

You made that happen.

You should have died instead.

He shook his head violently, covering his ears with his hands and babbling meaningless excuses to drive away the thoughts tearing him apart.

It was painful-both physically and spiritually. Keeping on like this alone would destroy his sanity...

Right, Jester. He had to go to him so he could take them away.

Agitated, dragging his legs as if they didn't belong to him, he headed toward the purple one's caravan, hoping the headache wouldn't make him collapse halfway.

It wasn't far, luckily, but his body stopped obeying at the worst possible moment, making him fall on the stairs.

The door opened, but his vision went dark as voices faded away.

(...)

Silence isn't so bad, as long as it isn't accompanied by those memories...

What memories?

I... don't want to talk about it.

Why?

It doesn't work. They always come back. How many times do I have to suffer it before they get tired of me?

...

They'll never leave. That's why you have to overcome it.

Overcome it? Really? Do you think I haven't already? The past is past. It's not my fault that-

You have to forgive yourself.

...

I don't deserve it.

Then they'll never leave you.

(...)

The headache was almost gone, but his consciousness was still vague. Absent. Dancing between reality and drowsiness. He opened and closed his fingers, trying to grasp something to confirm he wasn't in another lucid dream, but he felt so detached he doubted he was really doing it.

What a drag. Better to sleep five more minutes.

"I don't know what to do with him anymore." The voice was barely a murmur, quiet, lost in a distance that could have been kilometers. Just clear enough to keep one ear attentive.

"What do you mean?" It sounded like a secret conversation, judging by the tone they shared.

"I just want them to get along..." He could hear the weakness in that plea, like a dying prayer. "I don't want to lose anyone else."

Anyone else?

What do you mean? No one's sick. We all eat enough to survive.

Please, Jester. Don't be dramatic.

How can I comfort him?

It's not my problem.

But you owe him.

...

Rest was impossible with so much chatter. Vaguely, his eyes opened, instantly irritated by the light shining directly on them. He let out a groan and tried to turn away from it, ignoring the movement outside his field of vision.

"Are you feeling better?"

Harlequin wanted to avoid being helped to sit up, but the world spun around him, so he allowed it.

Jester watched him closely, with the typical pity reserved for a run‑over dog.

The green one clicked his tongue, looking away. Showing up there had been a bad idea. He refused to deal with his leader's maternal instinct. "Tough as an oak."

Ticket Taker-who knows what he was doing there-joined the interrogation about his health, taking his wrist to check his pulse.

Fed up with this nurse‑and‑doctor game, the patient pulled away, slapping the mattress beneath him. "I said I'm fine! It was just dizziness!"

"And that's why you fainted on my porch?" The leader glared at him, grabbing his neck with one arm and ruffling his hair roughly, scolding him with insults for being so careless about his own health.

Harlequin had to kick and struggle to free himself from that punishment, standing up to prove his point.

He managed to stay upright purely by willpower.

"See?!" He pointed at his slightly trembling legs, hoping they wouldn't notice. "I'm not dead."

The two‑tone one placed a hand on Jester's shoulder, as if offering condolences.

Great. They were already planning his funeral.

Not wanting to hear anything else, he left, saving his thanks for when his boss was alone.

The worst part was he couldn't forget what he'd heard there.

Him and Pierrot getting along? What strange aspirations.

With all the crap he'd done to him, it was obviously improbable-and even more so with that stupid debt...

The big guy had almost kissed him because of it. A selfish, malicious obligation. His face had been unusual while trying. Maybe he was holding back disgust, and that's why his cheeks flushed so much, closing his eyes to avoid accepting what was happening. There was also the possibility he'd felt just as trapped as the younger one, and had chosen to drag him into that show so they could suffer together.

It was unbelievable he had to live it himself to understand the silver‑haired one's feelings. No wonder he hit him as soon as he proposed it. Damn weirdo. How could he even ask for that? Ugh.

He sighed, combing his hair back, assuming that reflection would join his pile of guilt if he didn't do something about it.

Alright, here's the plan: Apologize, don't insult, don't act like an idiot.

He knocked on Pierrot's caravan door, feeling his heart rise and fall every time he knocked and got no answer.

Too bad. Looks like he's not here. And he was actually trying-.

With the look of someone who'd just crawled out of the deepest hibernation, Pierrot appeared before him, disheveled and a mess overall.

A mess Harlequin would definitely punch for being too perfect if he didn't have other plans.

Unable to control his strength from nerves, he practically assaulted the sleepy one with the mattress that had originally been his, forcing him to take it.

"Take this trash. I don't want it anymore." NO! That wasn't what he meant to say! "I just wanted to make it clear you don't owe me anything anymore, pompous."

He was about to leave before losing all dignity, realizing he couldn't even manage three miserable steps, nearly choking when the long‑haired one grabbed his shirt to stop him.

"What do you mean?" His voice was a little rough and deep, very sexy, clearly fresh from sleep.

The dark‑haired one would have delighted in that sound, but he had to flee before his pride forced him to keep bluffing.

He cleared his throat, repeating the same sentence in his head to avoid saying something stupid. "Forget the debt."

Confusion was obvious in Pierrot's tired eyes, who looked completely incredulous-and with good reason. He knew Harlequin well enough to know he never left things unfinished, especially when he could use them to annoy him.

"Why?" was all he asked after a few seconds, almost sounding hurt.

The rational thing would have been to find an answer that was kind to his wishes and his usual venom, but Harlequin's mouth moved before he could stop it.

Because I don't want you to force yourself to do it.

"You disgust me."

Let's Be Honest

Pierrot blinked, noticing the fatigue in his eyes after spending the entire night staring at the ceiling. His back was grateful for sleeping on a mattress instead of the floor, though that didn't erase the strangeness that woke him every time he managed to drift off.

Had Harlequin hit his head?

The snake spitting cruelty was nothing new, but swapping his shameless flirting for an outright declaration of hatred? Something was wrong.

In truth, what bothered the red one wasn't the abrupt change in his colleague, but the timing of it. He thought Harlequin had finally matured and wanted them to understand each other-or something resembling a good relationship-so he felt like an idiot hearing him so openly state the feelings he had for him.

His urge to stab him had finally been giving way to the urge to grant his wish, and then that little brat told him to go to hell just as he decided to take the step.

Did he have something on his face? Was the timing wrong? Was it all just a joke dragged out too far?

Damn it, Harlequin had been visibly terrified, and he, insensitive as ever, thought he was just nervous. Pierrot was, at least, and knowing how that guy is, it was impossible to believe he could actually care about a kiss.

It wasn't like he was going to pin him down on the stage floor and do... indescribable things.

He sighed, knowing sleep would be an impossible luxury, so he got ready to start his day's tasks. He wasn't emotionally prepared for anything, so he skipped breakfast to avoid running into the dark‑haired one and went straight to Doctor's tent, observing it from outside.

Doctor hadn't been present during the events, and for some reason Jester and Ticket Taker tended not to stress him with the things happening behind his back, so Pierrot didn't know how he'd react to hearing about the mess he'd almost caused.

Well. With luck, he'd discover a drug for amnesia and kindly inject it into everyone.

Used to the place, he entered without asking permission, ignoring the mannequins that followed him with their eyes and settling into the torture chair in the center of the room.

Doctor emerged from the darkness shortly after, acting indifferent given how many encounters like this they'd had over the years.

He stood in front of Pierrot, staring at him.

It was hard to know what expression hid beneath his mask.

After a few seconds of uncomfortable staring, he politely moved him aside to strap a clearly drugged human into the harnesses at her wrists and ankles.

"Harlequin?" he asked, knowing that was the classic topic of conversation. He continued when his patient nodded. "Lately I've seen you two together more often. And not as violent as before. Any progress?"

Pierrot raised a brow, trying to dodge the question. He was a little surprised that, despite spending most of his time locked away with experiments, the raven had noticed their new closeness.

That is, the closeness Pierrot also thought existed.

"Nothing. Same idiot as always." He doubted his own words, reflecting on them in the silence that stretched between them. He toyed with a strand of his hair, restless, concluding that lying in the consultation was useless. That guy always knew more than he admitted. "Maybe not so much..."

Doctor seemed barely paying attention, busy calculating the exact amount of whatever he planned to inject into his victim. "What do you mean?"

Pierrot scratched his neck, hissing as if shame caused physical pain. "A lot has happened..."

"What things?" He took the small, fragile hand, turning it to administer the drug.

The silver‑haired one looked away, grimacing. "It's just..." He took a deep breath, forcing himself to let the words out. "I know it sounds unbelievable, but I was an idiot with him."

Miraculously, the hooded one turned to look at him, maybe while waiting for his guinea pig to react. "That's contradictory."

Absolutely agreeing, Pierrot nodded even without facing him, judging his feet since he didn't have the courage to lift his gaze. "I know! It's just... ugh." He covered his face with a hand, regretful. "Basically I set him up, but I swear it wasn't with bad intentions."

Ignoring him again, the taller one checked the woman's vital signs, seeming dissatisfied with the result. "Explain."

Pierrot interlaced his fingers and pressed his lips together, wondering how he could mention the events without sounding like a manipulative lunatic. "I..." He inhaled deeply, deciding to spill it all at once. "I convinced Ticket Taker to convince Jester to convince Harlequin that we should do a joint show, the two of us..."

For some reason, his chest hurt realizing all the steps he'd taken to end up with a failed mission.

With a hum, the pointed‑mask man crossed his arms. Then he nudged the body, demanding it meet his expectations. Nothing.

He gave up, eventually yielding his interest to the conversation with his companion. "That's not bad. It shows you're trying to break down the barriers between you."

The thin one opened his mouth for an instant, mind briefly blank. "That's not the problem." He clarified, scratching his cheek while avoiding eye contact again. "I tried to kiss him."

Despite the ridiculous way he dragged the vowels, his companion analyzed the message, looking focused.

"I understand." He snapped his fingers, suddenly showing he hadn't been talking to the wall all that time. "If I recall correctly, you told me he asked you to do it before, but you refused. What made you change your mind?"

Pierrot gave a little jump at the question, annoyed by how his heartbeat sped up. Why was he reacting like that? It wasn't even a secret. "I don't know," he concluded, clutching the fabric over his chest, scolding that treacherous organ. "I just wanted to do it, but it felt too strange. I thought I needed an excuse, and nothing better came to mind."

How awful. The worst part was that he didn't gag at the thought of pressing his lips against that crawling snake...

"I see. You wanted it to look like mere spectacle so you wouldn't have to commit to anything. Is that it?"

He shrugged, grateful the other's voice pulled him out of his train of thought. "It's complicated," he said simply, head down. Knowing Harlequin, he'd never want anything serious-especially not with the guy he'd been pestering to exhaustion. He was just playing with Pierrot's limits, and surely got bored of pressing the same button. "But I feel guilty now. I mean, I noticed he was defensive and still didn't let him go."

Doctor tilted his head. "Why?"

Something deep in his mind, a primal hunting instinct, stirred as he recalled the expressions on the green one's face-recognizing them as an irresistible desire and need to possess. He looked so vulnerable, appetizing, utterly irresistible.

He wanted so badly to bite him, mark him, claim him.

He snapped out of the trance when he noticed the saliva dripping from his mouth, questioning when he'd put on such a macabre expression.

He preferred to forget what happened in his involuntary fantasies.

Clearing his throat, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I felt like I had control for once."

"I suppose that's normal." Pierrot was immensely grateful he played dumb-or hadn't seen it in the first place. "And why do you feel bad? Nothing actually happened."

"I told you, things did happen."

"You still haven't told me all those things," he reproached, turning to check if the body had shifted position. The red one assumed she was no longer in this world.

"Fine." He let his shoulders drop, surrendering. He'd have to spill all the words to avoid regretting it halfway through the confession. "I saw his scars, and I felt disgusted. I know most of them were caused by me. And I didn't like it. I hate it. But when I tried to check if he was afraid of me or something, he ran. It surprised me a lot because when he comes close he doesn't act intimidated, but when I do, he acts like I'm about to stab him." He could almost feel the judgmental stare of his unlicensed psychologist, puffing with a pout. "Yes, I've stabbed him over nonsense, but it's not like I go to his caravan specifically to attack him."

"You entered his caravan without permission and saw his scars?"

His cheeks began to burn at the summary of his monologue, waving his hand as if to shoo a fly, shy. "That's not the point."

Letting out a guttural sound, the tall one shook his head. "I think you invaded his privacy at the wrong moment. If he ran before, you shouldn't have chased him afterward."

The bell‑wearer furrowed his brow, tugging at the end of his cap in frustration. "I know. I acted wrong."

"I understand you did it out of concern or simple curiosity, but try to give him more space. If you want to get closer to Harlequin, go slowly. Very slowly." He emphasized the last part, walking over to gently squeeze his shoulder, understanding. "Start with minimal touches, and warn him you'll do it. That way you'll show him you're not a threat."

Deflated, Pierrot laughed without humor, running a hand over his face. "I don't think that advice will help me."

"What do you mean?" He withdrew the friendly gesture, confused.

"Yesterday he ordered me to forget the debt." He rolled his eyes as he spoke, irritated. If only that despicable creature had the courage to say things to his face, he wouldn't be feeling like an abuser... or was he? Ugh, he disgusted himself so much he wished he could undo what happened. He deserved last night. "He said I disgusted him," he murmured, hugging himself, seeking comfort. How pathetic.

"And how did that make you feel?"

"Confused," he admitted, pulling out one of his daggers and stroking the blade with his fingertips. He felt the need to explain, hoping it would help clarify his doubts. "Before, I was sure he wasn't worth it. He's still the same immature brat, but since he doesn't bother me at every opportunity anymore, he even seems... tolerable." Tilting the weapon slightly, he caught his reflection in the metal, imagining Harlequin's hysterical gaze. Clicking his tongue, he put the object away. "And I ruined it."

"Don't give up yet. People understand each other by talking. Let's focus on what you feel." What book had Jester lent him? He really seemed interested in Pierrot's feelings. "What do you mean by tolerable?"

Embarrassed, Pierrot began twisting a strand of hair around his finger, feeling like a teenager confessing a secret crush. "A little pleasant."

Doctor nodded slowly, satisfied. "I'm glad to hear that. It seems you're starting to get along better."

The golden‑eyed one was overwhelmed by nerves, since it wasn't in his nature to speak well of that jerk. He'd have to apologize later, and he'd do it with food, knowing how much that kitchen raider loved sweets. He only hoped it wouldn't be taken as some kind of bribe, since he was doing it because it felt too bland to just give the speech and leave.

Just then, a noise outside interrupted the calm.

Another thorn in the side

For what damn, terrifying, stupid reason had he said that?

Harlequin, defeated hours earlier by insomnia, kept nibbling at the claw of his thumb, too wrapped up in analyzing the results of his "confession" to care about the damage he might cause himself. Pierrot's expression remained tattooed in his mind, along with the brief tremor of his fingers and the instant he held his breath, conspiring against all logic.

Why had he looked shattered when he heard it?

He acted as if his words had truly hurt him. As if it mattered to him that Harlequin had a good impression of him.

That wasn't possible. He didn't need two brain cells to know that. Yes, it had to be some misunderstanding. He was exaggerating those signs of anguish; he couldn't confirm Pierrot's eyes had watered from that distance, or that his gaze begged him to take it back, or that his voice broke when he murmured the question before the emotional bomb.

He refused to accept he might have caused his rival any pain.

Then why did he feel bad about this resolution? Did he want that fool to grab his arm to stop him from leaving, kiss him passionately, and profess eternal love? Or friendship, being realistically ambitious.

Maybe he'd picked up the sappiness from breathing the same air as the lanky one for too long, or maybe it truly affected him to express that lie-even though Pierrot didn't need to know it was one. It was better for both of them. That way the older one wouldn't be forced to interact with Harlequin in that way, and Harlequin wouldn't be eaten alive inside knowing he wasn't doing it of his own will.

Just as he was about to congratulate himself for reaching such a mature and responsible conclusion, he snapped out of his guilt‑ridden trance thanks to a crack accompanied by the taste of blood, forcing him to let out a muffled groan as he realized he'd cut his own nail.

Unfortunately, his caravan had nothing resembling a medical kit, and he wasn't about to use his secret snack clothes as a bandage. So he decided to turn to a professional.

He wasn't going to bleed out from this, but, trying to be funny, he thought of a couple of jokes he could make to exaggerate the situation-like asking Doctor how much time he had left to live. But his internal comedy was cut short when he spotted his enemy entering as if the place belonged to him.

He didn't even look back to check for witnesses, which made it even more suspicious.

Again with this? It almost looked like they were hooking up... or were they?

Curiosity wreaked havoc in his head, but the younger knew he'd only ruin the fragile relationship they had left if he decided to meddle. And he wanted to so badly.

He shook his head, stopping the unconscious steps that drew him toward the forbidden fruit tree.

Come on, idiot. Use the head upstairs for once.

He understood there was a lot at stake: his neck, his physical integrity, the minimal regard the silver‑haired one might have for him-if it existed at all.

So, was it worth it?

Forgetting entirely why he'd come there in the first place, he vaguely reflected on his options, reaching a simple conclusion: Pierrot definitely wouldn't want to hear from him again, especially after Harlequin had rejected him the night before, and therefore he could never find out what was happening inside.

Unless, insensitively, he discovered it on his own...

First of all, why do you care?

I'm just looking out for my pure and innocent friend.

Blinded by intrigue, he looked around cautiously, wondering if he needed to check under rocks. Finding no one nearby, he approached the tent, hoping to catch the conversation. If there even was one. Sadly, the fabric was so thick he could barely make out muffled murmurs, so faint he doubted whether it was just another trick of his mind.

He clicked his tongue, irritated.

Doctor's tent was designed precisely so no one could hear the screams of his clients. What did he expect?

Though maybe, if he got close enough to the entrance...

He leaned carefully, making sure not to be seen through the small opening, hearing exactly the same as before: nothing.

Frustrated, he tried to maneuver into a position that wouldn't look suspicious, jumping in fright when one of the fools asked if he needed something. He'd been so absorbed in meddling that he hadn't noticed him approach, tangling his feet in the tent ropes and even smashing his pinky toe against one of the stakes while trying to keep his balance.

He cursed loudly, kneeling in agony from the infernal pain, slowly lifting his gaze as he noticed someone coming out of the tent.

This was not a good idea...

Pierrot caught him in his bad practice, and his expression was pure terror. One so nefarious that not even Harlequin himself had ever witnessed it. He looked panicked, but at the same time his eyes burned with true hatred, as if whatever was happening inside was something no one should ever know under any circumstances.

There were no preliminary interrogations or even words exchanged. The older one advanced with heavy steps, clearly intending to attack directly even though his rival was on the ground, and the snake understood it was going to be a very busy morning.

He could explain his nonexistent motives for threatening his privacy, or try to appease him by claiming he hadn't heard anything-but the silver‑haired one didn't look willing to listen to words at that moment.

Harlequin stood, setting aside his aches to dodge Pierrot's hands when he lunged to grab him, receiving a shove instead.

Nothing serious, but the damp earth wasn't on his side either.

The green one reacted quickly, dodging the second tackle and sliding to the side, throwing a low kick that struck the older one's leg.

Pierrot staggered but didn't fall, growling as he threw a punch straight at his face.

Harlequin ducked nimbly, the blow grazing his hair, and took the chance to elbow him in the ribs-realizing too late his vulnerable position as he received a low kick that destabilized him.

Why was he fighting? He should have escaped from the start...

The red one lunged to pin him to the ground, pressing part of his weight onto the other's stomach and struggling to grab his wrists, ending in a ridiculous scuffle when the younger decided he wasn't going to let him win.

Fed up, the taller one punched him in the face, realizing the excessive force he'd used when he saw blood spilling from the snake's mouth. Apparently, he'd bitten his tongue by accident, but that didn't stop him from being an idiot.

"Well, is that all?" He wiped the liquid with the back of his hand, spitting out what had gathered in his mouth. Then his eyes turned defiant toward Pierrot, yanking his hair to pull his face close and whisper: "Columbina hit harder."

Of course, that woke the beast in front of him.

"Don't mention her."

Harlequin swallowed hard as he saw him draw a pair of daggers, instantly trying to stab him. Luckily, fury had him so shaken he wasn't aiming precisely, which the snake took advantage of to dodge the first strike, forced to stop the second with both hands.

He didn't have the strength to hold it back, so all he could do was struggle to make them roll, barely enjoying the shift in positions.

The golden‑eyed one continued with his unstoppable desire to annihilate him, and the curly‑haired one could only think about the brutality of their bodies colliding every time they rolled across the ground, the heat of Pierrot seeping through his clothes, the persistence with which he avoided looking directly at him even while trying to end his existence. He gasped half the air in his lungs, overwhelmed by an accidental clash of their hips, grinning arrogantly at the brief pause in his enemy's attacks-as if he too had been struck by that forbidden electric current.

It was the most intimate contact he'd ever had with that guy, and, damn, he shouldn't be enjoying it.

At one point, Pierrot seemed to realize Harlequin had adapted to dodging his weapons, so he attacked with free hands, wrapping his fingers around his neck and immobilizing one arm. The arm left free struggled to push him away, to break loose, but the green one yielded when he noticed he wasn't choking him. He only squeezed enough to make him dizzy, hesitating between strangling him or letting him go.

It was tempting. Intoxicating. Absurd beyond measure. And still, Harlequin arched his neck, exposing it, daring Pierrot to be truly rough with him.

And he hesitated. That bastard froze like a frightened goat.

"Do it." He practically ordered, lifting his eyes for a second as he felt the genuine grip of his aggressor, as if savoring the pain.

"Shut up." He loosened again, drawing a disappointed sigh from his rival.

That back‑and‑forth was going to drive him insane. He couldn't stand it. He needed more suffering.

His free hand clutched Pierrot's shoulder, pulling him, trembling so much he couldn't exert real force to make his whims come true.

When had he become so desperate?

His thoughts kept spinning in his head, blurred, mixing between a masochistic craving and the recognition that this shouldn't be happening. He was terrified, and still he wanted it to continue, to be destroyed, to let the suffocation cloud any thought unrelated to his companion.

To hell with it.

"Or shut me up another way." He could feel his heart pounding, crashing against his ribs, racing as he noticed a clear blush on Pierrot's cheeks. His vision might have been blurry, but not enough to ignore the impact his words had on the older one, who swallowed hard, trembling as if holding back some overwhelming impulse.

He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, suddenly self‑conscious, blinking as if trying to wake from a wet dream. Damn virgin.

Harlequin's impatience didn't wait, cutting off any complaint when a third voice intruded on the fight.

"Are you going to separate? Or do I have to do it myself?"

Swallowing a curse for the interruption of his exhibitionist show, they pulled apart at surprising speed, with the dark‑haired one practically coughing up his lungs as he breathed normally again.

Obviously, Jester was at the peak of contained frustration, finally realizing his scoldings would lead nowhere. Though it hurt him more than his subordinates, he had to resort to strict methods. Degradation, for example.

And what's more humiliating than being locked in a latrine?

With Doctor's help, they were shoved inside that damp, cramped place, Jester letting out a satisfied chuckle at their wrinkled noses from the strong smell of cleaning products.

Immediately, the two who had just conspired to gut each other allied in a plea to escape the punishment, receiving a slammed door in their faces.

"You'll stay here nice and quiet until your shows, understood?" He smiled threateningly, signaling the larger one to leave. Only then did he bother to show a serious, pained expression, acting as if he were the one locked inside. He sighed, lowering his gaze. "I'm disappointed in you."

Harlequin felt a pang in his chest, watching his boss walk away without looking back.

Run your mouth

Imagine an open, spacious place; filled with anything other than a nearly two‑meter tall figure with golden eyes.

That would be the ideal setting for Harlequin, who, with his eyes glued to an obscene graffiti, pretended to ignore the extreme closeness he shared with his companion. Even standing at opposite ends of that prison, he didn't doubt he could touch him without fully extending his arm, which actively kept him on edge.

The worst part was that he was in these circumstances because of absolute stupidity.

Jealous? Him? Never. Especially not if the cause of his envy was an asexual being married to his work who, on top of that, wouldn't waste time groping anything other than his test subjects.

Paranoid fool.

His only relief in this desperate stage was that, according to his reasoning, the silver‑haired one had several disadvantages in this kind of environment. The bad part: Harlequin did too. It would be very difficult to dodge him if he tried to hit him again, or if he tried to corner him against a wall, hold him, press their bodies together and...

In any case, he constantly watched his rival's position, startled at the slightest change in posture, cautious to a degree that his survival instinct was starting to overload.

He didn't know if his fellow prisoner was tormenting him on purpose, or if it was just his paranoia jumping at every little action, so he chose to distract himself with anything in his surroundings, ending up in a detailed mental debate about how many times he'd have to blow on the door for it to fall. It would probably collapse on its own just from existing, considering the excessive mold and rust covering it, but at least that helped him avoid thinking about the scornful looks Pierrot threw at him-and that he pretended not to see.

Enough that he'd already busted his mouth earlier.

Was he going to grumble and complain until some external force decided to fulfill his morbid dreams of murder?

Thinking about it, the hit earlier hadn't been so bad. It had been violent, as usual, but that was what he was used to, after all. He couldn't feel weak for being defensive in a situation that warranted it. Therefore, the fact that his enemy was so calm after such a collision made him imagine several scenarios where he could take advantage of a distraction to slit his throat.

He certainly had the desire...

He swallowed hard, deciding he needed to sit down and clear his thoughts. Better than flinching at every breath.

Crossing his arms, he searched for a spot that didn't make him want to vomit, sitting on the edge of the toilet with his cape under his backside. He heard a viscous squelch of filth complaining under his weight, squeezing his eyes shut as he imagined it was the ASMR his last victim had shown him before dying.

He'd burn even his underwear the first chance he got.

Once he recovered from the initial disgust, he gave the older one a questioning glance, diverting it when he realized the stupidity of what he was silently demanding.

Do you really want him to sit next to you?

Honestly, it bothered him that Pierrot stayed standing just to keep his distance, ignoring that their legs brushed from the shift in position. At the same time, he was grateful he didn't use his new height to intimidate him, dizzying himself with the eternal "to be or not to be."

That was the question.

Knowing he'd already filled his daily quota of bad behavior, the curly‑haired one consoled himself with the comfort of a cold, nauseating seat to rest on, bored to death in that tense, sepulchral silence.

He pouted, realizing anything he did next would end in a death sentence, but he couldn't stand the stench of that place without some distraction.

He'd have to be the responsible one for once.

Resigned, and with pride knotting his throat, he decided to give Jester what he wanted, licking the dried blood from the corner of his mouth.

"I'm sorry." He muttered, speaking as if the words made him gag. Pierrot clearly heard him, but didn't lift his gaze from outside, making the younger huff. "Damn it! I'm sorry! I was an idiot!"

Only then did the false mute give him a disgusted glance, shrugging before returning to the silent treatment.

Harlequin stuck out his tongue as soon as he turned away, pretending he didn't care about his indifference.

He forced himself not to react when he heard Pierrot sigh, shifting slightly, resting his weight on the other foot. "Why?" he asked at last, with a hint of pride in his voice, as if receiving that half‑hearted apology was all he needed for an ego boost.

"What?" the green one spat, rough, daring him to be more specific as he narrowed his eyes.

"Why are you apologizing?"

The snake looked at him incredulously, massaging his jaw as he wondered whether to provoke him or list every psychological abuse that came to mind. Having his tongue injured killed his desire to argue.

He took a deep breath, deciding this wasn't the place to continue their fight. His colleague had a bucket of dirty water right beside him, and he wasn't in the mood to shower with that.

He briefly thought of the most ambiguous way to encompass his wrongdoings, using his pain as an excuse not to speak unnecessarily.

"For everything?" he practically asked, visibly unconvinced by his own words.

Pierrot snorted, showing that wasn't good enough.

Fine. He'd have to be more specific then.

Should he apologize for mentioning the dead woman? For spying on him? For doing him a favor and then charging it horribly? For stealing his sweets when he wasn't looking? For being a nuisance for years...?

Damn it. No wonder he despised him so much. He was unbearable.

He noticed the older one drumming his fingers against his arm, reflective, smiling at nothing.

Great. He was probably planning how to drown him in toilet water.

Saving himself from biting his tongue for obvious reasons, Harlequin cleared his throat, trying to get his attention. When he didn't react, he continued, showing resentment for no reason. "You're not going to forgive me no matter how much I ask, are you?"

The red one lifted his gaze, playing the contemplative type. After a few seconds, he nodded, letting out a humorless chuckle. "You proved you don't deserve it." His voice was convinced, clearly meant to make the snake feel worse.

You're right. You're so damn right.

Even so, the dark‑haired one refused to raise the white flag, rolling his eyes and repeating the opposite claim in a high‑pitched, immature tone. Then he waved a hand as if shooing a fly, dismissing it. "I didn't hear your wild sex session with Doctor. You're exaggerating."

To say Pierrot's face showed confusion was an understatement-it was obvious he was starting to consider all the reasons the younger might assume something like that.

"What?" he barely muttered, finally deigning to look at Harlequin, so bewildered his expression couldn't decide between repulsion or intrigue.

The green one let out a brief "hm," pretending he had no doubt about it.

"Exactly," he argued, assuming that was the only valid excuse for his companion to act so hostile after catching him. "You were rolling around while... I don't know, lamenting over her."

Pierrot stared at him, skeptical, gasping before pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers. "I wasn't doing that with him, and it's none of your business."

Harlequin covered his mouth and let out a giggle, looking at him with fake compassion. In truth, he found his adversary's vocabulary adorable. "'That,' huh? What a sweet, innocent boy." He mocked, earning a slap when he tried to pinch his cheeks.

"Shut up." The older one ordered, giving him so much disdain that the cobra obeyed, unaware of his own passivity. "Can you even feel remorse? It seems like you enjoy being an idiot."

Disguising his actions as irrelevant, the snake crossed his arms, lifting his chin. "I enjoy many things, yes." He sneered, cynical, tilting his head slightly. "Maybe getting on your nerves is one of them."

"Ha." Pierrot's smile didn't reach his eyes, looking more sadistic than arrogant. "I know how to get on your nerves too."

The reptile felt his fingers twitch as he saw the older one take half a step toward him, insolent. He quickly stood up, feeling cornered. This only increased the other's arrogance, making Harlequin clench his jaw, glaring at him.

"You wouldn't." He was grateful it didn't sound like a plea, forcing himself to stay still when the long‑haired one leaned slightly over him, using his height advantage.

He swore he got lost in his eyes during the seconds of contact, delighting in every shade of gold that gleamed in the darkness, trembling at the whisper that broke the trance.

"Try me."

Oh.

If he meant trying his lips, he might have gone for it. But of course, he wanted a fight, and for Harlequin to start it so he could paint himself as the boy just defending against his aggressor.

Nice try.

He stepped back a little, pushing the other's face as if he had bad breath.

"Here I am trying to make peace with you, and look how you act."

Again, the older one shoved his hand away violently, accepting the implicit demand for space. "Stop redirecting the blame, Harlequin." He suggested, crossing his arms, analyzing his adversary for any sign of remorse. "You love twisting the narrative, but your trained tongue won't convince me."

The green one chuckled under his breath, fleetingly recalling all the uses he'd given that muscle, sticking it out even with the cut. Pierrot looked away, breathing deeply. One might think he was flustered if not for the rabid‑dog face he kept, though the almost imperceptible blush on his cheeks gave many wrong ideas.

Though his companion worked hard to avoid his gaze, the dark‑haired one pointed to the injury with his clipped claw, implying it was another bruise from the fight and not the result of his instability. "You made me bite my tongue."

Snorting, the taller one shrugged, leaning back. "Good."

"I know."

They fell silent. Pierrot waiting for his counterpart to drop the next trigger, and Harlequin simply enjoying having his attention. The sound of dripping filled the space where their confessions and justifications should have been, barely overshadowed by the thoughts swirling in each of their heads.

What should I do?

The conversation had clearly stalled, and, strangely enough, the younger had no idea what to say. Part of him longed to be honest, smooth things over, and end the circus of brutality-while worrying about what would happen afterward.

What would he gain from it? Pierrot wouldn't give him what he wanted, and he'd have to accept it because that's what he deserved.

There was no other solution.

Before he could clarify, he glimpsed brief anguish in his colleague's eyes, discarding it as a mistake when he blinked and his hardened expression remained.

"It almost seems like you want me to hurt you." The older one murmured, softening his gaze slightly, almost compassionate.

In part, yes, actually.

Irritated by this new atmosphere of pity, Harlequin exaggerated the most dramatic look of boredom he could muster, giving himself little time to think of an unsolicited reply. "As if I were a masochist. Especially with a damn virgin like you."

The silver‑haired one snorted, barely moving. "Better that than being a whore." His voice came out harsh, accusatory.

Not that he cared.

"Whores I'm with." He would have made an obscene movement with his hips and hands, holding back so as not to draw the older one's attention to that area.

"Well, now I know who taught you all that filthy talk." He huffed, rolling his eyes, his tone dripping with resentment.

"And who taught you to be so tragic?" He raised his brows, smiling ironically.

Pierrot's expression darkened at the disrespect, clenching his fists at his sides. The cobra worried when he noticed a vein pulsing at his neck, gritting his teeth in case a punch came.

"Tragic?" He repeated, dragging the syllables, deeply offended. "You don't know everything I've had to go through. You don't care, since you make a point of digging your claw into the wound."

Sorry. I know. I suffered too. I understand you.

"I admit it. I like seeing my prey squirm." He raised his hands as if surrendering to the police, pretending to be proud of the garbage he'd just said.

Uncontrollable, Pierrot grabbed his counterpart by the clothes, shaking him a couple of times before calming himself enough not to beat him senseless right then. His gaze stayed vivid, burning as he held back all the violence he wanted to unleash. Harlequin thought he looked beautiful that way. Wild and arrogant.

"I'm not your prey." He spoke firmly, slowly releasing the other's clothes, making sure to transmit the message clearly.

The snake shook off the wrinkled fabric, as if brushing dirt away. Then he shrugged, arrogant.

"You always act like one. Whining and playing the good boy."

"And you act like a brute."

Mocking, the green one let out a fake laugh, pointing to himself with elegance. "I am. I thought you'd noticed by now."

Pierrot made a guttural sound that seemed affirmative, sharpening his gaze while allowing a smug smile to adorn his face.

"I know you're not." He spoke slowly, making sure each word echoed in the younger's head. When he saw him about to protest, he covered his mouth with a hand, pressing just enough to keep him quiet. "Unfortunately, I know you well enough to know you're just a coward." The corners of his lips curved upward at the effect his truths had on the snake, who struggled to push him away to stop his monologue. Pierrot only held him tighter and pulled him closer, lowering his tone. "One who's terrified of me, and still insists on meddling where he shouldn't."

Released with a shove, the reptile spat on the ground, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His blood boiled with rage and humiliation, forcing himself to hold back his desire for revenge so as not to start a losing war.

"I'm not afraid of you." He cursed himself at the ridiculous way his voice faltered, growling when it became clear his rival had noticed too.

"Uh‑huh." Pierrot openly showed his disbelief, stroking the other's cheek before he could react-so soft and delicate it even tickled. But instead of lashing out or pushing him away, Harlequin stayed frozen in place, tensing so much he even held his breath. "Say it again."

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking like a fish out of water, panicked by imminent death.

The red one clicked his tongue, stepping back before giving him a heart attack. His disgusted face wasn't unusual, but it seemed out of place. "I don't get it," he admitted, scratching his neck and retreating. "Why do you only act like that when I'm... kind?"

"What do you care?" He was still recovering from the shock, glad he wasn't turning into a fountain of sweat like the last time his companion got too affectionate.

Pierrot snorted, running a hand over his face, stressed.

"Stop it. We're not going to solve anything if you keep that attitude."

"Do you want to be my little buddy or something?" He still refused to give in.

"Yes, idiot. I want to be your damn friend, pick flowers in the field and sing with the birds." Sarcasm dripped from every phrase, earning a boo from the younger.

"Shut up. It doesn't suit you."

Pierrot rolled his eyes, putting a hand on his hip. "So?"

"Are we playing truth or dare?"

"Harlequin." He frowned, demanding seriousness.

The snake sighed wearily, dropping his shoulders. "I'm not going to tell you. You'll just mock me."

"What? Are you like those kids who tease the ones they like?"

"Gross! I don't like you!"

Yes, I do.

"Well, then tell me already."

"Ugh! I told you! If it's about you, I only have bad feelings."

Indignant, the long‑haired one pointed an accusatory finger, cornering him against the wall with his body. "Stop acting like I'm a threat! I only act that way when you cross the line!"

"Every time you touch me it's to hurt me! You're just waiting for the right moment to attack! How else am I supposed to think?"

"That's not true!"

"It is!"

Fed up with the accusations, the older one grabbed his hand, intertwining their fingers. Harlequin acted desperate to break free at first, tugging and struggling as if his limb were about to be cut off, whining when his other hand was caught by the wrist and pinned against the wall. That the wall held up was a miracle, though it didn't change how close they were-face to face, breathing heavily from the argument.

Proving his point, once they calmed enough, Pierrot gave a subtle squeeze, drawing a whimper of anticipation from the snake, who expected something worse. When the torment didn't come, leaving only that thick sensation of discomfort fluttering in his gut, he blinked as if trying to accept this calm as reality, meeting the other's eyes without bothering to hide his confusion.

"See?" whispered the silver‑haired one, serene, barely brushing the edge of his hand with his thumb.

Harlequin, still wrapped in doubt, nodded faintly, wondering since when this guy could be so gentle and accommodating.

The older one tried to release him to talk in these new terms, accepting when the green one held on, trembling, silently asking to enjoy this a little longer.

Following the advice to go slowly, he restrained himself from carrying out every wild idea running through his mind, asking the snake if he wanted to sit down, watching him remove his cape and use it to completely cover the toilet, inviting him. He meant letting him take a seat to rest from all the drama, since he looked dazed and didn't want to pressure him with his presence, but it felt rude to refuse if he was the one offering.

Neither knew how to break the silence once they sat side by side, so close their shoulders brushed with every breath, preferring to stay that way rather than destroy the atmosphere.

Suspicious of how easily the conflict seemed resolved, Harlequin cast wary glances at his colleague, calming slightly when he saw him relaxed. He also noticed his clothes didn't hang as loosely as before, but thought it would be odd to mention, so he kept the celebration to himself.

Was it right to be happy about this?

Even in the filth surrounding them, having Pierrot beside him was all he needed for his heart to frolic in his chest, making him wish only he could hear it. What a sappy thought. It would be unbearably embarrassing if that bastard discovered he was affected by something so trivial, which was why he searched for something in his surroundings to blame-only to be stunned when he realized Pierrot's heartbeat. It sounded just as fast, if not faster, than his own, which could only mean he wasn't used to sharing this kind of closeness with anyone.

This lifted his self‑esteem a little, giving him enough confidence to rest his head on the other's shoulder-freezing when he didn't know how the older one might take it. Maybe he didn't want to offer a shoulder to cry on and Harlequin was overstepping.

But just as he was about to pull away, the red one ran his fingers through his hair, letting him know he didn't mind the interaction.

Even if he felt like he might die from too much affection, he couldn't deny this was incredibly pleasant-almost like he was a puppy discovering what it meant to be petted. All he was missing was wagging his tail and howling, annoyed that his tentacles squirmed persistently against his back, tangling together.

It was gratifying that Pierrot didn't scold him for the viscous sound accompanying his agitation, allowing him to press closer, hug him with his free arm, rub his cheek against his shoulder like a clingy cat. He was starting not to care about the image this might give. If they were both comfortable, what was wrong with it? He'd take advantage of this chance until he was pushed away, ignoring the insistent guilt that tried to expel him from his euphoria.

Let him try all he wanted. Harlequin had gotten a taste for this, and he was willing to cling with claws and whatever else it took to these scraps of love.

He wanted so badly to stay like this forever-even if it cost him his sense of smell and dignity.

I don't want to wake up from this dream...

Unfortunately, the cloud of affection surrounding them, dense as it was, dispersed the instant the door fell with a gentle push, startling the witnesses who stared wide‑eyed at the shattered wood.

Jester said nothing at first-maybe from the shock of having to repair the door or from what he found behind it-too late when Pierrot and Harlequin reacted, pulling apart like cats from water, embarrassed and cheeks burning.

"Well." The leader finally spoke, grinning ear to ear. "I'll keep this in mind."

"Don't get the wrong idea!" The younger protested, scrambling for an excuse not to give his boss satisfaction. How humiliating. They weren't supposed to be caught like that... "I'll start another fight soon!" He whined when the taller one smacked him, rubbing the spot with a pout.

"And I'll lock you back in here." Condemned the one in charge, nodding for them to leave. "Anyway. You can eat before your shows, and I'll let you serve extra because you've behaved fairly well." The speed with which he left could only mean he wanted to tell Ticket Taker the gossip, leaving the victims of his constant mistreatment drowning in misery.

Once in private, both breathed the fresh air outside, barely taking in the sunset before them.

Harlequin nudged his colleague lightly to catch his attention, smiling somewhere between shy and genuine. "Pierrot..." he muttered, needing a lot of courage to say anything after being caught acting like a teenage couple. "Next time, pick a less disgusting place for these talks, okay?"

The red one matched his expression, pretending he needed to think about it. "No promises." He teased, stopping the jokes when he noticed how the orange light reflected on the dark strands of the other's hair, giving him a radiant, renewed look. Maybe it was just a side effect of being freed from his main source of stress, though he doubted his problems would end just like that. Still, he was excited that Harlequin had stopped being so defensive around him.

That meant from here he could be closer to him, right? Would he give him the chance to hug him, spoil him? Maybe go further...

To hell with what Doctor said. He had to test the limits.

Leaning in slowly, making sure not to be invasive, Pierrot cleared his throat, keeping eye contact. "Would you run away again if I tried to kiss you?" He meant it hypothetically, but his impulses keeping him restless were certainly unbearable.

After exhaling, almost like a laugh, Harlequin licked his lips, clearly taking it as a joke. "Kiss me already." To go with his teasing, he made an exaggerated kissing gesture, dropping it before it became embarrassing.

He didn't know what to think when Pierrot stared at him intently, too focused for his liking, leaving him wondering if he'd made him uncomfortable. Now that things were good between them, he scolded himself for annoying him so soon, mentally preparing to apologize again.

But before any words left his mouth, he realized his companion had gotten very close-practically over him. The strange part was not noticing sooner, given how his shadow covered his face, but his questions only multiplied when he saw him close his eyes and lean his lips toward him.

Of course, he should have expected something like this, though that didn't make the feeling flooding his chest any less unbelievable when he received Pierrot's kiss. So sweet, so inexperienced.

Why was he melting from such a clumsy gesture?

If it were anyone else, he'd already be taking control, claiming the other's breath and intensifying it. But this wasn't the case. Thankfully, no.

It was Pierrot kissing him! Damn it! He'd torment him with this for the rest of his life!

As unexpectedly as it came, the romantic act ended without going further than a simple brush of lips, leaving the green one in a limbo of overwhelming infatuation.

Is this love?

Still dazed, he didn't notice when the older one wished him good night and slipped away, just before he snapped out of the trance.

He shouted after him to come back, cursing him for leaving him alone with the mess of thoughts overwhelming his mind. That really happened, right? He wasn't imagining things. Pierrot really... kissed him.

Taking advantage of his isolation, he did a little victory dance, stopping cold when he realized a relevant detail: Why did he do it?

He remembered perfectly that he'd canceled the debt. He no longer carried the obligation to indulge his whims.

What does this mean...?

He sighed, scratching the cheek that had been caressed earlier.

He'd have to demand explanations from that fool.

Did you like the story?

Yes! It was incredible.

It wasn’t bad, I guess.

It was horrible.

Voting ended onJun 16

[chane-vel]

W.i.p

🍏

[1rumizzzc0m]

okei ya le agarre la maña a eta' vaina' =D

[1rumizzzc0m]

ola como pongo foto de perfil wuatajai