You saw his neck wounds (cracks)
Tw: Fluff, you take care of his hair.
Hello everyone ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-, I apologize in advance if you notice any mistakes here, this is my first experience in writing such a thing and in general English is not my native language. So I'm using a translator here. and before you start reading, please read the text below:
If it seems to you that the format is similar to Destiny squared, then yes, you're right, mostly when writing, I was inspired by their work, I hope they won't mind that I copy their format, hehe..
In the future, I plan to add various characters from the novel to the collection, and you can find out which ones will be on my channel ٩(^ᗜ^ )و -
If it seems to you that the writing format is similar to Destiny squared, then yes, you are absolutely right. I was very inspired by the fanfiction of this wonderful man To create this fanfiction, I hope they won't block me for copying their format, ( •̯́ ^ •̯̀) hehe....
All the pictures here belong to me, so if you want to take them, then be sure to specify the name of the channel, this is the only thing I want to say, and so have fun reading
It was a very difficult day, but you managed to get through it, even though you had used up all your energy.
There was only an hour left before the end of your shift. At this time, people usually stopped coming in, and you could enjoy your solitude.
That's what would have happened if you hadn't met someone.
The evening bell above the door rang, distracting you from your cleaning. You looked up and saw him, the tall guy in the colorful red clothes who you had helped earlier.
That day, the poor man was lying on the ground, and a nasty guy was standing over him, shouting at him.
If it weren't for the laws and simple humanity, you would have kicked his ass, but all you could do was stand between them and engage in a verbal altercation with him.
You were taking a big risk: you weren't particularly strong, and your height was modest. He could have knocked you out with a single blow. Fortunately, the man didn't argue, grumbled something, and quickly retreated, leaving you alone with the victim. As he left, you turned around. His round, saucer-like yellow eyes stared at you in amazement. You just smiled back and extended your hand.
As you found out later, his name was Pierrot. Due to the circus rules, he couldn't speak in public, but he made an exception for you. From that day on, you had a new friend.
Pierrot's face was illuminated by a wide smile. You had long wondered how he managed to maintain such an expression. It seemed as if it wasn't a mask at all, but his true face, covered in thick makeup. You tried to imitate his smile, but you ended up pulling your facial muscles, which made you feel sick for a week. You couldn't even talk properly, which scared poor Pierrot to death.
"Good evening, my lady," his voice was soft as a whisper and sweet as marshmallow.
He came every night at exactly this hour, when there were no customers, and ordered a sweet drink. Most often, it was a strawberry milkshake, just like the one he had ordered the day you first met.
But tonight, something was different. His usually impeccable hair, along with his clown hat, was ruffled by the wind, and a small red leaf was adorned in the silver strands.
Noticing it, you smiled, wiping your hands with a napkin.
"Hello, Pierrot. It seems like there's a strong wind outside," you pointed to your hair, hinting at it.
The smile faltered on his face. The clown blinked in surprise several times and then looked at his reflection.
"I'm sorry, my lady, for coming to you in this state." Pierrot smiled apologetically and began to fix his hair, but you stopped him.
"Let me help," you offered, gently squeezing his large hands. His round yellow pupils stared at you in delight.
"I'll be very grateful to you, my lady." He brought your hand to his face, as if he were about to kiss it.
This gesture made your cheeks blush. You smiled awkwardly, looking away, and the clown closed his eyes in satisfaction.
"O-okay! Then sit down, and I'll get a comb."
Pierrot nodded, reluctantly let go of your hands, and sat down on a round chair by the counter.
You left for a while and returned with a comb that you kept in your bag. You rarely used it, usually tying your hair back so it wouldn't get in the way while you worked. If the boss found out that you were walking around with your hair down, you wouldn't be working here anymore.
When you returned, you walked around the counter and stood in front of Pierrot, who was now looking at you from a lower angle. He placed his hands on his knees and watched your movements with curiosity.
You carefully reached out your hand to his long locks, which were tangled with each other due to the wind.
They were surprisingly soft, like the finest silk. Of course, you've never touched such a thing, but you were sure that his hair was beautiful. It was immediately felt that Pierrot was carefully caring for them, despite the harsh circus conditions. As you brought the strand closer, you caught a glimpse of the scent of your favorite shampoo—the one you recently bought and which surprisingly ran out so quickly.
Putting those thoughts aside, you ran the comb through his hair, starting at the ends and gradually working your way up.
From Pierrot's perspective:
Pierrot sat still as you focused on his hair. If only you knew how his heart was racing, ready to burst out of his chest and fall at your feet. How he adored your touch, the feel of your skin through the rough black gloves. How he wanted to take them off and explore you with his fingers, find out where you liked to be touched.
But not yet, it's too early. The last thing he wants is to scare you off. He knew that humans were fearful creatures. They have only to differ slightly from them, and they begin to be afraid, to bite for the sake of their imaginary safety. If they had been given free rein, they would have destroyed each other, and even the Circus would not have had to strain.
Ah, the Jester's great dream, which is not destined to come true, no matter how much he wishes it.
But you were different. So charming, so sweet. If you were like those delicious milkshakes you make, he'd have diabetes—because how could you blame him when you're the only person who doesn't fear him? The only one he'll love forever.
Ah, your touch... The way you gently run your comb through his hair, as if you're afraid of hurting him, drives him crazy. And your focused face is so close. The urge to reach out, embrace you, and feel your sweet lips with his own grows stronger. But he only clutches the fabric in his lap, reminding himself of the consequences. I wonder how you would react. Would you be happy or afraid? Do you feel the same way about him?
"Your hair is beautiful," your soft voice broke through his dreams.
He looked up from your hands to your face, blinked several times as if digesting what you had said, and then closed his eyes again with pleasure.
A blush spread across his face. He clenched his jaw, trying not to scare you with his unnatural smile.
You moved higher, to the roots. Here, the work required more patience. The tangled knots resisted, but you didn't pull or tug. You approached each one like a small puzzle, finding the beginning, carefully unraveling it with your fingers, and only then passing the comb through it. It was like a dance—smooth, rhythmic, almost meditative.
The comb's teeth touched his scalp, and he made a soft, deep sound, like a contented cat's purr. Each stroke was like a caress on his soul, sweeping away his worries and the rough traces of the day.
The hair became more manageable. They streamed through the teeth like black silk, shimmering in the lamplight. You divided them into strands and worked through each one with special care, feeling how perfect smoothness was born at hand.
From time to time, you moved around Pierrot, trying to get all your hair in order. After finishing with the top strands, you moved to the right side. As you picked up a silver strand, you noticed dark, wound-like cracks on his neck, mostly hidden by his hat.
Shock showed on your face at the sight, You didn't even notice your hand reaching out on its own, but a large black-gloved hand gently grabbed it, golden eyes staring at you.
"My lady, what are you doing?"
Pierrot's soft, gentle voice reached your ears. You only now realized what you almost did.
"Are those your wounds?... Were you hurt again?"
Pain and compassion were written all over your face. It wasn't uncommon for people to bully Pierrot. Anyone could hurt him, and he couldn't defend himself. You assumed that he simply didn't want to cause trouble for the circus. You longed to help him, but unfortunately, you weren't always there for him. This thought caused your heart to ache.
Noticing your concern, Pierrot gently squeezed your hand, as if to reassure you.
"Don't worry about me, my lady. The Doctor said they'll go away in time."
You felt his fingers slowly intertwine with yours.
"Besides, they're just scratches. Please don't worry about them."
Piero really didn't want you to worry. Your sad face was hurting him. Plus, he knew that if he told you what happened, you'd immediately rush to find the perpetrators, putting yourself in danger. Even though you were fragile, you were always ready to fight back against bullies, like a Chihuahua barking fearlessly at big dogs.
He remembers when you were walking in the park and some guys shouted insults at him.
It was a familiar sight for Pierrot, but not for you. He remembered how you turned around, identified the bullies, and marched towards them, shouting insults in their direction.
Pierrot frantically waved his arms, trying to show that everything was fine, but you were unstoppable. He had no choice but to embrace you from behind, hoping that you would stop.
You froze, and your cheeks turned so red that the bullfinches would have thought they were ripe berries.
In addition to his fear for you, he was touched by your impulse. Your desire to protect him, even though he was 196 cm tall and outgrew both you and those guys.
But if they had said something bad about you or caused harm... he wouldn't have turned a blind eye. He would have put on another magnificent performance for you. Only this time, there would be two victims, but he would have found a way to spice up his show.
But it didn't make you feel any better. The wound (?) looked horrifying, as if the hair had been brutally ripped out.
You pursed your lips and looked at the clown again.
"Then can I just look? I promise I'll be careful."
Piero's eyes widened in surprise, and your pleading gaze met his.
Your beautiful eyes were fixed on his, and your hands were clasped around his. The sight left him breathless, and all he could feel was the rapid beating of his own heart.
He paused to consider your words, but then slowly removed his jester's hat, and only the bells chimed in response.
The sight mesmerized you. You froze, staring at the hair he had so carefully concealed.
The long hair fell onto his shoulders, cascading beautifully. He looked like a handsome prince from a children's fairy tale.
You knew he had long hair, but you had never imagined it to be so beautiful. Your fingers gently touched the silky white strands, pushing them aside. Your breath caught as you saw the wound more clearly. A large crack gaped just to the left of the center of his neck, with smaller cracks radiating out from it. Fortunately, they didn't spread any further.
You took a deep breath, trying to calm your anger towards those who had done this. The question that immediately came to mind was: when did they do this? You were quite close to Pierrot, but you had never noticed these wounds because of his bangs.
However, you decided not to push the issue. If Pierrot didn't want to talk about it, you shouldn't intrude on his personal space. He had always been kind to you and helped you whenever he could.
Lifting his hair even higher, you leaned in to where his ear should be.
Your breath touched his skin in a hot, wet whisper, making the cracks look even more fragile.
"I hope they really do heal..." Your whisper was barely audible, but to him it was louder than any doorbell. "Otherwise, I'll find whoever did this and make them pay."
And before fear or doubt could stop you, you closed your eyes.
Your lips, soft and warm, touched his skin. It was fleeting, like a breath of wind, but incredibly focused. You touched exactly where the rough, jagged line of the crack began to fade, to an area of unbroken, almost hot skin. You felt the subtle pulse of his blood beneath your lips, running deep beneath the surface, and the subtle, almost imperceptible scent of makeup, powder, and something elusive that was the essence of Pierrot himself.
In that heartbeat-long moment, the world shrank to the point where your lips met his neck.
In response, his body responded with a crushing wave. He wasn't breathing. His entire powerful frame was frozen in absolute, stone-like stillness, as if he were under a spell. You could hear the dull thud of his gloves clenching the fabric of his trousers at his knees. Then, a sharp, ragged breath escaped from his chest, almost like a moan of relief that he couldn't allow himself to express.
You pulled away as quickly as you had touched, leaving only a ghostly, burning memory on his skin. But that moment was enough to turn everything upside down.
"In the meantime, I will take care of you, my dear Pierrot."
When you opened your eyes, his gaze was fixed on you. His yellow pupils, usually round and innocent, had narrowed into two thin, burning slits. The flickering light of the lamp danced in them, along with a storm of emotions—shock, gratitude, adoration, and something wild and primal that he was struggling to contain. His famous smile faltered, momentarily genuine, and a shiver ran down his neck, right where you had just touched.
"My... lady..." His voice broke into a hoarse, choked whisper.
"...Besides, I said I'd help you with all your hair, and this counts," your voice was a gentle whisper, and your fingers began to gently divide the silver mane into three wide, flowing strands, as if by themselves.
The idea came to you instantly—not just to put it in order, but to create something beautiful, something that would protect this delicate beauty from the harsh world.
The left strand over the middle, the right over the left—the movements were smooth, hypnotic, creating a living, breathing pattern. And so it went on until you reached the ends of his hair.
When the braid, long and shining like polished moon silver, was ready, you let your hair down so that you could tie it with your own hair tie.
You gently pulled on the end of the braid, causing him to tilt his head back slightly, and then stood in front of him again to see the result with your own eyes. There was a sea of tenderness and quiet joy in your eyes.
"Look," you said, gently turning him towards the large mirror on the wall.
Pierrot slowly, almost reluctantly, raised his gaze to the mirror. He touched the braid with the tips of his rough-gloved fingers, almost reverently, as if to verify that it was not a mirage.
Suddenly, his fingers slipped into his pocket and pulled out a delicate, paper-wrapped bud of a scarlet rose, slightly crushed as if it had been carefully carried around for a long time. Without saying a word, he quickly stood up from his chair and, with incredible precision, used his large fingers to straighten a crushed petal. Then, with bated breath, he extended his hand towards you.
You froze, and he slowly, with infinite care, intertwined the stem with a lock of hair at your temple. His palm, huge and warm even through his glove, lingered for a moment on your cheek
"Well, well, aren't we in a cheap romantic movie?"
The idyll was shattered by a voice that was painfully sweet but also caustic.
"Even there, the actors weren't as slow as you. And a paper rose?" You're not very original, Pierrot."
Harlequin was leaning against the doorframe. His patchwork quilt of a costume, a garish shade of poison-green, seemed to flaunt itself in the doorway, and the frozen mask of mocking surprise on his face was the exact opposite of Pierrot's soulful expression. He drew out Pierrot's name, weaving in years of honed-to-perfection hatred.
Without waiting for an answer, he gracefully detached himself from the doorframe and approached
"I'm here on behalf of the Jester," his voice was sweet, but his eyes, visible through the slits in his mask, gleamed with cold triumph. "He asked me to tell you that if you don't bring your ass to the circus within five minutes, he'll bring it himself. And believe me, it won't be a pleasant journey."
Then his attention shifted to you. The mask curved into a polite yet taunting smile.
"Hello, dear." He bent down deliberately slowly and, looking straight at Pierrot, brought your hand to his lips. His kiss was quick, but deliberately provocative. You pulled your hand away in embarrassment, feeling the color rise in your cheeks.
Pierrot remained silent, but the tension emanating from him became palpable, as if the air was filled with static electricity before a storm. Suddenly, his hand shot up and gripped Harlequin's shoulder with force.
"Come on," he growled, looking him in the eye
Harlequin just chuckled, roughly shaking off his grip. "I'll see you later, beautiful," he said, turning gracefully and waving goodbye as he left you alone again.
You exhaled, realizing that you had been holding your breath, and looked at Pierrot. He was standing with his fists clenched, his back tense.
"I have the day off tomorrow," you said quietly, trying to dispel the dark shadow left by Harlequin's visit. "So... I can come to your place tomorrow. To the circus."
The words had an immediate effect. The tension melted from his shoulders as if by magic. He turned to you and his smile bloomed again, wide and bright and this time completely genuine. He clutched his jester's hat in his hands, which he had not yet put on, and the neat braid that you had woven with your own hands shone beautifully in the lamplight, highlighting the change in him.
"How long are you going to be in there?" Harlequin's caustic voice came from outside, interrupting the moment once again.
Pierrot rolled his eyes for a moment, he took a step back, toward the exit, and looking at you, he raised his hand to his heart in a graceful, almost chivalrous gesture.
“Good night, Pierrot,” you replied, and your voice was soft and warm.
He left, and the glass door closed behind him with a soft chime. Suddenly, the cafe was filled with a hollow silence. You took a deep breath, looking around the empty room, and then your gaze fell on the wall clock. The hands showed that your shift had ended ten minutes ago.
As if waking up from a dream, you closed the door and went to the back room. You quickly took off your work uniform to change your clothes. Before leaving, you paused for a moment in front of the mirror, adjusting your collar, which was adorned with two pins: one with a yellow star and the other with a green heart. Your gaze fell on the reflection of the paper rose that still adorned your hair. You gently touched it, and a smile naturally appeared on your lips.
Leaving the room, you went to the electrical panel. The lever fell down with a quiet click, and the cafe was plunged into darkness, with only the sweet, creamy smell of milkshakes and the memory of a warm glove on your cheek.
After locking the door, you turned and walked away, taking another paper flower with you.
From Syawuch: Thanks for reading (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡
