How do you guys see the cast (or at least Harelquin and Pierrot) treating someone who did not know how to accept and affection or love, or believe they deserved it? In a scenario they didn't quiet see how they were special; alternatively if they were just someone who would work to burn out and went "I have to keep going, I'm relied on"
Reaction to MC doesn't know how to accept love/affection
A/n: Hopefully this isn’t a disappointing post after being gone for a second. ~Fox🦊
Pierrot
Pierrot realizes it during the quiet moments, not the dramatic ones. It’s in the way you instinctively apologize when he does something kind for you, or how your expression briefly tightens whenever affection lingers too long on you specifically. He notices how quickly you try to redirect attention away from yourself afterward, almost uncomfortable with being cared for directly. At first, he responds carefully, softening his approach so you won’t feel cornered, but over time, it starts to ache in him a little. Pierrot loves gently and openly by nature, so watching you react to tenderness like it’s unfamiliar—or worse, undeserved—feels deeply wrong to him. He begins weaving affection into smaller things instead of overt gestures: adjusting your coat without comment, remembering your favorite tea, sitting close enough for your shoulders to brush without forcing anything more. He wants love to stop feeling like something you have to brace yourself against.
“You always look surprised,” he says one evening, voice quiet as he smooths a wrinkle from your sleeve. His gaze flicks up to yours, soft with something almost sorrowful. “As though you expect kindness to disappear the moment you touch it.”
Harlequin
Harlequin clocks it almost immediately because your reactions are interesting. Every compliment makes you visibly short-circuit for half a second. Every affectionate touch gets met with nervous laughter, deflection, or a suspicious look like you’re trying to figure out what the catch is. At first, he thinks it’s adorable. Entertaining, even. But the longer he’s around you, the more the humor fades and something sharper takes its place. He starts noticing how automatic it is, how deeply ingrained the response seems to be, and suddenly he finds himself getting irritated on your behalf. Not at you, at whoever made affection feel unsafe enough that your first instinct is to dodge it. Harlequin reacts by doubling down completely. He becomes obnoxiously affectionate on purpose, dramatic and persistent in ways designed specifically to make you confront it. If you squirm away from praise, he gives more. If you avoid physical affection, he traps you in his lap just long enough to make you deal with it. To him, your discomfort becomes a challenge he’s determined to wear down through sheer persistence.
“You know,” he muses while lazily tracing circles against the back of your hand, “most people enjoy being adored.” His grin sharpens when you immediately look away. “And there you go again, acting like I’ve threatened you instead.”
Doctor
Doctor identifies the problem clinically before he understands it emotionally. He notices physiological responses first: elevated pulse, avoidance behaviors, visible tension whenever attention is directed toward you in a caring or intimate way. At first, he categorizes it mentally as conditioning, something learned, reinforced over time. But the longer he observes it, the more it starts bothering him in a way he can’t reduce to detached analysis. Your inability to comfortably receive care becomes something he begins quietly compensating for. Rather than overwhelming you with overt affection, he integrates it into practical actions instead. Heated blankets already waiting for you. Water handed to you before you realize you’re thirsty. His hand steady at your back when your symptoms flare. Doctor treats love like maintenance: consistent, reliable, impossible to argue against because it arrives disguised as necessity. And yet, every time you visibly hesitate before accepting even that, something colder settles beneath his composure. To him, your reactions indicate damage someone else caused, and he dislikes unresolved problems.
“You attempt to justify every kindness directed toward you,” he remarks while adjusting your sleeve with precise movements. “As though care must be earned through usefulness.” His gaze flicks briefly to your face before returning to his task. “That belief is objectively incorrect.”
Jester
Jester doesn’t respond emotionally at first, he responds analytically. He watches you reject affection in tiny, unconscious ways: changing the subject after compliments, stiffening when someone touches you gently, joking immediately after vulnerable moments to kill the sincerity before it settles too deeply. He notices every single pattern because of course he does. But unlike the others, Jester doesn’t rush to reassure you. Instead, he becomes fascinated by the contradiction of it. You clearly want affection, he can see that in the way you lean into it before catching yourself, yet the moment it’s fully offered, panic flickers across your face like you don’t know what to do with it. That contradiction hooks into him hard. The more attached he becomes, the less patient he grows with your instinct to run from softness. Not outwardly—he remains calm, composed—but there’s an edge beneath it now, subtle frustration at the fact that someone taught you to flinch from being loved. Over time, he starts cornering you with affection in deliberate, controlled ways, refusing to let you escape the moment before you’ve fully felt it.
“You prepare for affection like it’s a trap,” he says quietly one night, fingers tilting your chin back toward him after you try to look away. His expression remains unreadable, but his grip lingers just long enough to feel intentional. “I wonder who convinced you it was dangerous.”
Ticket Taker
Ticket Taker notices slowly because your habits disguise themselves as politeness at first. You thank him too much. You immediately offer something in return anytime he helps you. You tense whenever attention settles fully on you, as though being cared for creates some invisible debt you’re scrambling to repay before it can be collected. Once he recognizes the pattern, though, he cannot unsee it. Unlike Harlequin, he doesn’t force affection on you, and unlike Jester, he doesn’t study it openly. Instead, he responds with consistency. Predictability. He starts offering care in quiet, repeated ways that never demand a reaction from you, almost like he’s trying to retrain your instincts through repetition alone. Meals appearing when you forget to eat. A coat placed over your shoulders without comment. Space beside him always left open for you without invitation needing to be spoken aloud. He wants affection to become something ordinary to you rather than startling. Still, there are moments when your discomfort catches him off guard enough that something sharper slips through the cracks in his composure.
“You keep waiting for conditions,” he says one evening after you thank him for the third time over something small. He looks up from his work then, gaze steady and unwavering in a way that pins you in place more effectively than force ever could. “If I wanted repayment, I would have asked for it already.”
