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Sylvain had high expectations for Sumia Blaiddyd’s fifth birthday party, but even he didn’t expect the hot clown.
Last year, her birthday party was at a farm just outside of town that rescued horses. Marianne had known about it, of course. The kids got to learn about animal care and ride the less skittish ponies, and the adults got day-drunk and played increasingly aggressive games of cornhole. They opened presents, they ate cake, and Sylvain, to the shock and awe of both the handlers and Sumia, earned the trust of a recently-rescued filly. It’s maybe too pathetic for him to admit out loud, but it was the best party he’s been to in years.
Dimitri and Marianne opted to keep the party at home this year–something a little more low-key, they promised, as if they didn’t live in a house the size of a wedding venue. Ribbons and glittering signs guide guests from the main hall to the patio, where drinks and appetizers wait next to the present drop-off. Sylvain deposits his gift and scans the modest crowd for the girl of the hour. Her parents made her easy to spot, tying a big blue bow into her hair, and he finally sees her at the edge of the patio, sitting cross-legged with her friends while two honest-to-goddess clowns perform in the grass.
The first clown is obviously Leonie, recognizable even through the makeup. She’s in a loose, thin onesie that features every color under the sun and undoubtedly hides plenty of props. Her hair’s done up in high pigtails, and she looks out at the kids with a conspiratorial grin, one hand behind her back.
The second clown Sylvain doesn’t recognize at all. Stick-straight red hair falls to their shoulders, and they easily have several more layers of makeup than Leonie. Their ensemble matches their partner’s kaleidoscope of colors, but it’s tight, overalls hugging truly gorgeous legs. They’re juggling, typical clown fare, except that they’re juggling a knife, a croquet ball, and what looks like one of Sumia’s pony dolls. Effortlessly, at that, with a smug smirk on their face. It probably shouldn’t be sexy, but Sylvain’s always had a bit of a competency kink. He’s hooked.
Making his way down to Sumia has the added benefit of getting a closer look at Hot Clown. “Hey, big girl,” he says, crouching down to ruffle her hair just a smidge. “Having a good party so far?”
Sumia looks at him just long enough to confirm his identity, then turns immediately back to the show. “There are clowns,” she whispers, reverently, like clowns were an ancient legend and not someone’s day job.
“There sure are,” he replies. “When’d you get into clowns, anyway?”
“Shh!” Sumia puts a tiny finger over his mouth. “They’re performing.” It figures that Dimitri and Marianne’s child is unfailingly polite. In front of them, Leonie tosses another plastic pony at Hot Clown, who incorporates it into their juggling routine without so much as a blink. Sumia’s not wrong–it’s a hell of a performance, even if you’re not fantasizing about what else those hands could do. Sylvain watches as Leonie slowly reveals a cream pie from behind her back, urging the kids to stay quiet. A few suspenseful seconds later, she casually smashes it over Hot Clown’s face, sending the juggling props to the ground (the croquet ball falls with a thud onto one flawless foot; Sylvain winces in sympathy). The kids howl with laughter. Hot Clown glowers at them. The kids laugh harder.
“Alright, alright, I guess that was a little mean,” Leonie says, with the voice of a clown who regrets absolutely nothing. “Why don’t we let Sugarloaf here get cleaned up? I’ve got a few extra-special tricks up my sleeve for the birthday girl.” She starts to pull a rainbow ribbon out from under her onesie as her partner retreats, and Sumia squeals in delight.
Sugarloaf. Goddess, Sylvain needs a drink if he’s gonna do this. He gives Sumia a head pat for the road and turns back to the refreshments table.
The food is split into obvious sections - candy, popcorn, and pigs-in-blankets for the kids, catered appetizers for the adults. Ingrid, unsurprisingly, staked it out while Sylvain was watching the clownery. She leans against the table with a full plate in one hand, the other lazily waving to him before turning back to the food.
Sylvain reaches past her to grab a beer can from the cooler. “So, did you see the hot clown, or did you just go straight to the meat?”
Ingrid doesn’t even look up from her pyramid of finger foods. “You’re depraved,” she says, “and I’m engaged.”
“You’re still allowed to look, you know,” he says, popping open the can and taking a swig.
“Whatever. I didn’t come to my friend’s kid’s birthday party to debate the merits of hitting on clowns with you.” Ingrid stops to shove some cured salami in her mouth. “While you’re here, though, Dimitri told me Felix wasn’t coming.”
“Oh?” It wasn’t actually surprising at all, but Sylvain was nothing if not an expert in faking it. “That’s kind of a dick move.”
“Is it?” Ingrid asks, somehow managing to give him a pointed look with her cheeks full of food. “You tell me.”
“I don’t get why you’re asking me and not the guy Felix barely spoke to for nine years.”
“Because, as much as Felix swore up and down he hated Dimitri, he never failed to show up somewhere if we told him Dimitri was coming.” A fair point, but Sylvain isn’t going to concede it. “The last time I talked to him was about trying that new barbecue place on the east side, so I’m pretty sure he’s not mad at me, and it’s not really possible to fight with Marianne, so.” Ingrid points a finger at his chest. “Spill.”
Sylvain lets out a long sigh in the hope they’ll be interrupted before he runs out of breath. No luck; evidently, Leonie was having the performance of her life behind them. “He came by my place Tuesday night, after Gemma dumped me,” he says. “We got tipsy, I told him I was inherently unlovable, you know, the usual, and he said, and I quote, ‘You’ve spent your entire life dating people you know won’t love you because you’re a coward.’ So I asked him who I should date, then, and he told me I was the most aggravating person alive, grabbed his jacket, and left.”
Ingrid lets out a low whistle. “I’m guessing you haven’t heard from him since?”
“Nope.”
“Classic Felix,” she says, nodding. “I really don’t get how his mind works.”
An immaculately manicured hand finds its way to Ingrid’s shoulder. “I say this with all the love in my heart,” Dorothea says, eyes twinkling, “but you two are incredlby thick.”
“Thanks, I try my best,” Sylvain replies, as Ingrid mimes gagging.
“Mind if I steal her away for a bit?” Dorothea asks. “It’ll give you some time to make an impression on your harlequin beau.”
Sylvain frowns. “How long were you eavesdropping?”
“Oh, honey, the whole time,” she replies, sunnily. “Good luck!” She loops her hand around Ingrid’s elbow and whisks them further into the house.
Sylvain gazes back into the yard. Leonie was doing some sort of rhythmic gymnastics-adjacent routine that had the kids’ undivided attention while Dimitri and Marianne set something up on the far side of the patio. And past them, carrying chairs over to the tables, was a cleaned-up Hot Clown. It’s almost too convenient.
Sylvain doesn’t waste a second in getting to Dimitri’s side. “Hey. You need some help?”
“Sylvain!” Dimitri smiles down at him. “We’re fine I think, actually—“
“I got it, don’t worry.” Sylvain takes a stack of shimmering paper napkins and makes his way to the second table, where Hot Clown’s setting paper plates in front of each chair. Perfect.
Even on their break, Hot Clown still carries themselves with an unmistakable, alluring confidence. They glance at Sylvain as he approaches before quickly averting their eyes, as if they found him wanting. Goddess, but Sylvain loves that in a partner. He gives them a once-over in return, eyes lingering on their legs, and grins. “So,” he says, setting a napkin next to the plate they’d just placed, “that was some damn good juggling. How about showing me some more of your moves?”
Hot Clown jumps, like they hadn’t expected Sylvain to speak. They look at him, face blank, before turning back to the table. Were clowns mute? That was just a mime thing, right? Were mimes clowns? Or were clowns mimes? No, Leonie had talked to the kids before. He just needs a softer approach. “Yeah, okay, that wasn’t my best. I just really wanted to talk to you, because I haven’t been taken in by a performance like that in a long time. Could I take you to lunch, or coffee? Not today, but next week?” Behind them, Sylvain thinks he hears Dimitri cough violently. Whatever. He could lecture him about propriety after Sylvain had his fun.
Hot Clown shoots him a dubious look. They’re still silent, but Sylvain sees the message in their eyes: You’re really hitting on the hired talent at your childhood friend’s daughter’s birthday party? “I know, this is weird for me too, but hey. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. So, how about it?”
Sylvain sees their eyebrows rise, even with them painted over. They drop their stack of plates on the table, not breaking eye contact, and back away like Sylvain’s a ticking bomb. Nothing gained, indeed.
He works on the table settings alone until Marianne stops by, and they catch up as she takes over plate duty. By the time they finish, Dimitri brings out Sumia’s cake, a triple-decker juggernaut decorated with blue sparkler candles and exactly five purple ponies. He doesn’t even need to whistle- the cake’s big and loud enough on its own to seize everyone’s attention. Leonie wraps up her routine and corrals the kids over to the tables with ease. From there, Marianne takes Sumia’s hand and leads her to a chair at the head of the first table, dropping a kiss on her cheek. The adults that had been scattered indoors and throughout the yard gather around the tables as Dimitri lights the candles. Hot Clown, oddly enough, stands next to him. Their painted lips curve into a thin frown that moves only slightly when Leonie kicks off the birthday song, as if they’re determined not to be heard.
Sylvain, in spite of himself, is still fascinated.
–
He finds his opening about a few hours later, when Sumia unwraps her last present (a pack of board games, which, in Sylvain’s humble opinion, isn’t nearly as exciting as the full painting kit he’d brought) and the sugar highs start to wear off. Parents start collecting their tired children, and Sylvain sees Leonie give Sumia a warm hug before heading to the front of the house. He’ll catch her before she leaves.
Sylvain hadn’t gotten this far in life by accepting rejection, but he wasn’t stupid, either. Trying to pick up the same person after striking out took more than giving them time to cool off; it took an in. Leonie wasn’t overly fond of Sylvain, but she’d softened on him the last few years, mostly because Marianne liked him. He’d take it.
Leonie’s car had been at the top of the circle drive when he’d gotten to the party, so it’d take a while for her to be able to get out. He’d have enough time to get at least a bit of Hot Clown intel. Sure enough, she’s standing behind her car when Sylvain comes through the front door, the trunk wide open as she rummages around for something. She pulls out a pack of heavy-duty face wipes as Sylvain approaches, using a tabletop mirror set up in the trunk to de-clown herself. “Hey, Leonie, you got a second?” he asks.
She looks back at him, face still half-clown, her smile more of a wince. “Uh, I’m not going anywhere soon, as you can see, so I guess I can talk,” she says. “What can I do for you, Sylvain? Don’t make me regret this.”
“You won’t,” he replies, easily. “I just wanted to talk to you about…” Fuck, how did he forget Hot Clown’s horrible trade name? He looks further into Leonie’s trunk, hoping she has some kind of labeled prop out. No dice, but Sylvain sees a familiar ruff collar through her side windows, attached to a head covered with unmistakable ink-blue hair in a topknot. Shit. His stomach lurches.
“Felix.”
Hot Clown turns around, and any lingering doubts Sylvain had vanish. Felix has completely cleaned off his face, his wig discarded, and glares at Sylvain so sharply he thinks the car windows might melt. He feels pathetic for not seeing it sooner - Felix had covered his brows, sure, but he hadn’t worn color contacts or a foam nose. He’d hardly even acted differently, and Sylvain spent the better part of his afternoon planning a careless, skin-deep seduction of his…his closest friend.
“Well!” Leonie says, full of fake cheer. “I’m gonna double check that Marianne doesn’t want me to take anything else home. Behave yourself, Sugarloaf.”
“Don’t you dare–” Felix starts, but Leonie’s already walking to the front door. He watches her leave for a moment with a scowl on his face, and then sighs, deflated. Without looking at Sylvain, he walks around the car to the open trunk and sits on its edge.
Sylvain drops down next to him. Miraculously, Felix doesn’t move away. “Look, Felix, I–”
“Don’t,” he says, lifting his hand. “I know you wouldn’t have acted like that if you knew it was me. I should’ve just told everyone about the gig instead of making Dimitri keep it to himself.”
“Why didn’t you?” Sylvain asks.
Felix looks at him, eyebrows raised. “You really want me to spell it out, huh? I work as a party clown on weekends. It’s ridiculous.”
Sylvain shrugs. “I don’t know, I thought I was pretty clear that I didn’t think you were ridiculous.”
Felix scoffs. “Please,” he says. “I’ve watched you pick people up for years. I know it’s all bullshit.”
Sylvain has two options now, he knows. He can play along, let this turn into another funny story his friends tell his latest fling, or he can be honest, for once, and take a risk. You’re a coward, Felix had told him before storming out of his kitchen. He was right, but Sylvain had never seen the point in being anything else. Sincerity was a one-way ticket to disaster, in his experience. With how thoroughly he’d made an ass of himself already today, though, what did he have left to lose?
He looks down at Felix, who brims with obvious misery under his anger, and decides to jump. “I was serious. About all of it,” he says. “I know you think I’m shameless, but I wouldn’t hit on a clown under normal circumstances. You juggling knives like it’s as easy as breathing is not normal. It’s…goddess, it was stupid hot.” Felix sucks in a breath, but doesn’t speak. “You’re right about me. I don’t like getting involved with people I care about, because I know I’ll fuck it up. If I’d known it was you, I wouldn’t have flirted, but only because I know I couldn’t handle losing you. So, trust me, it wasn’t bullshit, but I won’t do it again.”
Sylvain, coward that he is, doesn’t dare to look at Felix after laying all of that on him. He looks back at the front door, where another family starts off to their car, and wills Felix to say something. Instead, Sylvain hears him start laughing.
“You’re pretty dumb, for someone so smart,” he says. “Why did you think I walked out on you on Tuesday? You’re insufferable, but you’re also stuck with me, Gautier. All you had to do was ask.”
Sylvain lets himself look. Felix isn’t smiling, but there’s a defiant tilt to his jaw, like he’s daring Sylvain to take what he hasn’t let himself think about for years. He lets out a breath. “I’m asking now.”
“Good,” Felix says.
His hand is rough when it grabs Sylvain’s chin and tugs him down for a kiss, but his lips, freshly scrubbed, are firm and delicious. Sylvain brings his hands to Felix’s sides and parts his lips. Felix moans at the invitation, his other hand finding its way into Sylvain’s hair, and sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. It’s not much, Sylvain knows, but his body reacts like he’s been starving in a desert. He leans down into Felix’s touch, ready to give as good as he’s getting–
And an unmistakably childish squeal reverberates through the driveway.
It’s the last thing he wants, but Sylvain breaks the kiss. “We probably shouldn’t do this here.”
Felix groans. “Oh, so now you have some shame,” he says. He tugs Sylvain’s hair in exasperation, but it’s just the amount of pain he likes, and he can’t help the moan that escapes his lips. Fuck, they can’t keep going like this.
“We’re in Leonie’s car,” Sylvain says, as much for himself as for Felix, “Parked outside Dimitri’s house, surrounded by small children.”
“I guess you’re right.” Felix drops his hands in defeat; Sylvain misses the contact already. “Your place? I’ll drive.”
“Works for me,” he replies. “We should probably say bye to Sumia first, though.”
“Right.” Felix pushes himself to his feet. Even in rainbow suspenders, his thighs look like fucking heaven. Soon, Sylvain reminds himself. “Let’s make this quick.”
–
Sumia stares up at them with her mouth in a perfect O. “Uncle Felix?” she says, looking between his head and his clothes. “You were the clown?”
“It’s my secret talent,” Felix replies, nodding sternly. “Can I trust you to keep quiet about it?”
Sumia gives him a solemn salute. “Of course,” she says. “I swear.”
“You’ve outdone yourself, big girl,” Sylvain says. While they’d been out front, Sumia clearly roped her parents into helping her assemble some of her more involved presents on the patio. Usually, he’d offer to help clean up, but for once, he’s got other plans he doesn’t want to miss. “This was the party of the year.”
“You really think so?” Sumia asks, gasping.
“The best hostess in Fhirdiad and world-class clowns?” he says, winking at Felix. He rolls his eyes, but Sylvain can see the blush creeping up his cheeks. “Trust me, Sumia, no one’s topping this.”