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It was just… too much to take in all at once. Too much noise blaring harsh in your ears. Too many lights flickering and shining like knives in your eyes.
Too much everything.
It was easy to forcefully ignore the first prickling of overstimulation, to simply shove the emotions down deep into the back of your thoughts and assure yourself that it would be silent and peaceful soon enough. Once you got home you could sleep in blissful quiet, keep the lights low and focus on recuperation until your shift at work the following day.
But the prickling quickly turned to scratching. Then biting. Then gnawing. Before you knew your body had started to shiver and shake before Harlequin’s story was finished, and you were all too grateful to have been somewhere in the back of the crowd watching him perform his little story— you only gathered a few details and snippets, all too consumed by simply shutting down all the extraneous sensations filling up your brain to bursting.
Too much. Too much.
It’s embarrassing, but you can’t even stay till the end of the show. You hurry through the nearest exit in the tent, not bothering to notice if it’s actually the correct exit or not. It doesn’t matter. You just need to get away from the noise and the lights and the people and the— the everything.
The rattle of your heartbeat follows you somewhere else, somewhere more quiet. You can still faintly hear the background din of the circus, but it’s dulled down considerably to a manageable— ignorable— level of meaningless noise.
This must be another part of Harlequin’s tent. You can guess that much from the fact that you never stepped outside, simply moved away from the stuffy crowd of adults taking in the man’s performance. When you force yourself to glance around there’s the telltale color of emerald and black against the fabric walls, with props and supplies piled up in whatever forgotten, lonely area of the tent this is. You’re not even sure if anyone is meant to be here in the first place, but that worry has taken such a low priority in your frazzled mind that it’s barely a blip on the mental radar.
It’s not like you’d stay here for long. Just… just long enough to catch your breath. To slow down the thoughts whipping like an angry gale inside your brain.
A minute or two passes by with the muted sound of the circus outside. You find a place to sit and curl up beside a tall stack of folded canvas sheets, likely to be used within the tents to section them off or add extra protection from the rain— you’re not sure, but you’re not in the headspace to care. For this one moment, all you want to do is breathe.
But even that feels like a challenge when your body is fighting an ingrained, instinctual response to the stress of all the sensations that had forced themselves into your awareness. Every breath is too quick, accompanied by tears that stream down your cheeks.
You don’t notice the footsteps. They’re too quiet. Or rather, perhaps you’re simply too loud, sniffling and hiccuping while you dry the trails of wetness streaming over your cheeks with the back of your hand.
“Do I spy a lost little rabbit back here?”
The sound of Harlequin’s lilting voice finally registers in your ears. You look up to find him stepping towards where you sit, his expression hard to read and his tone harder to interpret. “Now, I didn’t think my little show was that bad…”
There’s sarcasm, or at least a lighthearted humor settled between his words. At least it sounds genuine, easy for you to hear in his voice and know he didn’t plan on tossing you out right away.
“N-no,” you stutter, hurriedly wiping off your face with a motion of your hands that rubs raw against your cheeks. You don’t want him to see you crying. “I-I… it wasn’t your show. I actually really liked it!”
Harlequin kneels down to be closer to your height before you can struggle to stand up. He reaches a hand out and presses it hard it over your shoulder for good measure, but his body seems too casual and open for it to come from a place of anger or chastisement. Trapped beneath his touch and unable to stand or turn your face away, it’s impossible to hide the fresh look of tears that were bubbling up yet again.
Your lips feel loose with words as you continue to speak, heart still beating hard against your ribcage.
“It was a little scary— more macabre than anything— b-but it was just how… loud… everything was all of a sudden…”
Harlequin tilts his head to the side.
There’s something eerie in how he watches you with those sharp, needle-like eyes. It feels as if he’s trying to pull apart every little detail in your face and your words. Like you’re a puzzle to put together, a creature to observe, a book to read down to the letter.
The smallest twitch of your lips, the flutter of your eyelashes, the sound of the gentle stutter making it harder still to speak properly— It’s easy to feel like prey when someone is watching you with the eyes of a predator. Despite that Harlequin doesn’t make you feel like you’re about to be eaten.
Just… watched.
Closely.
Expression still unreadable, he leans forward. The green-clad performer moves so close that he almost blocks all of your vision of the rest of the tent, forcing you to look towards his face and his wide, unnerving grin.
“If you were simply wanting an excuse to be alone with me, dear one, all you had to do was ask~”
His words are playful, empty of the edge that you’d grown used to hearing from him. A snake hissing, but not baring its fangs. Dangerous, but not inherently a danger to you.
You’re not sure if that’s a comfort or concern, but you try to offer him a soft sound of amusement all the same. It’s a weak, soft little laugh that barely has your breath brushing across your lips.
“… Do these sorts of things happen often, little rabbit?”
You blink, taken back for just a moment by his earnest-sounding question. It lacks an edge, but he’s still smiling impossibly wide.
“Sometimes,” you finally whisper. “I… wasn’t prepared for how loud it is here. So… many people.”
“Oh yes,” he agrees with a hum. The noise somehow feels almost pleasant to your ears— like a soft blanket. “The second night onward tends to be quite… rowdy. More people hear from those that visited the first and… well.”
He doesn’t elaborate on his thoughts, but you find yourself clinging to the sound of his voice like a lifeline. It’s a lighthouse in the middle of a dark, tumultuous storm of whipping wind and crackling thunder. It’s a beacon you can anchor yourself to, though you’re not quite sure why.
Each syllable is soothing, a salve of safety and security, a soft hiss of sound blanketing everything else surrounding you.
But you suppose the ‘why’ or the ‘how’ doesn’t really matter as long as it works. The last thing you need right now is to trigger a panic attack in an unfamiliar place.
At least Harlequin is familiar, if only vaguely. Your mind finds him comforting in comparison to the abrasiveness of the world around you. The crowds outside, the music haunting and lilting through the air of the circus. When was the last time you’d gone somewhere this busied and chaotic by yourself?
You must have glanced down or otherwise looked away at one point, because suddenly you feel Harlequin’s hand reach up to press against your cheek. The touch is much like his other hand on your shoulder— gentle, but unmoving. It’s a subtle pressure, an unspoken command: Do not look away from me.
In the blink of an eye, you realize Harlequin’s face is close. Very, very close to yours. Only a few inches separate your lips from his. There’s something about his eyes that you can’t quite place and it leaves your mind reeling with a sense of unease. Not the kind that makes you want to run away; it’s more like the feeling you get when you’re in a new place and you’re unsure of where you are.
Rabbit. Like a little rabbit.
“Don’t worry, dear one. There’s no need to focus on anything else right now. Just… look… at… me.”
Your heart is beating quickly, but it’s not the anxiety causing it anymore. Suddenly your mouth feels dry. You start to wonder how it would feel to kiss him, this near-stranger, this enigmatic figure that had all but swooped into your life and made a spot within it without an ounce of shame or apology.
“Why worry about all those people out there? You look so much better in here, dear little rabbit.” His eyes are practically glowing, overshadowed as he leans in even closer— your foreheads are touching and you are certain that with every pause he takes between words or sentences leave you breathless in turn. “So much better with me. Don’t you feel so safe in here?”
What would it feel like for him to… bite you? It would be so easy for him. You’re close enough to see the gleam of his teeth (his teeth? It’s not a mask?), and they look like they could just… sink into your skin. Not hard, not painful, but— they could leave a nice mark.
…Would that be so bad?
“So very safe, dear one. Just imagine feeling this all the time. Wouldn’t that be so nice?”
Harlequin’s expression sharpens to a point, and he leans in until your lips and his are almost touching. You can feel his breath brush across your skin, feel the rumble in his chest as each word spills from his tongue like a sweet, viscous syrup that traps your mind.
“Red doesn’t suit you, little rabbit.” His eyes glance down to your shirt collar where the telltale glint of the pin is still there— you completely forgot about it. “I think a sinful, intoxicating green fits you so much better. Don’t you think?”
But then, something shifts. You blink. You breathe. Curiosity becomes fear. Harlequin is suddenly too close, too much— not like the crowds. His presence is still soothing, but there’s something about the fuzzy pressure over your thoughts that makes your mind scramble helplessly in its jaws.
A gasp slips out between your lips and you shove yourself backwards as hard and as quickly as you can. With the cold canvas wall against your back, the world suddenly regains clarity once more. As if someone had lifted a blanket off of your perception, blinked away the fog. You aren’t shoved back into the mental state of overstimulation though— a shiver of mild fear moves down your spine, but out of surprise more than anything else.
And Harlequin watches you. His smile has never once dropped as you finally struggle against his touch, but he does immediately lift his hands away the very same moment you start to move back. Did he expect this reaction? You can’t be certain, but there’s a curious glint in his emerald gaze. A soft look, something that would have been impossible to see had your face not been mere inches away from his.
“Ah, apologies dear one,” he says, smooth as honey. Harlequin slowly rises to his feet in a motion that seems far too graceful for how tall he is, then takes the one stride forward so he could lean down and offer his hand. “I didn’t mean to overwhelm you. Are you alright?”
You stare up at him for a moment before taking his hand, thoroughly confused at what just happened— and why you still feel safe next to him despite the sudden terror that had gripped you.
“I…” it takes a moment to find words in your parched mouth. “I’m alright. A… little better, I think. Maybe I just needed a few minutes of quiet.”
“You would be surprised what a little quiet and focus can do, dear one.”
There’s a gentle catch in your breath as his words fill the air, but it doesn’t linger any. Maybe it’s just the way he said them; Harlequin does have a very nice voice, after all.
You take a moment, then clear your throat. “I think I need to go,” you say, hoping that your tone is as soft and gentle as you want it to be, “I’m supposed to see Pierrot’s show, I promised him that—“
Harlequin shushes you, pressing a finger to your lips as a smile curls across his face.
“Oh yes yes, I know. Best not to break a promise now, hm?”
You nod, and his smile seems to twitch. You’re not sure if he was expecting a different response. But he gently leads you out of the tent, holding onto your hand with a grip that teeters on excessive, but not at all painful.
After making sure that you were alright once more, Harlequin offers you a bow, gesturing towards the red-and-black colored tent.
“Best to hop on over to his tent before it starts,” he says, “Little rabbit.”
Your heartbeat stutters. The world feels… off, but it’s only for a moment. Just a moment before clarity returns and you have to wonder if you were just too tired and a bit hungry that your mind was simply starting to play little tricks on you.
Maybe you’d see if you should get something to eat first, something to put on your belly.
A candy apple sounds really nice.