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The Circus had a tendency to be dizzying; despite being more macabre and unsettling, something about it still made it feel so lively with crowds watching twisted shows that were called illusions, chanting for the darkest outcome, even if it left the stage tainted with blood.
When that one barista set foot in the circus with that red ticket, everything seemed to be thrown out of balance, a wrench thrown into the mix that had both the Jester and Ticket Taker’s attention solely because of how interesting this person was; and the fact that they had the eye of both Pierrot and Harlequin.
They kept coming back, and ironically they didn’t seem frightened, nor incredibly invested. They seemed more passively curious, following to see where they’d end up despite knowing that they’d seen things no one should see, and knew things no one should know.
Like the fact that the bodies on stage were real, and so was the blood.
It was the Jester’s favorite kind of fear—that wise fear, so subtle in its appearance, yet monumental in meaning.
However, the barista still wandered, their eyes drifting past all of the different colored tents, the oblivious crowds indulging in the macabre scenery, and the string lights that illuminated every path this circus had to offer. They had a habit of observing every little thing, and for some reason the lights had a certain warmth to them that contrasted this twisted place and its performances.
After rounding a quieter corner, they spotted a nearby bench and chose to sit down, crossing their legs and folding their arms. Deciding it was secluded enough, they fished a packet of cigarettes out of their pocket and lit one, breathing in the smoke and blowing it out towards the lights, watching them shimmer dimly through the smoke. The mixed scent of candy apples and cigarette smoke hit their nose, but it almost felt like a comfort.
In a sense, they were waiting. They wanted a moment to collect their thoughts regardless, but wanted to see if anyone would approach them first. Their eyes burned slightly, feeling a dull aching in the back of their head—from a lack of sleep, no doubt. Since they’d met Pierrot they didn’t sleep as much as they used to; they couldn’t stand that feeling of being watched that had grown over the last few days, and even had moments at work where their boss would find them almost asleep at the counter—and lightly scold them for it.
They didn’t know what they thought of Pierrot, he disturbed them slightly, as did Harlequin, but they could sense Pierrot’s obsessiveness that he tried to conceal—and that truly unsettled them. They looked at the collar of their shirt where the two pins were, the green one glinting slightly brighter than Pierrot’s gold one. They thought about Harlequin too, and even if he also unsettled them, they were more casual with him. It was amusing how quickly they’d developed a pattern of deflecting his less-than-innocent comments, instead opting for casual conversation that they noticed had caught Harlequin off-guard. Every attempt at excessive closeness or an unwanted touch was met with casual pushback, a passive-aggressive nudge or a subtle step back. It wasn’t Harlequin’s style, but they noticed his compliance despite how much he’d annoy them about it.
Maybe it was because they smiled at him warmly? Treated him in a way he’d forgotten for a long time? They didn’t know why he complied, or if that’d ever change. They silently appreciated it, in truth—though they didn’t rule out the idea that he was just trying to play a game with them.
However that thought was broken by the feather light touch of claws on her shoulder, and an icy voice that came off somewhat sweet.
“You make yourself easy to find with that smoke, dear.”
“Didn’t think about it, honestly.”
They didn’t push his hand away, tilting their head up to meet the green eyes of Harlequin, who was smiling down at them with a deceitfully sweet grin. He titled his head, examining her face like a predator would prey, and something in his gaze flickered for a brief moment when he saw how tired they looked, and again when he noticed they wore his pin—effectively ignoring Pierrot’s, which he’d already noticed the day before, and instead admiring how it glinted in the light, how the Barista had put it in just the right spot for it too look like a precious jewel.
“You never seem to think, quite dangerous, wouldn’t you say?”
They rolled their eyes when he leaned closer, nodding ever so slightly in agreement. He got dangerously close, they could see every sharp tooth in that mask that seemed uncannily close to being his actual mouth, as well as how intensely his eyes were boring into them—but they didn’t even flinch. He loved that.
It made him lean close enough for them to feel his breath—it smelled sweet, like those candy apples, it was ironic since they distinctly remembered him saying he hated sweets. They still moved to elbow him lightly, which made him grin wider.
They were honestly a little surprised when moved back, stepping out in front of them instead with an exaggerated bow that matched his act a little too well.
“Maybe it’s dangerous. Don’t you have a show to perform in?”
He chuckled, the sound as sharp as a blade while he moved closer, leaning to match their height from where they sat—in reality he didn’t have to lean all that far, considering they were fairly close in height, with him besting them by an inch or two. He noticed their eyes passively watching his every move with slight precision, but they still seem laid-back overall.
“It ended a bit ago. I figured I’d give you more of a personal one to pass the time.”
They looked at him, giving the smallest of smiles. Even if they could tell he had some kind of intention behind doing this, they couldn’t help themselves.
“Mhm. Figures.”
“Well, tell me, little visitor, why did you come back here? I’m just dying to know~”
They were surprised by that question, just staring at him for a few seconds that felt awfully long, with their eyes locking with his—he seemed almost tense, as if waiting for a specific answer.
They’d almost forgotten really, a red ticket sitting in their pocket. They finally broke the silence with a response as they took another drag of the cigarette they’d been letting burn between their fingers.
“Pierrot asked me. Honestly, I didn't come for him though. Definitely not.”
The last part of that sentence was muttered rather quietly, and it caught Harlequin’s attention more than it should’ve. He didn’t even have to ask his question because his look had already done it for him.
“I swear I caught him watching me sleep one night…he didn’t notice, can’t sleep well because of it.”
Their answer came hesitantly, and they caught a mix of slight anger and shock behind his eyes that quickly disappeared behind his usual mask. Whether he was shocked that they told him or that Pierrot had been stalking them, they weren’t sure. Although they wanted to assume the latter at first, the way he looked at them for a few seconds too long made them think maybe it was their first thought.
Harlequin shifted, slipping closer before they could object like usual and sitting beside them. He sat close, a few inches away, and after a moment gently put a hand on their shoulder—his claws barely pressed down, not feather light, almost firm. They could feel his arm press against their back, but the movement didn’t feel as intrusive as usual.
“Tell me then, why’d you come? Even seeing what you’ve seen, you still come back. You’ve never run, dearest.”
They didn’t push him off this time, just crushed their cigarette and looked up at the lights shining over them both. They illuminated the small bench, hidden just out of view of the crowds of circus attendees who moved from show to show, talking loudly amongst each other about the bloody and dark shows. The barista thought they saw purple eyes watching in the distance, but ignored it for now.
“Nothing better to do, he knows where I live regardless. Also, I hate my job—need to do something to not think about it.”
Harlequin chuckled at their honesty, tasting it like sugar on his tongue—it wasn’t his usual flavor, but he found himself savoring it, along with their small smile.
“I could tell, you looked awfully annoyed when I showed—could’ve just been me, though~”
After he teased them, he lightly squeezed their shoulder. He was close, too close, but at the moment they didn’t have the heart to push him away—even if he wasn’t anything close to sweet, if he had ulterior motives.
Maybe they were just lonely;they weren’t sure anymore.
“Yeah, guess so.”
They thought about something, before pulling a pin out of their pocket. It wasn’t a shiny jewel, but a pin of black cat, its face a bit goofy, but endearing. They held it out, the enamel glittering beneath the light. Harlequin stared at it in confusion for a few moments, looking at the small bandages that peaked beneath their sleeves from small things like spilling a bit of extra hot coffee or grazing the sharp edge of a counter in a rush to serve orders. He couldn’t help but scoff slightly, letting out a laugh that was mocking with a hint of smugness. The sweetness they’d tasted a few minutes before turned bitter fast, and their smile faded to a more neutral and expectant expression as they moved to put it away again.
They didn’t seem particularly upset, nor hurt, just a smidge disappointed—yet knowing.
“Just…thought I’d return the favor.”
But when they tried to put it away, he caught their wrist and pried the pin from their hand without a second thought, smirking as though he were planning on destroying it for the fun of it, there was that hint of sadistic impulsiveness that they could see as if it were behind a thin glass wall, just barely contained.
Yet for a moment it seemed to vanish, and instead Harlequin stared at it with an expression that was akin to a blank one. They’d never seen an expression like that on him thus far, and it left them slightly confused.
“Harle-“
“What was your name?”
The barista stopped in their tracks, looking at him with an uncertain expression, almost bewildered by the sudden question. He’d thrown them completely off balance.
“What?”
Harlequin repeated the question with a sweeter tone, looking back at them with the pin still upturned in his palm. His grin looked less smug now, almost curious.
“You name, dearest. What was it?”
“…it’s [reader]. [reader].”
Harlequin smiled uncannily wide, savoring the moment as if it were a divine gift. It tasted so good—this moment that formed a bond that wasn’t forced, but given. The perfect contest to Pierrot’s lovesick obsession that made Harlequin sick with disgust despite how amusing it could be.
Deep down there were other reasons for him loving this moment—but he wouldn’t admit them to even himself.
“[reader]. That’s a pretty name, sounds almost like a performer’s. A star, maybe. Wouldn’t you think so, dear?”
His smile felt almost warm for a second—a great contrast to the usual coldness they felt from him, but it faded quite easily. He stood up and released his hold on them, still holding the pin between his claws. They could see it shine a little as he moved away and gave a small bow.
“We close soon, dear. You should get going.”
They nodded, standing and hiding their cigarette pack deeper in their pocket to not catch the attention of departing customers. Right before they went into view again, Harlequin snuck up behind them and leaned right next to their ear—whispering so softly that they almost didn’t catch him over the roar of cheers from the last crowd of the evening
“I hope to see you tomorrow.”
With that, the feeling of him right against their back faded, as if he was never there at all. When they turned around, there wasn’t even a trace—though they caught a flicker of yellow in the shadows that encouraged them to quicken their pace.
For whatever reason, neither Pierrot nor Harlequin showed at their apartment that night.
But when they came back to the circus the next day, early enough for Harlequin’s performance…”
They caught the slightest glimmer of a tacky cat pin on his collar.