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Sometimes, there was this thought in Harlequin’s head.
It was subtle, faint—
like something that wasn’t meant to be noticed, slipping in and out of his mind before he could properly grasp it. It never stayed long enough to be questioned, never loud enough to demand attention.
Just a passing thing.
Or at least, that’s what he told himself.
How annoying, really. The thought kept lingering in his head, at the back of his skull—quiet, persistent, like a dull pressure he couldn’t quite reach, no matter how hard he tried to shake it off.
Harlequin clicked his tongue softly, fingers tightening around the flyers he’d been holding before he even realized it. He really needs to get back to work, or Ticket Taker would scold him for slacking off again.
—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Harlequin had been in Doctor’s personal tent far more often than usual—most likely because of the fights he picked with Pierrot.
Not that it was anything new.
In fact, it would be an unusual sight if that didn’t happen
He had always done that—pushing, provoking, testing the edges just to see how far the Pierrot would go before he snapped. And when he did, it always ended the same way.
With him here, along with bruises and knives on his shoulders, arms and hands
The personal tent was a little different from the main tent that Doctor use to treat his patients
It was faintly medicinal, with something sharp beneath it—clean, almost sterile, but not quite enough to hide what lingered underneath. There was always that metallic trace, thin but unmistakable, clinging stubbornly to the canvas, to the bandages, to his skin if he stayed long enough.
However
There was also something burning in the corner—dried herbs, bitter and earthy, the smoke curling lazily through the tent. It dulled the scent, softened it, made it easier to ignore if you didn’t think too hard about it.
But it never fully covered it.
Not when the “source” was still there.(He meant the human’s corpses that Doctor used for experience)
Harlequin leaned back against the edge of the bed, gaze drifting briefly toward the far side of the tent before settling on the huge man before him, crouching down on one knee, wrapping his hands with bandages.
Doctor didn’t need to ask what happened.
He already knew.
“Again?” Doctor said, voice even, like he’d already expected this.
Harlequin huffed softly. “You say that as if you’re surprised.”
“I’m not, unfortunately.”
That almost made him laugh.
Almost.
He let Doctor pull his arm forward without resistance, the motion familiar enough that he didn’t bother reacting to it anymore. Fingers pressed, turned, assessed—quick, efficient, impersonal.
It should’ve been nothing.
Just another routine.
“You really should try picking less fights with Pierrot, the amount of time you ended up here has increased quite alot.”
Harlequin let out a quiet huff, something between a scoff and a laugh.
“Sounds like a challenge, too bad, I think I will pass on this one” he muttered, not bothering to look at him.
Doctor didn’t respond immediately.
Instead, his hands continued their work—steady, precise, tightening the bandage just enough to hold, not enough to hurt. It was practiced, almost detached, like he’d done this too many times to treat it as anything more than routine.
“You’re getting careless,” Doctor added after a moment, tone unchanged.
That made Harlequin pause.
Just slightly.
“Am I?” he replied, voice light, almost amused.
But the answer didn’t come right away.
Doctor’s fingers stilled for a fraction of a second—so brief it could’ve been nothing—before continuing again.
“If you keep getting into fights like this, I’m afraid I will run out of bandages and antiseptic.” He went on, not answering Harlequin’s question.
Fair enough
“No need to worry, Doc. I’ll bounce back in no time.” His tone was light, almost joking
Doctor didn’t respond.
He never did when Harlequin spoke like that.
The bandage tightened around his arm, firm and practiced, the pressure grounding in a way Harlequin didn’t want to think about. It was familiar—too familiar.
Like a cycle that might not be broken
He would get in trouble with Pierrot again, and he would end up in Doctor’s tent, again. He would be scolded by both Jester and Ticket Taker again for picking on Pierrot. Simply as that
Silence filled the air in the tent, like a soft blanket wrapping around the two people in it. Yet Harlequin didn’t feel warm
He felt tensed
Uneased even
Doctor had already finished bandaging his hands up. And Harlequin took the opportunity to leave immediately. He hated silence, always despised it.
And the thought that has been haunting him nowadays decided to take this opportunity
To strike
“Would it be better if you were here instead?”
That was just in his head
Thankfully it was just in his head,
Or else he would dig a hole right in the middle of the circus just to bury himself.
He didn’t notice the long stare Doctor gave him before fully turning back to his work
—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The thought had started haunting him ever since the fight between him and Pierrot, relating to that human.
How fun, he really just wanted to see how they were, yet ended up with a knife in his hand instead
Both him and Pierrot got scolded by Jester after that, voices sharp and unforgiving, cutting through whatever remained of the tension. And as if that wasn’t enough, they were forced to spend extra time handing out flyers like some sort of punishment for acting like misbehaving children.
What a pain
Him and Pierrot were on the road, handing out flyers, and Harlequin swore his head was hammering.
Each step felt heavier than it should have, the noise around them blurring into something distant and dull. The paper in his hands crinkled softly every time his grip tightened, though he barely noticed it.
He was tired. Really tired.
Harlequin thought that he should ask Doctor for some medicine. He wouldn’t mind, would he?
Just as Harlequin was deep in his thought
He noticed them.
That human.
Standing just a little too close to Pierrot. Talking.
Not a conversation, not really—just the human speaking, words spilling out into the space between them, while Pierrot remained silent, as he always did. As he was supposed to.
Harlequin watched.
There was something almost pitiful about it.
The way the human kept talking, as if expecting something back. As if they didn’t already know how this worked.
How sad.
His gaze lingered a second too long. He could already imagine it.
Reporting it to Jester. The quiet, inevitable consequences that would follow. Rules were rules, after all. Pierrot wasn’t supposed to—
The thought faltered.
Harlequin saw a smile on Pierrot as well as the human. He had rarely seen Pierrot smile like that, at least not to him.
That scene reminded him of something familiar
Just like those tim-
Harlequin’s head throbbed harder, a dull pulse behind his eyes, as if something inside him was trying to push forward, to interrupt whatever he was about to conclude. He didn’t really notice he was far away from them, and he did not notice a bottle flying right straight to his head.
And it struck. Hard
A sharp, sudden impact. The world lurched.
For a split second—everything went blank.
Then it rushed back in all at once.
Sound crashed into him. Light snapped back into place. The ground felt real again beneath his feet.
Harlequin staggered, breath catching as his hand came up instinctively, fingers pressing against the point of impact.
Blood wetted his gloves as it tripped from his head onto the ground. Harlequin sighed heavily, he knew this would happen. After all, not everyone was fond of fun
He let out a quiet huff, something almost like a laugh, though it lacked any real amusement.
“Rude,” he muttered under his breath, voice steadier than he felt.
The pain pulsed, sharp and grounding, each beat dragging him further away from whatever haze he had been slipping into before. The world felt clearer now—louder, harsher, real in a way that left no room for anything else. His fingers pressed a little harder against the wound, more out of habit than necessity, smearing the blood further across his glove. He barely paid it any mind.
Because it was easier to focus on this.
On something tangible.
Than on—
“Would it be better if you were here instead?”
that.
For a brief moment, his gaze flickered back toward where Pierrot and the human stood.
That smile—
His head throbbed again, not from the injury this time, but from something deeper, something that refused to settle no matter how much he tried to ignore it.
Harlequin clicked his tongue sharply, tearing his eyes away.
Annoying.
It didn’t matter.
It shouldn’t matter.
He really needs some bandages
—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sometimes, Harlequin had a dream
A simply small dream
Yet he remembered it vividly
In that dream, he saw the others, talking and laughing
The scene looked so peaceful, so nostalgic—in a way that didn’t quite make sense, like it belonged to a time he couldn’t fully recall.
Pierrot was smiling widely, Doctor was writing something on the clipboard while listening to Jester and Ticket Taker talking
And in the middle of it all—
There was someone. She stood where everything seemed to center around, where the laughter felt the brightest, where even the smallest movements carried weight.
Harlequin couldn’t see her face.
No matter how hard he tried—
No matter how long he stared—
It remained just out of reach, like the dream itself refused to let him have that much.
But he knew.
Standing there was their beautiful angel
Columbina
Harlequin did not move, he was too scared to
And then, she looked at him, with a sad smile
And he woke up, sweating hard.
—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He couldn’t sleep for days after those nights, and he became sluggish at his work more, except for the performances, of course.
He wouldn’t want to ruin the shows after all
On stage, he was the same. Unchanged. Perfect, even.
Every step in place, every expression timed, every movement sharp and deliberate. The smile never slipped, never faltered—not even for a second.
But offstage—
something was off.
Subtle.
Easy to miss.
But not to everyone.
Jester noticed. Of course he did. Harlequin had expected it, sooner or later that the Jester would tell him to meet privately
“You’re slipping.”
The words came without warning, sharp and clean, cutting through whatever excuse Harlequin might have come up with.
He paused.
Just for a fraction of a second.
Then smiled.
“Am I?” he replied lightly, tone easy, like it didn’t matter. Like none of it mattered.
Jester didn’t return the smile.
“You’re distracted,” he said instead, gaze steady, unreadable. “And it’s starting to show.”
Harlequin tilted his head slightly, as if considering it.
As if it was something worth thinking about.
“Maybe I’m just tired,” he shrugged.
A simple answer. A safe one.
Jester’s eyes lingered on him for a moment longer than necessary.
“Take some rest” he said at last, voice quieter than before, though no less firm.
Harlequin blinked.
That—
wasn’t what he expected.
And here he was, in his personal tent, laying on his bed.
Harlequin swore that Jester was taking this as an opportunity for him to not get into fights with Pierrot
Not that it was wrong. A faint scoff left him, quiet and dry, though it faded just as quickly as it came.
The tent was still.
No noise. No distractions. No movement to keep his thoughts occupied.
Just silence.
Harlequin shifted slightly, the bed creaking under him, the sound echoing faintly in the confined space.
Rest.
He closed his eyes.
And immediately—
“Would it be better if you were here instead?”
His eyes snapped open.
Annoying.
He clicked his tongue, dragging his arm down from his face, staring blankly at the ceiling again like it had done something to deserve the glare.
Of course.
Of course it would come back now.
When there was nothing else to drown it out.
Harlequin exhaled sharply, turning onto his side, then onto his back again, restless despite the exhaustion weighing down his limbs.
He was tired.
He knew he was tired.
And yet—
sleep wouldn’t come.
Not without that dream. Not without that thought.
Harlequin then sneaked into Doctor’s personal tent to still some sleeping pills
He really needs sleep after all.
—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He had that dream again that night
The scene was the same
Pierrot was still smiling.
Doctor stood nearby, writing something on his clipboard, occasionally glancing up as Jester and Ticket Taker talked beside him. Their voices lacked their usual edge, dulled into something almost… gentle.
And Columbina stood there
Exactly where she had before, untouched by the blur that threatened everything else, steady and certain like the dream itself was built around her.
She was still beautiful, just like how she used to be when she was still here with them
Harlequin then noticed
The way Pierrot’s smile softened—
The way Jester’s voice lost its edge—
The way even Ticket Taker seemed… lighter—
The way Doctor stopped for a split second, just to talk
It all bent toward her.
Our precious angel
She was the reason the scene felt whole.
Complete.
Like a family
And they are all looked so happy
Without Harlequin in the picture
Harlequin stood at the edge of it.
Watching.
Always watching.
Yet never interfering
He just stood far from them, watching the whole scene
His chest tightened, something unfamiliar pressing against his ribs as he reached out towards them —Uncertain, hesitant
His fingers stretched into the space between them, into that invisible line that separated him from everything else—
And for a moment—
It almost felt like he could cross it.
Like he could step forward, close the distance, become something more than just a bystander in a scene that didn’t belong to him.
But the closer he reached— the more the air seemed to resist.
Not pushing him away, nor stopping him.
Just… not letting him in.
The laughter continued. The warmth stayed.
Nothing changed.
Except him.
Because he could feel it now—
clearer than ever—
That there was no place for him there.
Not beside them. Not within the circle. Not in a world where everything was already complete.
His hand stilled midair.
For a second—
just a second—
He considered forcing it.
Stepping forward anyway. Breaking whatever fragile balance this dream held.
But he didn’t. Of course he didn’t.
Because Harlequin had always been a coward
Slowly, his fingers curled back into his palm. His arm dropped to his side.
And the distance remained.
And then, the thought came
“Would it be better if you were here instead of me?”
Harlequin kept his stare on the scene.
Before smiling. Not the wicked, cocky kind of smile that he usually put on around others, or when he pissed off Pierrot or messed with that human.
It was a soft, gentle smile
It looked unfamiliar on him
Yet it was beautiful and bittersweet at the same time
“Yes.” He thought
it really would be better if he had died that day instead of her
And perhaps, just perhaps
A small thought formed in his head
And his smile didn’t falter as his gaze was still on the scene
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
He would be better off gone.
—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Harlequin woke up due to the sounds outside
It was morning already
He sat up, looking around his tent, tiredly
He really needed to get back to work anyway.