Chapter Text
Pierrot had a dream.
Normally he needed very little sleep, not enough to form a dream. But now he nestled in your arms almost every night, your embrace warm and soft for him, as if enchanted, making him relax... peaceful... Gradually, he slept longer and longer, deeper and deeper.
When Pierrot realized he was dreaming, he had already caught ten fish with his father. He vaguely felt that fish shouldn't be this easy to catch, then sensed something was off and looked around in confusion.
The grass beneath him was light and soft, as if the earth were made of clouds instead of soil. A breeze blew, and the green blades swayed, sending waves rippling toward the endless horizon. His father beside him called out, "Your fish is about to get off the hook."
Pierrot stared at his father, only then noticing his face was blurry, impossible to make out. How long had it been since he last saw him? Even a dream couldn't capture his features. Come to think of it, his memory of first meeting Harlequin seemed clearer than that of his parents.
Where was his mother? he wondered.
Just then, he heard another call. He turned toward the sound and saw you, leading someone toward him.
"Darling," you said softly. "Your friend has come to play with you."
Several green tentacles began trying to snatch the fish from his hands—a fish as big as himself, enough to feed four people.
That bastard... Why is he here? This was supposed to be a good dream.
But they still shared the big fish, because his beloved was right there urging them to get along.
Your smile was as beautiful as ever in his eyes—if only that eyesore weren't beside you, Pierrot thought.
The ground gradually rose until it became a small slope. You pulled them down, and he obediently lay back. That annoying one, though, refused, choosing instead to sit beside him, staring into the distance.
What was he looking at? Pierrot followed his gaze and noticed the unusually huge setting sun, so close it nearly parched his body.
You lay beside him, smiling as you asked, "Do you like it?"
He liked it, of course—he liked you. He even had a gift for you.
Pierrot remembered he was supposed to go find you. Yesterday he had found a special fruit and developed a new dessert, which he wanted to give you as a gift... But why was he here? You weren't supposed to meet in a dream.
"Silly, I meant the sunset. Do you like the sunset?"
He liked that too. He preferred sunsets over sunrises. The water temperature at dusk was very comfortable—not only did the fish in the river like to come out then, but he also enjoyed playing in the warm water with his father, while his mother cheered him on from the bank.
In his long life, those were his happiest memories.
But he didn't like this sunset. Too hot... too big...
Suddenly his face felt cool and refreshing. You were splashing water at him, your eyes curved in a smile as you asked if he felt cooler now.
It was cool, but a little too cool—so cold his whole body shivered.
"Then come here. I'll hold you, and you'll feel better."
No. He was too tall for you. Everything here was too big—the fish, the sunset, and him. Your eyes couldn't hold all of it, and your arms couldn't wrap around him.
"How could that be? You're not even as tall as me."
Really...?
Pierrot looked down at his hands and realized he was very small now—small enough to wrap his arms around your waist, small enough to bury his face in your embrace.
He looked up, and there was his mother's clear, kind smile... No, that was you... But also his mother...
"Darling, you've grown up. Let me hold you."
Who was speaking...?
But it didn't seem to matter.
Pierrot just wanted to throw himself into that warm embrace.
...
...
"Ah!"
In the middle of your sweet dream, you felt a huge impact, painful enough to make you gasp. You reached down to rub your aching stomach, but the touch felt strange and unfamiliar.
...What was that?
The lights came on. The blanket over you rose and fell, and your nerves relaxed a little—after all, this clearly meant Pierrot had come to visit your bed again late at night. Annoyed, you threw off the covers, ready to demand justice for your still-throbbing belly.
"Pierrot... What are you—"
...Huh?
What... What was this? Why was a small, silver-white, triangular creature hugging your waist, fast asleep?
And wearing Pierrot's... costume?
...
Wait...
You cautiously called out, "Pierrot?"
The creature grunted twice, hugged you tighter, and showed no sign of waking.
So you tried to pat it awake.
One pat, two pats, a slap, two slaps...
Just as you were winding up for who-knew-how-many-eth slap, the creature finally opened its eyes.
It looked at you in confusion, its golden eyes wet like flowing gold. With just one look, you knew—this was Pierrot.
You stared at each other, until the creature—maybe Pierrot, maybe little Pierrot—let go of you in a fluster, crawled under the blanket, and wrapped itself up. You flopped straight back onto the bed.
This is a dream. Sleep a little more. I must have woken up wrong.
...
Then you felt a slap or two on your face.
Not a dream...
You opened your eyes and saw a pair of worried ones. Little Pierrot was saying something you didn't understand—a language you couldn't place.
"What are you saying?"
Little Pierrot's eyes went blank too; apparently he hadn't understood you either. You stared at each other, both helpless.
"...What is going on?" A third voice sounded in the room.
Only then did you feel that a life with no privacy had its advantages. You looked at Ticket Taker stepping out of the mirror, as if you'd finally found a lifeline.
"Hello there, TT. I don't know why you're here, but thank goodness you are here."
Ticket Taker shot you a sidelong glance. "I'm here for Pierrot. And miss, you are not to call me that."
"..."
"...I'm sorry. Sir, Mr. Ticket Taker, help us."
Ticket Taker accepted your apology but didn't feel cheerful. He looked the two of you over again and again, until Pierrot pulled your arm in front of himself, looked up at you, and said, "Mãe, quem é ele?"
"He's been like this since I woke up, and he keeps saying things I don't understand."
Ticket Taker's blue right eye glowed faintly. He still kept his head slightly lowered, looking up at you:
"...'Mother, who is he?'"
"?"
Now that was scary. You really must still be dreaming—an extremely terrifying nightmare!
Ticket Taker seemed to realize something. He finally raised his head to look you in the eye and said slowly, word by word:
"He is asking you: 'Mother, who is he?'"