Work Text:
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I can't relate to desperation
My give-a-fucks are on vacation
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This vacation was supposed to be the perfect escape. After working without pause for the past several months, [Name] had finally decided to take some time off. The warm expanse of white sand beneath her feet, the waves crashing in endless succession, and the summer sky stretching out without a single dark cloud in sight. The sea breeze blew, carrying the scent of salt mingled with the sunblock of other holidaymakers.
Occasionally, the laughter of children chasing the waves could be heard, the cries of seagulls passing overhead, and the soft melody of easy-listening music drifting from a small bar at the edge of the beach. Everything felt so peaceful that [Name] had nearly forgotten what it was like to live amidst the weight of routine.
She reclined upon her beach chair, letting the warmth of the sun embrace her skin. The magazine on her lap had not even been opened. That day, her only purpose was to savour every passing moment.
If the world beyond was in chaos, so be it. For a while, all the worries that usually filled her head simply evaporated, dissolving into the gentle sea breeze. It felt wonderful to be someone who need not think of anything but the roar of the waves and when her coconut ice would run out.
Yet that tranquillity, it seemed, was not destined to last.
"Alone?" [Name] opened her eyes. A man was already standing a few steps before her. His smile stretched wide, revealing a row of shark-like teeth, while the wind played with his dark hair.
Without waiting for permission, the man dropped himself onto the empty chair right beside [Name]. "Wow," he murmured, gazing out at the open sea. "I thought this beach was beautiful. Turns out it still pales in comparison to the person sitting next to me."
[Name] only clicked her tongue softly. It seemed... this vacation would not be as peaceful as she had imagined. What was more, this green-eyed clown—Harlequin—had no understanding of personal space.
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And I got this one boy, and he won't stop callin'
When they act this way, I know I got 'em
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Every time [Name] moved to a new spot, the man always appeared behind her. When she strolled along the shore, letting the waves lap at her ankles, Harlequin trailed beside her with his hands tucked into the pockets of his shorts, occasionally kicking at the water until droplets splashed against [Name]'s calves.
When she stopped to buy a cold drink from a small kiosk at the beach, Harlequin was already leaning his elbows on the counter, chatting familiarly with the vendor as though they had known each other for years. Even when [Name] chose to lie beneath a beach umbrella in pursuit of solitude, the shadow of that tall figure once again loomed, blocking the sunlight.
While Harlequin busied himself chatting with the kiosk keeper he had only met five minutes ago, [Name] seized the opportunity to slip away. She chose a beach chair facing directly toward the open sea, opened the magazine she had just bought from a souvenir shop, and submerged herself in its pages.
Occasionally, the wind flipped the corners of the paper, forcing [Name] to smooth them down while tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. The sunglasses perched atop her head added to her effortlessly relaxed appearance beneath the glaring sun.
Harlequin's gaze fell upon the figure absorbed in her reading. [Name] was entirely unaware that she had become someone's centre of attention. The sunlight did indeed reflect beautifully off the surface of the sea, but for Harlequin, that was not the main spectacle of the day.
The way [Name] bit gently on her straw while turning a page, the serious expression on her face as she read some article of questionable importance, the tiny frown that appeared whenever the wind tousled her hair... all of it was far more entertaining than any circus performance he had ever put on.
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Too bad your ex don't do it for ya
Walked in and dream-came-trued it for ya
Soft skin and I perfumed it for ya
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The corner of Harlequin's lips lifted. "So this is what it feels like to see someone too beautiful to be left alone."
"Do you not have anything else to do?" asked [Name] without shifting her gaze from the magazine.
"I do."
"Then why not go do it?"
"I am doing it."
"Bothering me?"
"Spending time with you."
His answer flowed so smoothly, as though it had been prepared long in advance. [Name] clicked her tongue again and rolled her eyes, hoping the conversation would end there. Yet a few seconds later, a soft sound came from beside her chair. When she turned, an ice cream cone was already hovering right before her face.
"As an apology," said Harlequin.
"I have not even forgiven you yet."
"That is precisely why I bought your favourite flavour."
"You do not even know my favourite flavour."
Harlequin shrugged casually. "If it turns out to be wrong, then I have an excuse to buy you another one tomorrow."
It was difficult to tell whether the man was genuinely spontaneous or always had a ready answer for every objection.
[Name] read a few more pages before suddenly speaking, as though only just remembering something. "By the way... if you are indeed so skilled at flattery..."
She closed her magazine slowly, then fixed Harlequin with a faint, unreadable smile. "...why did your relationship with Columbina not last?"
Harlequin was silent for a moment. Then his laughter broke—this time softer than usual. "A rather sharp question for someone who claims not to be interested in me."
He leaned forward slightly, close enough that his shadow eclipsed the sunlight. "The past is the past. And I would much rather spend my time thinking about the person in front of me right now."
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(Yes) I know, I Mountain Dew it for ya
(Yes) that morning coffee, brewed it for ya
(Yes) one touch and I brand-newed it for ya (oh)
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Harlequin had never truly liked mornings. For him, mornings were merely a dull interlude before the world once again became a stage upon which he could play with anyone who caught his interest. Sunrise was still sunrise. Coffee was still bitter. The waves were still noisy. Nothing was special.
At least, that was how it had been before he met [Name].
Now, Harlequin never grew tired of the same view. He had suddenly memorised the woman's little habits. The way [Name] blew gently on the surface of her drink before taking a sip, the way her fingers unconsciously tapped the cover of her magazine when she was thinking, the way her brow furrowed whenever she read an article that made no sense—before smiling to herself a few seconds later.
"Still staring at me?" [Name]'s voice broke through his reverie.
Harlequin smiled without the slightest trace of guilt. "I am making sure."
"Making sure of what?"
"That you are truly real."
[Name] snorted softly. "Your answers grow stranger by the day."
Every time [Name] tried to ignore him, Harlequin always found a new way to capture her attention—showing her a heart-shaped shell that was, according to him, "clearly destined for you," drawing a clown's face in the sand with a twig, even pretending to be injured just to make [Name] come closer.
The boisterous laughter of the tourists slowly faded, replaced by the sound of waves breaking the silence of the night in a steady rhythm. Tiny lights from the cafes along the shoreline reflected golden ripples across the surface of the water. The night breeze carried a coolness that made everyone reach for a light jacket.
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Now he's thinkin' 'bout me every night, oh
Is it that sweet? I guess so
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Harlequin leaned against the wooden railing of his lodging's balcony. From there, he could see [Name]'s window, still aglow.
A faint smile curved upon his lips. "Still awake."
He did not truly expect an answer. The words were more of an observation—one that quietly pleased him.
That day, [Name] had shooed him away several times. Yet each time Harlequin turned to leave, [Name] was always the first to look back—as though making sure he had truly gone... or perhaps hoping he would stop a few steps closer. It was hard to believe there was someone so stubborn in denying their own curiosity.
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Say you can't sleep, baby, I know
That's that me espresso
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The night grew later, and the entire island seemed to urge its inhabitants to rest. Everyone—except Harlequin.
He had tried lying down, closing his eyes, even counting the rhythm of the waves crashing against the shore. Yet still... his thoughts always returned to the same person.
Harlequin let out a soft sigh before finally sitting up on the edge of the bed. "This is absurd."
He had never had trouble sleeping. Even after the most exhausting of days, he could always drift off without a care. But now, whenever his eyelids began to grow heavy, [Name]'s image would suddenly appear unbidden.
"Ah..." Harlequin covered his face with one hand and laughed quietly. "So this is what it feels like."
He had often seen people lose their focus because of love. In the past, he had always mocked those who looked foolish—smiling to themselves for no reason, thinking of someone even at the most inappropriate moments.
"If this continues," he murmured, shaking his head slowly, "I really will start blaming you."
Perhaps at this very moment, [Name] was already fast asleep after a full day at the beach, completely unaware that someone in the room next door could not stop replaying every little conversation they had shared.
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Move it up, down, left, right, oh
Switch it up like Nintendo
Say you can't sleep, baby, I know
That's that me espresso
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Harlequin stood behind the kitchen counter of the lodging, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. Before him, the espresso machine hissed out a thin wisp of steam, filling the room with the pungent, rich aroma of coffee.
With movements far more skilled than anyone might have expected, he ground the coffee beans, levelled them in the portafilter, pressed them down with the tamper, and locked it tightly into the machine.
"Hmm... let us hope this is strong enough."
The machine began to hum softly. Golden-black liquid dripped slowly into a white porcelain cup, forming a perfect layer of crema. Harlequin watched it with a small smile, as though witnessing a magic trick.
He lifted the cup and inhaled its sharp aroma. "A fine espresso."
He had finally found the most fitting way to describe [Name]. Like a cup of espresso—once tasted, its effect lingered far longer than expected.
That was how [Name] was. Through only a few brief conversations and glances laced with sarcasm, she had managed to keep Harlequin's mind wide awake through the night.
Like the espresso he had never ordered, yet somehow always found before him: intense, warming, and leaving behind an addictive aftertaste that refused to let him sleep.
"This is your fault, you know," Harlequin murmured—though he knew [Name] could not truly hear him from behind the wall. "And yet you have done nothing at all." []