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Rage. For a long time, Clownpierce only knew rage.
He felt it every day, in everything he did. Whether it was something simple or ordinary, it was there. It was like an itch that'd rather bleed than be remedied. There was so much of it inside him – this stuffy feeling that he just had to get out.
He picked up a scythe one day and did exactly that.
Murder, in all its immoral glory, was the only medicine that could pacify the monster within. If Clownpierce had left it alone for any longer, it would've come for him first. This was the only way. And as a man cursed with the skill, he'd rather this than self-destruction. He could allow himself that much selfishness, right? Where else would he use his damned talents?
It must've been for this all along; some sick joke the divine played on him.
Sometimes the rage did fade away. The burning sensation would melt into something more mellow, calm. The shadows in his mind would retreat back to the underground. Clownpierce would end up with crimson smears on his face. Well, at least the problem was gone. It was a temporary fix, but it was better than none. A hundred times.
Then came loneliness. The bitter aftermath. Hollowness, Clownpierce realized, would replace the heavy feeling in his chest. The world would become quiet – too quiet. There was no one else to celebrate it with him. The storm may have subsided, but there would be not a single cloud to accompany the sun. A corpse wasn't exactly the most ideal companion.
But Clownpierce had made his bed. What else was there to do? Relieve himself yet be forced to live in solitude? Or bottle it up until he exploded? Both suggestions were horrid.
It was a trap. Clownpierce was in a box with no way out. He could be the deadliest man on Earth, yet this was a fight he could never win. Not even if he tried.
"Clown? Clown? Hello?" A voice called out. "Is everything okay?"
"Branzycraft," Clown said breathlessly. His posture straightened as the other man walked towards him. The look of pure concern on Branzy's face made Clown sigh. He opened his arms, a silent invitation. Branzy immediately accepted.
"You're warm," Clown whispered, burying his face into Branzy's neck. "So so warm... Have you been outside all day?"
"W-Well, yes... I had some work to do, yeah..." Branzy shivered as he felt Clown place a light kiss on his collar. The sudden spike in his body temperature made the jester snicker.
"You're blushing, Branzy~"
"And you s-still haven't answered my question!" Branzy playfully shoved Clown back, trying to get away from another horde of kisses. His poor heart wouldn't be able to take that much affection! Besides, there were clearly other matters at hand. "You're being so so sweet all of a sudden. Did something come up?"
Clown tilted his head, the bells on his hat jingling. "Can I not be an affectionate lover?"
"Not my point, Clownpierce!"
Clown tried laughing it off. Though, if there was one thing Branzycraft was good at, it was reading people. To him, Clownpierce, the man he loved most, was the easiest to decipher. Branzy's brows furrowed.
"There's something wrong."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Branzy crossed his arms. He wanted to appear unamused, intimidating even. It was an impossible task – especially in front of the most feared assassin there was. Branzy appeared to be a cross puppy at most. His attempt at puffing his chest only made it all the more humorous. This time, Clown truly laughed. Despite that not being Branzy's true objective, his heart was moved at the tender sound.
"Okay, okay, you can stop making fun of me now."
"You're too funny, Branzycraft."
"Good to know that I'm very amusing."
Branzy huffed before marching out of the room. He wasn't going anywhere in particular; he just wanted to prove a point. If Clown wanted to have his secrets, then so be it! Branzy didn't care as much! Kinda!
Before he could fully step out, a pair of arms snaked their way around his waist. It didn't take long when a familiar weight rested on Branzy's shoulders. His and Clown's frames swayed as the latter leaned into him – practically breathing him in.
"Don't go."
Branzy hummed. "Are we ready to talk about ourselves now?"
There was a pause. It was a fleeting but heavy moment. Branzy almost wished he didn't press any further. "Hey, hey, it's okay, Clown... I was just kidding. We can do this some other time–"
"No, Branzycraft. I... I'm ready to talk," the assassin's voice was muffled against Branzy's vest. Clown's tired eyes slowly looked up at him. "I didn't mean to avoid it."
"Nonsense!" Branzy whirled around, cupping Clown's face in his calloused hands. "Don't apologize, Clown! It's my fault! I shouldn't push you to talk if you don't have to! Well– okay, I did really want to know what was going on, but that shouldn't be my business! If you wanted to tell me something, I should've waited for you to–"
"Branzycraft."
Branzy's rambling was cut short. He stared at Clown, whose face was squished up in his hold. It was an oddly adorable view. No one in the world would ever believe they saw it. Clownpierce, the dangerous killer, face scrunched up like a newborn baby. In any other situation, Branzy would've laughed.
"I'll talk if you'd let me." Clown was immediately released, followed by a jittery string of apologies from the other man.
The assassin only shook his head. "It's fine, really. I... I liked hearing you talk. It fills the silence."
Branzy was most definitely worried. Back then, he had always longed to see Clown's face. He remembered looking into that porcelain mask and imagining how easy it could've been if he could just see his lover's expression. Only heaven knows how overjoyed he was when he finally took in Clown's visage. He was the most beautiful thing Branzy's ever seen.
The problem now was that Branzy was struggling to decipher that gorgeous face. Clown's mismatched eyes seemed neutral, calm even. But Branzy had this worrying feeling that he was hiding a great deal of pain within himself. He couldn't place it, couldn't even see it, but his heart told him otherwise.
And his heart was rarely wrong about Clown. Dare he say never.
The two walked to the bedroom. It was a grand space that initially belonged to Clown alone. When Branzy started staying with him, he decided not to make any renovations and simply reside in the same room. It was too large, after all, even for just the two of them. Branzy used to wonder why Clown had decided on such layout.
To feel like a king? That sounded reasonable enough. With his iron grip on everything, the title was fitting.
A king on his throne, feared, and away from everybody else.
But that was all in the past. Clown had Branzy by his side now.
"I hate it," Clown said all of a sudden. "I've always hated it."
"Hated what?"
"This– this– this place."
"Clown, didn't you build this?"
"And that's why I hate it." Clown's glare crawled from ceiling to floor. He looked as if he was cursing every corner of the room – his eyes filled with loathing. "It's cold. Empty. Alone."
Branzy placed his hand on top of the jester's, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on his knuckles. "Well, you said my skin was warm," he chuckled. "It's not empty anymore with us in here.
Plus, you're most definitely not alone." Branzy's face flushed a light shade of red. "I mean... I-I'm with you...-?"
"Yes," the jester raised their intertwined hands before bringing it to his lips. The color on his lover's cheeks deepened. On any other day, Clown would tease and coo about it, but none of them remarked on it.
"I was alone for so long, I didn't even know that I was lonely," Clown scoffed. His brows furrowed as he recalled his haunting past – each memory still vivid. "I was surrounded by nothing but death.
For some time I was even hired for it. Everyone thought I did it for the pay, the diamonds and all but..."
"But that wasn't it?" Branzy offered. Clown slowly nodded, like he couldn't believe he was able to openly talk about this at all.
If anyone told his younger self, the Clownpierce with blank eyes and a blackened heart, that he'd be having a heartfelt talk with someone else, he would've killed them on the spot. That version of him didn't do that. He knew not of vulnerability nor acceptance in the slightest.
Rage. It was just rage. Pure and unadulterated rage.
It was never about bloodlust or wealth. That was a myth everyone fabricated later.
The public's avoidance made the loneliness worse. His life fell off the rails after that. Any shred of hope in his life was torn apart. Clownpierce would be alone. The beast hiding in its grand cave. Close enough to talk about, but too far to touch.
Heaven's pity on his wretched soul came in the form of a ditzy engineer. Branzycraft was the unexpected salvation that Clown had yearned for for so long. The remedy he'd so desperately needed.
And as he let himself get swallowed in Branzy's warm embrace, Clown couldn't tell how long he had been crying. He hadn't felt his own tears in so long that it felt strange. Some fell upon his lips. Salty.
"You're not alone, Clown, you never were," he heard Branzy say in his ear. "I'm sorry life has been so unkind to you."
Branzy was barely keeping it together himself. He'd never seen his boyfriend like this before – Clown so openly broken and vulnerable. It was a far cry from the man he first met all those years ago.
In Branzy's arms, he was no assassin nor killer. No, he was just Clownpierce.
Branzy's Clown. The one he swore he'd love in every way.
"There's nothing wrong in the way you felt things," Branzy said. "You know, I like to think we're all machines. We never come in extra parts because each one is integral to our being and character.
And I don't know where your rage came from or what it put you through, but I know that it made you who you are today." Branzy pulled away for a moment before pressing a kiss on the corner of Clown's lips. "I promised to love every part of that, didn't I?"
The gesture made Clown chuckle. He tried putting on a casual face, struggling for the first time in his life. Usually it would've been the other way around – him comforting Branzy, him being the strong, reliable one in the relationship.
Goodness, he never knew how wonderful this felt. It was like the sun had finally allowed itself to hide in the embrace of a soft cloud. The harshness was finally muted; no one would burn any longer. The light had simply become bright and warm.
"This isn't a thing, okay?" were the next words that slipped out of Clown's mouth. "This is... if I get addicted to this..."
"You can, silly!" Branzy playfully nudged him. "I mean, you get to spend time with me, less people die – I'd honestly call it an absolute win!"
It was Clown's turn to laugh. "That'd take a lifetime to work on. I doubt it'd ever leave me."
"Well," Branzy sighed as he leaned his head on Clown's shoulder. He let his body sag into him, allowing himself to be absorbed. "I won't either then."
For a long time, Clownpierce only knew rage. He'd never unlearn it. That part of him would never change.
His scythe still reeked of death. The blood on his hands was something he'd never lose. Shadows will always follow him. Warnings and tales will forever sing his name. Clownpierce, the deadliest man on all the land.
But after everything had faded, when the beast had returned to man, the violence would disappear. The light would grace him. The noise would be silenced. He would have no titles. Only his name. Clownpierce. Just Clownpierce.
That was a different world entirely – one he thought would never exist.
Yet it did.
"In your head again?" A sweet voice asked. This time, Clown wasn't caught by surprise. Instead, he smiled.
"No, Branzycraft. No, I'm not.
Thank you for pulling me out."