Choque

1476, Wallachia.

The camp fire flickered loudly and shone even brighter. The dark night in deep contrast to the glowing flames. It was plenty warm enough but the campfire seemingly brought a sense of comfort.

When you’re in deep old forest surrounded by night creatures with nothing but your friends and a tried weapon, a glowing campfire is a nice sign of the night ending. A sliver of relaxation your tired feet were given. Sypha often roasting meat if the lot of you were too far from a village to simply buy food. Trevor, You, Alucard, and Sypha all sat by tonight’s small fire. The quiet surroundings were filled with all of your laughter.

What was an awkward and tense situation had quickly made you all grow close. The impending doom of humanity from the face of Dracula and his army, a speaker leaving her way of life, a less than clean excommunicated man with no family or hopes, and a brooding Dhampir who’s just lost his mother and is losing his father, strangely has connected you all. Making an unheard of relationship yet meaningful one.

Peacefully sitting by the camp fire, You all laugh at Alucards witty joke as Trevor rolls his eyes. Clearly amused but his ego so stubborn he wouldn’t dream of laughing at a joke other than his own. The campfire lighting all of your faces up. Belmont leans closer to Sypha, with a yawn throwing his arm over her shoulder. She didn’t mind until she quickly moved to plug her nose with her hand.

“Belmont! You reek!” She says firmly pushing him away, to his dismay you and Alucard begin to laugh loudly at the display.

“Well we've literally been fighting creatures summoned from hell for the past few days on end what did you expect.” He says with the roll of his eyes. Crossing his arms and hunching over his figure slightly. Sypha takes none of his excuses and ignores his pout quickly turning to you and Alucard. “They don’t stink—“

“Belmont i would tell you bathe but I fear you just have a natural musk to you.” Alucard says with a smile on his face, only looking to Trevor after he’s done playfully insulting him. Sypha and you laugh as Trevor quickly grows annoyed.

The night grew older and you all retired. Sleeping and looking up at the stars, anxious yet terrified for what the future holds. A long road ahead all of you.

It’s was a long and demanding journey. Emotional and changed how you viewed life and yourself, yet the reward was great. Slaying Dracula and saving mankind; for now. After Draculas death, the world seemed more peaceful. Trevor and Sypha went off and started their own life together. While you and Alucard stayed in the castle trying to rebuild what was left of Alucard shattered home.

Alucard was more brooding than his usual self. He loved you more than anything, your presence kept him sane. Yet the grief from losing his mother and father was overwhelming. Then to have his only other two companions leave without him, it hurt him. Despite Alucard wishing them nothing but the best.

You were sure Trevor and Sypha missed you and Alucard. Yet as humans do they moved on quickly. Not that they never visited or thought about you. They just didn’t have the vast amount of time you and Alucard had. Every time you saw them again. A new scar or wrinkle adorned their skin.

A painful reminder of their mortal condition. Then came little Simon Belmont. Which rattled something deep within you and Alucard. White and silver hair sprouting from the Belmonts, with a young boy running at their feet.

The sun was set to set, a clear warming spring day. Summer well on its way. You and Alucard made your way to the Belmont’s place of residence. Alucard holding the reins to the horse as you sat behind him. following the path.

“My Love are you faring well? We are almost there.” He says softly looking over his shoulder back at you for a brief moment. You had been very quiet this evening. Your arms wrapped around him as you rested you head on his back.

“I’m just fine Adrian— I’m tried?” Is what you mumble out, Alucard just lets a soft hum in response.

After a brief pause he speaks again as the horse rounds a Conner of the woodsy path. The horses hooves kicking up dirt on the grassy path. Landing the two of you at the current Belmont home.

“We have arrived.”

You lift your head from his back looking over his broad back and shoulders. You can see clearly in the distance Simon, the young boy seemingly anxiously waiting for your arrival. Sat on a porch step dragging a stick in the mud. Only looking up at the sound of the horses hooves.

A wide smile crossing your face as you see him practically jump up from the steps he sat on.

“Look how he’s grown, Darling.” Alucard’s tone was level but clearly a little shocked. “I know— his hair is so long! And his limbs have evened out.” Unable to stop the happy expression and love that fills your heart. You feel much more awaken than on the ride there. What a blessing it is to grow, and a honor to watch a child grow.

“Aunty Tepes! Aunty Tepes!” Simon yells with excitement from the distance, practically jumping. Alucard ticks his tongue and whispers to you as the horse grows closer. “You were always the favorite hm?” A soft smile across his face.

The horse comes to a stop as the two of you reach the steps. Alucard is quick to dismount and help you down, a gentle hand on your waist. All the while Simon runs up to the two of you. Alucard hitches the horse as Simon grew closer.

“You guys are Finally here!” He practically can’t contain his excitement as he hugs you at the waist. Nuzzling himself closer to you. “You’ve grown young Belmont.” Alucard states looking down as he watches Simon soak up your attention.

“Just in time!” Sypha opens the door, watching the scene before her unfold. The three of your heads snapping towards the sound of Syphas voice. She stood in the doorframe, the light from inside shining from behind her. You and Alucard stopped, it had been some time since you saw them last. But Sypha had aged, not poorly, but certainly aged. Streaks of white and her changed figure were sings of her age.

Alucard and you shot each-other a small look unnoticed by everyone else. Simon grabs your hand, starting to lead you inside. “Sypha thank you for having us over.” You state as you were guided through the door by Simon. “It’s always a pleasure to see you all.” Alucard says as he follows close behind you.

“It’s about time.” You heard Trevor’s voice boom as he turned the Conner into the entrance way of the house. Sypha elbowed him rolling her eyes. “They were right on time.”

You all exchanged smiles and laughs as the night went on. Sitting and enjoying food as the sky got darker outside the windows. It was moments like this that seem to last so long, in the best ways. The alcohol running straight to Trevor as he makes a fool of himself. Dancing and fumbling around like an idiot.

Simon’s giggles as Alucard plays with him, Sypha and you sitting just outside the door and talking. The weather was perfect and the sun was setting. Belly’s full and the sounds of crickets chirps filling the air.

It seemed like you were there all night yet practically with a blink of an eye you were home. You and Alucard walking into the somewhat gloomy castle, the only thing that was remotely homey was each other’s presence. When you and Alucard weren’t together in the castle it felt as if time had stopped. The castle was extravagant yes, but incredibly sad.

“Did you see what I saw.. or rather felt?” Alucard breaks the peaceful silence as the two of you walk to your shared chambers. Both of your footsteps echo in the grand hall, “What Darling? Did I miss something?” You play a little coy fishing for him to acknowledge an emotion you didn’t want to be the first to speak of. A loud feeling inside you told you what he was going to say. Yet you didn’t want to acknowledge it. “The Belmonts—“ You knew, you knew what he was going to say. “They’ve aged, and I know— I know they are of mortal condition. Mortals yes, but this still feels…” he drifts off, his eyes moving to the ceiling. His hand moving gently to the top of your back sliding to the low of it. “Strange?” You look for the word he wanted. “Precisely, but more intense.” Alucard mumbling voice yet clear cut voice echoed in your ear.

The two of you reached the chambers. Alucard is quick to move in-front of you and hold open the door for you. “Adrian, I also felt alarmed by the sight.” You paused stepping into the room. “In a good way! I have no negative feelings towards them. Not in the slightest.” You wanted to be careful with how you said things. It was so difficult to adequately express how you felt.

Adrian followed suit, following you into the room but moving further into your shared chambers.

Gently removing his coat. “Seeing Simon growing so quickly, and then aging. It was strange seeing you in your untouched condition while they, looked so—“ He sighed not wanting to use the word. “old.” Unfortunately you couldn’t help but smile a bit at your dearest husband’s hesitance to use the word ‘old’. You snickered a bit and walked to your dresser. Beginning to gather your things for sleep. Adrian‘s eyes watching as you do so. “Is that Amusing my love?” To which you nodded.

But you understood how he felt. To have immortal conditions is a devastating lifestyle. To which both of you were fairly new to. Both being so young in the retrospect of your promised long life’s of entirety. Now as the first friends you two have made, we’re finally aging. It all suddenly felt all to real.

You sighed, your smile fading away as the more serious emotions filled you. Alucard walked behind you, starting to unlace your clothes for you. He was always to attentive and gentle with you. A small silence filling the room. “Do you think we will keep in touch with Simon as he grows older…?”

You delicately move your hands slipping the sleeves off of your shoulders. Adrian stepping around you and handing you your nightgown.

“If he’s anything like Belmont I think that’s might be wise.”

You nod and weakly smile at his small quip to Trevor. Both of you kept making attempts to lighten the mood but the over whelming weight of time was unbearable. “My dear husband, In seriousness, my question?”

Adrian tilted his head downward, beginning to prepare himself for bed as well. You picked up your dress which was pooled on the ground. “I think—“ he paused for a moment. “I think I’d like that.”

“As well as I, Simon has become dear to me.”

He hummed in agreement.

Now since then, much time had passed. Simon now a grown man. It was winter and the snow had yet to lay thick on the ground. Only a frost covering the cold outdoors.

You, Adrian, and Simon all stood in solidarity. Glancing down at two graves. Resting peacefully next to each-other. Simon despite his grown age leaned slightly against you. Your hand rubbing his back gently, through soft tears your eyes read the names etched into the two stones.

‘Trevor’ and ‘Sypha’.

It was strange, your two closest friends, and the parents of a child who you practically considered your own have aged and passed. Creating and leaving a hole so deep it felt never ending. A friendship that lasted a lifetime, their lifetime at least.

It would only be a matter of time before young Simon would also lie peacefully in death, with his children in your arms. The cycle of which would drive you and Adrian in a state of stillness overflowing with grief.

Adrian often cried, he cried frequently in the privacy of your shared chambers. It was not long after Simon’s funeral did you find Adrian crying. His long hair draped over his shoulders and back. He sat on the edge of the bed, hunched over with his elbows placed on his knees. His nails digging into his flawless skin. The pain of loss was too much. You heard his sobs as you opened the grand doors. He choked a bit on his cries as he turned to look at you,

you couldn’t help but feel the same way. Your eyebrows knitted together and without another word moved to your Husband.

His golden eyes —so red and tear filled— it was such a mournful sight to see your beautiful husband’s face in such a stale state. You knew why he was crying and couldn’t help but feel a quake in your body aswell. The tears and the dizziness coming to you.

You move too sit next to him on the bed, the duvet sinking under your weight. While Adrian instinctively moved closer to you. Not a word exchanged for a long moment of time. Your fingers interlocked with eachother.

Quickly he pulled you closer to him. Placing you onto his lap so he could hold you close with his arms fully engulfing you. Placing his nose in the crook of your neck. Closing his sunken eyes, enjoying his only form of clarity and stability; you.

“Wife, you are to never leave me.” He says with a strong mumble. “I have no intention too.” You stroke his hair, hopping to bring comfort to him. He reacts to the gentle massaging of his head by, moving his hands along your back. Knowing each sore spot, his slender fingers skillfully glide along your back.

Sobs continuously flow from him as you also feel tears are on the brink of overflowing your eyes. Then he spoke again with a little more clarity,

“Why?” He paused “I… Darling I know why. I simply can’t bring myself to bare anymore sadness.”

You nodded and weakly hummed in understanding, “And seemingly you’ve been the only thing that has made this insufferable loneliness bearable. Yet despite how strong my love for you is, I miss Sypha and Trevor to no end.” To that you choked on your own breath. One hand remained gently entangled in his light blond hair. While your other hand move to rest over your eyes. A churn in your stomach at his words. Oh how they hurt. Picking and at open wound never giving the skin a chance to heal.

Your voice cracks, “Me too.” It was all you could possibly choke out in that moment. Adrain and you cry in each others comfort. Grieving simultaneously, even if it was a deep and gut twisted grief you had each-other. Adrian could hear your heartbeat from how he held you. Only sound of peace he’s truly ever heard,

“My heart, I’ve had enough of death.” He mumbled, only silent tears roll down his face now. His wailing had ceased the moment he had you in his pale arms.

“What are we to do with such a thing we aren’t even granted? It is out of our reach.” You pulled back slightly so you could gaze into his eyes. Both of your eyes glossed over from fresh tears.

He looks deeply into your eyes, moving his hands from your back to cup your face, the cold feeling of his wedding band against your tear soaked skin. Your hands moving to rest on his forearms, gently gripping them. Yet you lean into his touch and his heart simply lightens from the sight.

Now with a newfound passion he speaks, “I wish us to focus on what we have control of— our lives. You are the most beautiful thing that has ever happened to me. I do not want to watch you sit in this castle and share my grief every waking moment. We should leave, travel and further our knowledge of the world. Not revel in this uncompromising sadness. I know you are so much more, and if I have you by my side we could truly do anything we wish— But please do not continue to do nothing when I know you are so much more.”

You nod in silence, truly contemplating his words. It seemed uncertain and rushed almost. You gazed at him tenderly before speaking,“What of the belmonts?”

He lets out a small ‘tsk’ at your words, “We cannot spend the rest of our existence chasing their lineage across the corners of the Earth. Please darling. My wife you are far too caring.” He releases his soft grip on your face and moves one hand slowly to your waist while the other moves gracefully taking hold of your hand. To which you happily return his sweet gesture. your other hand moving to rest on his shoulder. Your fingers ever so slightly playing with the fabric of his shirt.

“What of Juste and Selena…?” You mutter slowly, unwilling to fully part with them. At least not without more reassurance from Adrian.

“We—“ he pause and clicks his tongue “we will write them and visit him between our destinations? Hm? What of that? Anything to keep a smile on my dear wife’s face.”

So it was settled you and Adrian will travel the worlds and live out your immortality to your fullest potential.

Part 2!!!

A/n : yay! First fic on tumblr! But yall know the “rest In peace blank you would’ve loved blank.” I want to say rest in peace Alucard you would’ve loved getting and iced latte and going to antique stores. But it’s cannon he lives till at least 2035… so he definitely has.🌚

ABOUT ME AND THE BLOG IN GENERAL

Hello! My name is Letícia, but you can call me Lele or Let. I’m a 19-year-old Brazilian student who writes for fun. I’m currently studying Occupational Therapy, in the healthcare field, and besides writing, I enjoy listening to music and doing manual crafts like working with clay, free painting, and making collages.

I’m interested in many fandoms, but at the moment I mostly write for The Freak Circus, so that’s what you’ll predominantly find here. My current favorite characters are Jester and Harlequin.

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Feel free to leave questions or comments in my ask box. I might take a little while to answer sometimes, but I always try to respond to most requests. Although writing is a passion, college comes first, so sometimes my workload affects how quickly I can reply.

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"So… what does that have to do with me?"

"They die after mating."

Silence. Long. Awkward.

"Excuse me?"

"What you heard. After mating. Phew. Goodbye. Dead. And you… you're an octopus."

You pointed an accusatory finger at him, as if you'd caught him stealing babies or something.

Azul honestly didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"I'm an octopus-mermaid, a merfolk, not an aquarium octopus, by the Seven," he complained, pinching the bridge of his nose as if just having this conversation was draining his life (and patience). "

"And besides, that's after mating, not a simple kiss!"

"I'm not taking any chances."

"What do you think is going to happen? That you're going to kiss me and I'm going to disintegrate in your arms?"

"Yes."

Azul stared at you, shocked.

"…You're cruel."

"And you're dramatic. Perfect for dying if I get too close."

"That doesn't even make sense biologically! Technically, I'm more like a merman than an octopus! And we're not even talking about mating, we're talking about an innocent peck on the cheek! Are you telling me I'm forbidden from that too?"

"Especially that."

Azul slumped down onto the chair across from you, defeated.

"I can't believe you're letting an internet article ruin our relationship. What's next? You're only going to feed me once a day for fear I'll get fat again and float to the surface?"

"Mmm… good idea."

"...!"

"I'm looking after you, don't thank me."

You patted him nonchalantly on the head.

"Now stop bothering me. I'm on the best part of the book."

Azul looked at you with a tragic expression, as if he'd just been informed that the Monster Lounge had run out of reservations for the entire month.

"I can't believe this… Rejected for fear of death by mating. This is the most humiliating thing that's ever happened to me. And Floyd once forced me to do a show dressed as a giant squid…"

"Yeah, Azul. If you can convince me with scientific proof that you won't die after kissing me, maybe I'll consider it. Maybe."

Azul narrowed his eyes.

"What if I get a medical certificate?"

"Then maybe I'll let you kiss me on the hand. With gloves. And disinfectant."

Azul sighed so deeply it felt like his soul was leaving his body.

But deep down, he couldn't help but smile.

After all, you were his favorite paranoid grouch.

You were so engrossed in your book, completely ignoring Azul, that you didn't notice him leaning toward you across the table.

"Besides, I don't even know where you got that information…" he muttered as you turned another page. "It could be a myth. Or an exaggeration."

"But still, better safe than sorry."

And that's when it happened.

Without a word, Azul cupped your face in a gentle hand and leaned in. A kiss. Quick, precise. Right on the corner of your lips.

It took your brain two seconds to reboot.

"AZUL."

He had already sat back down, adjusting his gloves as if nothing had happened.

"Ah, look at that. I'm still alive. What a miracle."

He smiled at you with that damn smug expression that you knew was going to haunt your dreams tonight.

Your heart was pounding like you'd run ten flights of stairs. The heat in your cheeks was so evident that even Grim could have pointed it out between jeers.

"That was… That was an attack!" you exclaimed, placing a hand over your mouth.

"It was scientific evidence, as you requested." He nodded solemnly.

"Hypothesis proven. I didn't die."

"I'll kill you if you do that again!"

"So I do die after a kiss?"

"AZUL!"

"You're blushing, by the way. Adorable."

You threw the book at him.

He caught it with ridiculous ease.

"Want to read to me for a bit?" he said, winking at you. "I promise not to die mid-chapter."

Your face burned. Your pride screamed. But your lips… well, those were dangerously tempted to break another rule.

The park hadn't yet decided if it was open or abandoned. Some lights shone with a green and white splendor — mixed, weak colors; others, on the other hand, remained dark, as if saving their charm or having simply burnt out. He chose a random bench near the stationary Ferris wheel and let out a long, bored sigh, resting his hands loosely on his knees.

He wore casual clothes, far too simple for someone who usually shone under the spotlight, telling terrifying stories and seducing the audience with his performances. Still, the green remained there, discreet and stubborn — more than just any color, as if it were a strange extension of his own skin, surpassing the condition of a mere aesthetic choice. His curly, dark hair fell in free, misaligned curves; a heart-shaped curl, shy, hung undisciplined at the level of his eyes in an almost intimate way.

He was restless. Harlequin hated waiting, yet he watched that park like a poorly assembled stage. He harbored no expectations — they seemed like nothing more than an insignificant blur in his mind, something dispensable. Encounters were quick and, in his conception, that’s how they should be: made of calculated entrances and clean exits.

The plot was always the same. A subtle touch of innocence at the beginning, playful hesitation here and there, a slight and blatant brushing of bodies, empty flirtations, and an eventual make-out session under some dim light in a hidden corner. Who could blame him for that?

Harlequin checked the time once more — not out of nervousness, but out of something close to doubt. He considered leaving, getting out of there once and for all. He considered pretending that this had never been a plan.

Then, he finally heard footsteps.

The sound of a restrained gait over the uneven ground of the park, the presence of someone who did not rush time. Harlequin felt a slight discomfort run down his spine, but he remained seated for a few moments, staring at the motionless Ferris wheel. The reflection in the windows of a small night shop on the street showed a figure walking unhurriedly, almost airy, distractedly carrying a sketchbook, a light-colored folder, and a simple dark pen.

You stopped in front of him with a respectful posture. You didn't seem to hesitate, nor did you advance too far. You gave him a polite smile, nodding slightly and clutching your belongings lightly against yourself.

"Good evening, Harlequin."

Harlequin looked up slowly. For an instant, he considered smiling the right way, tilting his head at the exact angle, offering some light irony, but he gave up before he even started.

"Hi. Good evening." The answer escaped simply.

You pointed to the Ferris wheel, shaking your head slightly in disapproval. The ride remained still, its cabins unperturbed and imprisoned in place.

"Seems like we arrived too early, doesn't it?"

Harlequin let out a brief exhale through his nose. It wasn't exactly a laugh, but it wasn't disdain either.

"Seems you're right." He observed your figure for a few moments, catching every detail of your appearance and the clothes you wore with an attentive eye. His eyes didn't reveal much beyond that mocking, lazy glint that reached the edges of his eyelids.

"Want to take a quick walk? We can talk for a bit. We’ll wait until the rides actually start working," you suggested, brushing away a persistent lock of hair that the restless wind pushed against your face.

Harlequin sighed in relief, even though talking wasn't his favorite activity for first or second dates. Despite everything, a walk would be appropriate to calm his nerves, relax his body, and eventually make him attempt a bolder approach, regaining ground.

He nodded immediately, his smile revealing his pointed teeth.

"Please," he groaned lazily, stretching dramatically as he extended his limbs. "Let's hurry. It’s good that we can find something tasty to eat and buy along the way."

"Sounds good."

You responded with a slight nod, a faint smile on your lips. The walk began as a flat path, occasionally dodging cables and crooked signs. The park creaked with mechanical sounds, as if it were breathing with difficulty, preparing for something that, perhaps, would not happen that night or would not be seen.

Harlequin walked half a step ahead, almost without noticing. It was an old habit — to lead, to dictate the pace, to choose the path. He commented on small things, unpretentious observations, the kind of conversation that never required much emotional attention.

"Parks get a bit strange like this...," he began, his tone low. "Without many passersby, without loud music; they almost seem less harmless. But tell me, isn't it like we have a lot of wasted space?" Harlequin’s arm brushed lightly against yours as he played dumb and kept walking.

You sighed softly, holding back a giggle. He had a difficult task ahead of him, and apparently, the stubbornness of a mule.

"I don't think the space is being wasted, Harlequin," you replied after a few long seconds of suspense. "We have a mild, peaceful atmosphere. Sometimes, it’s in settings like this that the most interesting, most rewarding things appear. You just have to know how to look carefully." You shrugged, continuing the walk as the wind filled the space between you like a cool embrace.

"You speak in riddles sometimes. Artist thing," Harlequin gave a little laugh, letting out a lazy sigh. "Seems like you like looking for hidden things," he commented, his own body leaning in your direction with a smile that was familiar, rehearsed.

You smiled faintly, continuing the walk without really giving much importance to the proximity. You didn't return his touch, but you didn't pull away abruptly either. You just looked at his face, your attention fixed on his eyes.

"I believe it's not exactly about looking for hidden things. It’s more about perceiving what remains there when no one is trying to call attention to themselves. Does what I'm saying make sense?"

He nodded his head discreetly and without much conviction.

"Actually, it does make sense, yes. And what do you see now, if you can tell me?"

You hesitated for a few moments, choosing your words.

"I see someone in a dilemma. A silent bargain between the desire to be seen and the other... the one of simply being present." The answer came soberly, without any irony or malice. Just the genuine feeling of recognizing, of seeing through his eyes.

Harlequin frowned, slowing his pace. He looked at you intently for a few long seconds, his lips twisted in a confused pout, before slowly sketching a new smile. Not just any smile, though: a mocking, theatrical smile, but one deeply hurt inside. He profoundly loathed being read like a book; that burning sensation of judgment, as if he were an object subject to critical analysis by people supposedly more educated, wise, exemplary, or genuine than he would ever be. He placed one hand over his heart as if holding it dramatically.

"How you wound me with your words. And here I was thinking you'd say you saw a dangerous and exciting glint in my eyes."

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. Raising your arms in a sign of feigned surrender, you looked at him with a playful gaze.

"How you sicken me with that overly sugary charm of yours, Harlequin. It’s truly a feat."

The provocation made the smile of the man dressed in green broaden further, his white teeth exposed like sharp, imposing daggers. Harlequin’s fingers then brazenly touched your shoulders, drawing random patterns on your skin as if it were a mere game.

"So you discuss me? If I disgust you so much, you must think of me quite a bit."

You ignored his constant teasing, letting out a soft, tired sigh before quickening your pace slightly and letting his fingers brush against thin air. You spotted a cotton candy stall at the end of the next turn in your path, glowing gracefully and lit with small lanterns and decorations.

"I can guarantee that my thoughts do not coincide with what you imagine. Besides, you talk too much," you mocked lightly. "Come on, there’s a cotton candy stand over there. And hopefully, there are other things for sale nearby too."

Harlequin watched your figure walking away for a second longer than intended. His fingers stayed suspended in the air, undecided, before slowly retreating back to his body. The smile remained, but there was something less secure in it now.

"Cotton candy?" His voice came out more like a murmur, a muffled sound reserved only for himself. "Questionable choice. And so much personality in one individual, wow!" Harlequin pursed his lips in a dramatic and exasperated gesture. His facial expression revealed confused feelings, a mixture of admiration and genuine frustration and indignation.

He resumed his pace, now at your side, not ahead.

The stall was small, lit by colored lanterns that swayed with the wind. The sweet scent spread through the air, almost excessive. Harlequin watched the machine spin, the sugar transforming into fragile clouds, and let out a low laugh.

"This here always seemed like a well-told lie to me," he commented. "Beautiful, light… and disappears far too fast."

You shrugged again, delicately taking the two sticks the man offered you. Harlequin paid the attendant, and then you both went to sit on a small treated-wood seat to finally talk for a bit.

"Do you like sweets, Harlequin?" You asked unpretentiously, handing one of the sticks to him.

"I admit that sweets aren't really my thing. Actually, I prefer spicier flavors," he said, grabbing a good handful of the pink candy in his hands. "But I guess a little sweetness won't kill me."

A brief silence. You nibbled on a bit of the pink cloud of sugar too, humming silently while your taste buds assimilated the soft, delicate flavor.

"So, you draw, don't you?" Harlequin asked, distractedly wiping his sugar-stained hands on the sides of his pants. The tone, however, was too casual to be just casual.

You nodded, letting a small happy smile escape; those characteristic smiles of someone with a specific passion, who is in the presence of another and eager to show them what their little world is about. You set the cotton candy aside and carefully opened the sketchbook you were carrying. The pages were already worn at the edges, marked by constant use.

"Yes. Actually, I draw, I write; I do a bit of both crazily, or else I do nothing for days," you admitted with a subtle nervous laugh, flipping through some pages carefully. "It depends on my mood and creativity. Do you want to see my latest work?"

Harlequin hesitated for a millisecond before nodding firmly. You chose some specific pieces, some unfinished and colorless sketches, and some scribbles with words poured over the paper, which he didn't know were poetry or something else entirely.

Delicately, you pushed the sketchbook toward him — and the narrator speaking here can admit that his eyes shone brightly like two stars in that moment. He was suddenly intrigued, curious to see what you liked to draw and write about.

The first figure was a sketched landscape. The light stroke of the pen on the paper showed that you were a careful and attentive illustrator — and a perfectionist. Harlequin narrowed his eyes, invested now, and saw the drawing as a whimsical representation of the circus's main entrance. The tents illuminated by their little lights, some nearby stalls, the elegant and restrained presence of Ticket Taker in the center, captured in a quick, not-too-detailed sketch, yet perfectly recognizable. He held his breath for a second, flipping through the pages further with your silent consent. He wondered to himself why the circus was so important to you. What was so significant behind those colorful lights and repetitive, dazzling performances that made you stay?

Right. Staying. He had always had trouble with that.

The next page was divided into two parts. One contained a small note about a performance watched with rapt attention, but the text itself wasn't long. It was merely a light tribute, without much depth. The writing was accompanied by a slightly more detailed drawing of the red tent, with Pierrot in the center of the spotlight. The moment captured in the sketch seemed to be the end of the show, as Pierrot appeared to hold his daggers between his claws in a solemn bow, thanking the audience for their presence.

Posing correctly. Majestic. Absolute.

The favorite clown of everyone who passed through there.

Harlequin felt the discomfort before he could even name it. That familiar, silent sting, old and persistent. Pierrot always had that effect on people. He didn't need to force a presence; he didn't need to ask for attention. He just had to be there: quiet, charming, inevitably chosen.

Columbina flashed through his mind without warning. Not as an image, but as a memory. As an absence. She appeared in the gaps of his mind from time to time, always on the wrong side of his story. Pierrot’s soft charm, the comfortable silence — the choice that didn't need to be spoken aloud to be understood. He swallowed hard.

It was just a drawing, after all. A faithful portrait of what was already known to everyone. He would never be that other man, no matter how hard he tried. Still, the sensation persisted like a painful needle: the feeling of, once again, watching someone else be chosen first.

He was her favorite.

Why wouldn't he be yours too?

He tried to let out an ironic chuckle, flashing his usual mocking smile. But the smile turned into a trembling, uncertain grimace as he murmured his next comment.

"So we have a sketch of Pierrot here. It seems he really does have this curious effect on the people who see him during his performances." He shrugged slightly, nervously touching that heart-shaped hair lock of his. "That mute bastard."

Harlequin let out a light laugh, but his apparent joy and unpretentiousness felt hollow. After that empty laugh, a brief silence settled in. Not awkward, just suspended.

You didn't counter his comment about Pierrot. You didn't defend the silent artist, nor did you accuse him further. You simply observed Harlequin for a beat too long, as if mentally negotiating whether to continue exposing your more intimate works or to take the sketchbook back and end the sharing right then and there.

"There's more," you admitted at last. Your hand hovered over the notebook for a second, hesitant. "If you want to see."

There was no expectation in your voice. No invitation, no challenge. It was a permission. Harlequin, however, only nodded.

The following page didn't feature sketches filling the sterile white space. Only words, carefully chosen and aligned on the paper. It looked like a short story — a sort of narrative poem using simple figures, personified discreet forces of nature. Metaphors selected with care to star in scenes and interpret the core of complex human feelings: a shy rose, slow to bloom, and a flighty, mischievous carnation. A truly simple premise.

Harlequin's green eyes scanned the essence of the words.

A carnation that tormented the quiet flower, which pulled its petals back in embarrassment. A presence that arrived without asking. Presence without promise. Charm without permanence.

"The wild Carnation is a haughty and proud force. Dense and dark — half amber, half soot. There is beauty in its bitterness, and between its dark brows, there are cloudy eyes, a storm of desires. It surrounds me without haste, but its very presence already pierces me."

"The Carnation is not just a flower. It is a mischievous minstrel, a magician of shadows. Its lyre is made of laughter and traps. He, the mocking poet, delights in collecting the tremors of others. He torments me at all hours of the day."

“In the third hour of his amusement, he laughs. He guffaws without exhaustion. Loud, beautiful, always scoffing. The Carnation sings to the rose, in a mocking tone:

[CARNATION]: ‘Poor little rose, still stuck? Eternally hidden in the shade, enjoying no surprises!’

He sings like one who desires nothing and yet claims the world; like one who lives to touch freedom with the tip of his tongue. The Carnation is never a slave, but a walking king, an adventurer, a bohemian who belongs to no one's garden. And yet, he invades mine. He is like the wind that comes and goes as fast as it arrives — a presence that appears without asking permission and without taking root."

Harlequin felt as if his heart had stopped upon recognizing the words printed on that page. Doubt gnawed at him. Did that work really represent him? He breathed deeply, his left hand wavering slightly, almost shifting the notebook in his previously careful grip. His eyes ran over a few sentences again, trying to twist their meanings, looking for something to minimize the impact; searching for anything that would reassure him that this selfish, laughing flower was not your version of him. For some stupid, unknown reason, he didn't want to be seen that way. Especially not by you. He didn't want to allow it to be true.

He felt the sting rise: uncomfortable, hot, unbearable.

"This..." he began, but couldn't even finish the sentence.

He didn't finish. He didn't ask directly. He didn't want to hear the answer that was already hinting at itself. There was something humiliating about admitting he recognized himself on that paper; the role of an intense, fleeting presence that arrives without promising and leaves without staying. He bit the inside of his cheek, annoyed with himself. He hated that horrible feeling: being observed too closely, almost decipherable. It was strange and contradictory. He wanted to be loved, esteemed — but he didn't want someone to see his flaws with such intensity or detail.

After all, who would stay after seeing all the ugly parts of him? Those parts he judged unworthy of valuing, simply unloveable?

He sighed, however, when your hands gently enveloped his, silently asking him to turn the page. The man in green looked back reluctantly, only to have his composure completely shattered, his green eyes shining in confusion and almost childish ecstasy.

He couldn't believe what he was seeing.

The drawing occupied the entire sheet. A colorful, vivid, complete work. He himself looked almost proud in the representation. Whole. There was no rush in the strokes, no careless improvisation. Every color seemed chosen with clear intent. Every shadow was placed to support, not to hide anything. The characteristic green of his clothes, his personal brand, didn't scream; it affirmed. His body was upright, present, without exaggeration. It wasn't Harlequin on stage. It wasn't the artifice. It was him when he didn't need to prove anything to anyone.

It was your favorite version of him. The Harlequin you appreciated so much, the one you liked to watch. The only version you had chosen for yourself.

The previous discomfort didn't disappear, but it changed shape. Where before there was the painful suspicion of being seen as something that doesn't stay, there was now something else, harder to sustain: the certainty of having been chosen with time. With attention. With permanence.

He flipped back slowly. That’s when he noticed small details scattered in the margins of the pages. Nothing flashy. Nothing overt. Just almost distracted marks: interrupted curved lines, incomplete strokes that, if observed closely, vaguely resembled hearts. Some were half-erased, others seemed drawn without intent, or perhaps with too much.

Harlequin felt his stomach flip. He looked up to meet yours, his green eyes like bright, unarmed crystals. He uttered his next words as a disconcerted, restless whisper.

"You made all this revolve around me? All these drawings, all these words, this poem. This isn't random. Why?"

He couldn't understand the reason. He stared at the figures one last time, his claws carefully scratching the surface of the paper as if he could pluck the image and the complex metaphors and hide those artistic works somewhere deep inside his tormented chest. He slowly closed the sketchbook, returning it to you in a restrained, almost timid gesture — an unusual move for someone like him. Finally, Harlequin let out a silent sigh, his gaze fixed on yours as he waited for some answer for his already racing, pounding heart.

"Because I saw you."

The answer came after a brief silence, as if you needed courage to cross the space between thought and speech. "Not just what you show." You took a deep breath, fingers lightly squeezing the edge of the now-closed notebook. "But what stays when the lights go out. When the stories end. When no one is looking."

You looked up at him, not in challenge. Just presence. "I don't know how to explain it well. I just wanted to record it. My way. As if, by drawing, I could keep that part of you close. Even if just for a little while."

Harlequin's face contorted with an expression bordering on disgust, but it wasn't quite that. He was completely terrified. He tried to think of something witty to say — some flirtation or disconcerting line — but nothing came. His mind was like a sterile space, a dry desert of thought. He didn't answer immediately; he just scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably, looking confused and vulnerable.

"You have a special talent for confusing people with your strange, polished metaphors and your way of thinking." He looked away, abruptly standing up from the seat with a long sigh and a careful stretch. "Don't do that to me again. Or at least, warn me next time."

You blinked two, three times, surprised. But then you simply stood up too, brushing off the remaining sugar from the cotton candy. You gave him a sidelong glance, unsure if your words had been received poorly or if they had secretly pleased him. He was a difficult person to understand.

"We're in a hurry, aren't we?" you teased lightly, though your eyes shimmered with your own insecurity. Maybe you had shown Harlequin too much of your world, the true colors of your heart, to the point where just thinking about it made you feel a bit humiliated. "What are your plans now, Harlequin?"

"Rides. They must be working by now; it’s impossible they aren't operating yet," he murmured, answering as if it were ridiculously obvious. "Aren't they the reason we're here, at an amusement park, on a romantic date?" he added, letting out a giggle and delicately running his green tongue over his teeth in a suggestive way, trying to regain his usual charm.

You blushed, clutching the sketchbook to your chest. Then, you shook your head in disapproval, giving him a glaring look.

"This isn't exactly a romantic date! Who or what suggested that to you, you green dot on the street?" You finally weighed your next words, your tone softening. "I just wanted to show you some things I've been working on."

He laughed spiritedly, dramatically slapping his hands on his knees while looking through you. Strangely, as he did so, he felt a warm, pleasant sensation in his chest.

"Then why are you blushing so much? Because of my quick, harmless words? Come on, you're better than that." He waved his hands dismissively, winking at you. "Just walk. The lines for most rides must be giant."

You nodded lazily, now walking beside him, keeping a steady, habitual rhythm. "And what are your choices, boy?"

"I don't know, something interesting, please!" he groaned playfully. "Something radical or at least demanding. I don't want easy, boring attractions."

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head as you watched him out of the corner of your eye. "Radical and demanding. Noted.”

It didn't take long before you reached a more open area of the park, where the lights flashed more aggressively and sounds overlapped: brief screams, nervous laughter, the metallic creaking of moving structures. There, the tower rose. Too high to be ignored. Its vertical reflectors rose and fell in slow, almost provocative intervals, while the mechanism lifted the seats to the top before dropping them in a sudden, unannounced fall.

You pointed up, casually. "How about that one?"

Harlequin stared at the ride, his green eyes widening slightly.

“A drop tower?" He gave a discreet chuckle, trying to hide his nervousness. "And here I was, thinking you were going to go easy on me. We're just getting started, you know? Usually, we go slower than this."

Your smile widened as you narrowed your eyes in a mocking gesture. "Chickening out now, Harlequin? I thought you were the one who said you wanted 'radical and demanding' rides just moments ago, or am I mistaken? Refresh my memory a bit, please."

Harlequin's expression of comic despair became even more pronounced. "What a pest you are! Full of provocations and mockery. You need a lesson in humility." He leaned closer, whispering softly in your left ear. "I can't wait to delight in your beautiful, desperate screams as we plummet from up there. My little revenge will do me much good."

You joined the line. It wasn't as big as Harlequin had predicted, but long enough to create an uncomfortable wait. He remained restless, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, his fingers tapping lightly against the side of his thigh. Every so often, he cast quick glances upward, always too quick to seem like genuine curiosity.

"I didn't ask you, but have you been on one of these before?" His voice sounded unpretentious, trying to cut through the inevitable boredom of the queue.

"I have, once, when a traveling group set up temporary attractions in my city," you began, slowly crossing your arms. "It gives you butterflies, but there's almost no time to think properly, you know? It's so fast that by the time you realize it, you're back on the ground. Safe and sound."

"Great." Harlequin nodded, as if he had just confirmed something important. "So you practically don't even have time to think about regretting it."

When your turn finally came, the attendant pointed to the seats. Harlequin went to his spot first, sprawling his body exaggeratedly as if trying to reaffirm dominance over the situation. Still, when the safety harness descended and locked over his shoulders, he let out a low sigh. Not of explicit fear, but of tense expectation.

You sat beside him, smiling reassuringly as the ride began to lift you both. The park receded from the ground, the lights turning into blurred dots below. The wind blew colder up there, and for a moment, Harlequin remained in absolute silence.

Then, before the drop came, he murmured almost to himself: "You chose well."

As you suggested, the drop was alarming but fast. When the ride finally stopped, the world seemed suspended and shaky for a few generous seconds. Harlequin, for one, took an extra moment to get up — nothing dramatic, just a brief adjustment of posture, as if he were relearning how to control his own body. You also took a moment to regain your balance, moving your legs softly as you smiled lazily.

"That was quite an experience, wasn't it?" you commented. "What did you think?"

Harlequin shrugged, breaking into a wide grin. "I think we both screamed too much. There must be people who got off that tower and are now deaf forever." He let out a loud laugh, one of those sincere, almost childish ones.

"Yes, that's true. You were screaming right next to that guy and his girlfriend. Poor couple." Giving him a light nudge, you continued: "And don't forget that time, before the second drop, when you squeezed my hands so hard I thought my fingers were going to fall off. Were you scared, Harley?”

The nickname sounded too sweet. Almost intimate. His eyes almost shone with a calm, tender reflection.

"That's not true. Stop talking nonsense," Harlequin retorted, looking away over your shoulders, his eyes narrowed curiously. A new attraction had caught his eye. "Look over there. Those shooting gallery stalls," he said. "Seems like a good option now, doesn't it?"

"It does seem promising, indeed."

Right. Truly, the shooting gallery was smaller than it looked from a distance. Colored lights flashed above the metal targets, and the dry sound of toy shots mixed with the occasional laughter of those who miscalculated their aim. Harlequin approached the counter with a confidence too rehearsed to be entirely true. He picked up the air rifle, weighing the object in his hand as if it were familiar, something he mastered.

"This is going to be simple." His tone emerged proud. "Coordination, focus, a little patience. There's not much secret to it."

You observed him, standing close to him, contemplating his burning determination. Before you both, the prizes were displayed. Various stuffed animals: cute bears, puppies, kittens, frogs, sheep, turtles. Your eyes, however, sparkled when you saw one in particular.

It was a little bear different from the others. A bit smaller, stitched unevenly, with greenish-gray fur that stood out from the sea of vibrant colors. One of the button eyes was slightly darker than the other, and there was a visible patch on its chest; not poorly made, just accepted as part of its history. You liked to extend this even to inanimate plushies, creating backstories for them and everything around you. An artist's restless mind, no doubt.

Harlequin noticed the movement of your eyes, fixed on the little bear. He understood in silence, nodding slightly with a small click of his tongue.

"You want that one, don't you?" he asked aloud, though he clearly already knew the answer. "What a curious choice. But today I'm feeling generous. I'll get that little guy for you, don't worry."

His tone sounded almost affectionate and attentive. You tried to dismiss the idea delicately, but Harlequin shook his head quickly, taking his position and leaning his body slightly, trying to find the best angle to demonstrate his aim. He closed one eye, totally focused on the task ahead, as if he were showing off or trying to prove his value to you.

The first shot missed by a hair. The second made one of the targets wobble but stay upright. Harlequin let out a low sound of frustration, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

"This junk is totally rigged, I can swear it to you!"

He looked at you, trying to gauge your reaction. You weren't exactly angry or disappointed with him. But for some reason that motivated him further and scared him at the same time, he didn't want to see you sad and without your beloved stuffed animal. He would try until the damn park closed if he had to as if it meant giving you a piece of him. A physical, material memory of the time you spent together. Not in kisses or passionate dates, but simply enjoying each other's company in a way he hadn't expected to be so pleasant, so rewarding.

"I... I told you I was going to get that stuffed animal, okay? Just wait. You're going to be parading around with this little thing in your arms," he reassured you, moving the rifle in his hand again. "And your sketchbook, of course."

You didn't comment. You just offered an encouraging smile and stayed there, watching not with overt expectation, but only showing that silent calm that made him want to strive even harder.

He adjusted his aim before spending his last chance. The third shot, surprisingly, hit the mark. The target fell with a dry clink, drawing a brief whistle from the attendant. Harlequin blinked, surprised for half a second, before covering it with a crooked smile.

"See?" Harlequin commented, too fast. "It was a matter of persistence."

You let out an excited laugh, opening your arms wide. Harlequin received the prize from the stunned attendant, whistling in admiration. He pushed the stuffed animal toward you, only to be surprised by your gesture, freezing exactly where he was.

You hugged him. Simple as that.

Instead of clutching the newly won stuffed animal to your chest, you hugged Harlequin with affection and gratitude. For an instant, he didn't know what to do with his own hands. Then, almost without noticing, he relaxed his shoulders, allowing himself to stay there. He discreetly appreciated your proximity: the soft scent of your hair, the small details of your face, the smile lines around your sweet eyes, the look you gave him, loaded with recognition, a kind of patient affection. He loved that feeling.

Harlequin held the hug for a bit before pulling away with a shaky sigh and a contained smile. "Are we getting intimate now, I presume?" he teased affectionately. His tone, finally, was free of any venom or sarcasm.

"Maybe I really am feeling more comfortable with you." The confession came out faint, but genuine. You looked at Harlequin like someone waiting for his next idea. You didn't exactly want the meeting to end, but you had the growing feeling that you two would separate soon — after all, the park was close to closing time.

Harlequin cleared his throat, looking away, and pointed with his chin toward the high structure of the Ferris wheel, illuminated against the dark sky. "Let's go before the line becomes impossible."

You nodded, following Harlequin with renewed energy. The two of you walked together in a comfortable, calm silence, yet one heavy with unspoken words. Your gaze softened as you tried to catch a glimpse of the expression on the man whose hand was dangerously close to yours. You pulled the stuffed animal tighter against your chest, feeling a warm sense of satisfaction. Spending time with him definitely did your heart good; he was being so kind, so affectionate — in unexpected ways, even if he perhaps didn't realize it himself.

You wanted to say something. You wanted him to hear you being sincere about your old and persistent feelings. And yet, you waited. You would wait just a little longer for the right moment. Yes, that seemed like the most rational choice.

A small sigh escaped your lips when your hand lightly brushed his. You yearned for his warm touch, for that same attentive glint he’d had in his eyes when handing you the prize, desperately trying to gauge your reaction. The thought surfaced before you could even resist, making you blush slightly. You wanted to see him again. To be near him often. You wanted it more than you were willing to admit out loud.

When you finally reached the long-awaited Ferris wheel, the line wasn't as large as you had feared. Some people had already left the park; others were occupied with different attractions, too distracted to notice the two of you.

You moved forward and greeted the employee operating the ride. It was then that Harlequin, in a slightly clumsy manner, ushered you ahead, gesturing for you to step up onto the platform. He followed right behind, casting you a peaceful smile: less sharp teeth, more true.

The cabin closed with a soft click. The seat was narrow enough that your shoulders almost touched. As the mechanism began to move, there was that brief instant of suspension, as if the world held its breath before rising with you.

Harlequin leaned his elbow on the backrest, looking far too relaxed for someone who was usually "on stage." His eyes, however, were not on you. They were on the landscape below.

"You really liked this little guy, didn't you?" he asked lazily, his face still turned toward the view.

The park stretched out beneath you like a sea of living lights. The stalls, the rides, the illuminated paths looked small, almost unreal from up there, blinking and glowing as if waving to the two of you.

You looked down at the stuffed animal in your arms, your fingers distractedly stroking the soft fabric. "Maybe I really did like him a lot." You smiled broadly. How could you not, after all? He had tried so hard to win it and finally give you that gift.

Harlequin turned his head toward you, noticing you stroking the plushie. He let out a mocking little laugh, but his gaze was kind.

"Does this little thing have a name yet?" The tease was light, but he truly wanted to know how you would answer. Harlequin knew you were creative.

You blinked, surprised by the question. You looked at the toy for a moment, as if truly considering it for the first time. "I was just thinking about that."

"Hm..." Harlequin rested his chin on his hand, theatrical as ever. "I vote for Grass."

"Grass?" you repeated, incredulous. The choice was curious, to say the least.

"What? Weren't you the one who liked writing funny metaphors about flowers, roses, and carnations?" He chuckled. "I'm just following your line of reasoning."

"Right, that makes sense." You huffed softly, nodding. "I thought of something like Little Leaf. If we're going to highlight his green nature."

"Little Leaf?" His smile widened as he leaned a bit closer to you. "Sounds excessively cute. In my home country, we would say it like “Folhinha”. You know, Fo-lhi-nha,” he murmured, testing the word on his tongue. "I'm not so sure."

The way he pronounced it made your stomach flip slightly.

"You say that as if it’s important," you commented, almost without thinking. "Surprisingly, it seems you're taking this choice more seriously than I am."

"Maybe I am." He shrugged, but his gaze remained locked onto yours. "Names matter, you know."

You went back to staring at the toy, thoughtful. "And what if it were… Moss?”

"Musgo. A more foreign touch to it." Harlequin repeated the name, now with more attention. "Sounds better. More mature than the previous one, and still captivating." A small silence settled in. "We can leave it at that. Musgo."

He tilted his head, curious. "You don't like how it sounds?"

"Mus...go." You tried to repeat it the way he said it, but the word came out marked by your accent. Harlequin let out an affectionate giggle and gave your knees a light tap.

"I'll teach you that word. And many others," he said naturally, as if it were obvious. "Don't worry about it."

You nodded shyly, resting your head lazily against the cabin's safety bar. A deep sigh escaped your lips while your heart beat a little faster.

"Can I tell you something, Harlequin?" Your voice was low. "Something important."

Harlequin didn't make a joke this time. The gentle swaying of the cabin marked the pause as the Ferris wheel reached its highest point. The park lights twinkled below you like artificial constellations. He slowly reached out and wrapped his fingers around your wrist — not squeezing, just enough to anchor the moment.

"You can." His green gaze met yours, attentive in a rare way. "I'm listening."

The silence stretched just long enough for you to take a deep breath and organize your thoughts. Your fingers squeezed Musgo tighter against your chest, as if the small weight of the plush could give you courage.

"I'm not very good at expressing my feelings out loud. I get tangled in words; I hesitate for too long." You sighed, running a hand over your temple. "Maybe that's why I prefer writing and drawing. Feelings flow more easily that way."

Harlequin nodded slightly, his eyes a bit wider than usual. He remained silent, letting you continue.

"But I needed to tell you this. To unburden my heart." You hesitated for a moment, staring into his dilated pupils. "I admire Pierrot. I like him. His talent, his silence, the way he commands the stage." Your voice did not falter. "But he isn't the one who makes my heart race."

Your fingers closed carefully around Harlequin’s wrist, returning the touch. Almost like a request for permission.

"It's you."

There was no urgency in your speech. No demand.

"I prefer you, Harlequin. The way you enter places without asking permission, but also these moments where you stay quiet, when no one is looking."

A shy smile appeared, truly fragile, as you touched his fingers. "I just wanted to go slow. For you to follow my life closely. For us to spend time together... if that's possible."

For a few seconds, Harlequin said absolutely nothing.

The grip on your wrist remained, but his fingers had relaxed, as if he were more anchored than he would ever admit. The easy smile didn't return. Neither did the sarcasm.

"You really have a gift for saying dangerous things as if they were very simple." He breathed with difficulty, as if the revelation had stolen his composure. A nervous smile emerged, and his eyes betrayed his own commotion. "What a pest you are. You planned this from the moment of the invitation, didn't you? The exact moment to tell me."

You shrunk back slowly, thinking it might have been a stupid idea to say it out loud. But before any apology could escape, he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder: warm, firm, reassuring.

"I'm glad you told me that." He ran his free hand through his hair. "Going slow isn't exactly my specialty."

A brief pause. "But for you... I'm willing to try."

Harlequin swallowed hard. His hand remained on your shoulder for a few more seconds, as if he needed that point of contact to avoid getting lost in what he felt. His green eyes dropped to your lips for a moment — too fast to be an invitation, too slow to be accidental.

He leaned in.

The gesture was careful, almost hesitant, as if asking permission from the very air between you. Instead of seeking your mouth, Harlequin touched your cheek with a brief, warm kiss, loaded with an unexpected tenderness. Nothing urgent. Nothing hungry. Just presence.

You practically melted, letting out a soft sigh — of relief, of affection, of something very close to happiness.

"Don't go thinking this means I've become easy to deal with," he murmured, trying to recover a shred of his old mocking tone, and failing miserably. His voice was too low. Too soft.

"I certainly didn't think anything of the sort," you replied, with a peaceful and genuinely happy smile.

He rested his forehead lightly against yours for an instant, taking a deep breath. "But I like the idea of staying."

A short pause.

"As long as it’s with you. Going slow, I guess.”

The Ferris wheel began its slow descent, and the park lights reflected in his eyes like restless little constellations. Harlequin carefully intertwined his fingers with yours — not to bind you, but to accompany you.

Musgo remained squeezed against your chest.

And for the first time in a long while, Harlequin felt at ease. There was no impulse to flee at the first sign of sunlight. The monster who believed they were unloveable went home carrying a new sensation, warm and quiet.

The feeling of being wanted.

Of being, finally, the chosen one.