that was, until, you couldn’t get him out of your head.

when you woke in the morning, despite barely having a grasp on consciousness, the small, subliminal thoughts started: will i see him today? what will i say? and, unfortunately, a question that was starting to bother you more and more, how will i keep him interested?

you didn’t want to admit that you were liking the attention he was giving you, but that was the simplest way to put it.

it was poisoning you. time that used to be spent wondering about responsibilities and needs actually pertaining to you had now been overtaken by thoughts of him. you weren't even sure what you had done to catch his attention in the first place, but ever since, you’ve desperately been trying to grasp onto whatever you can think of that makes you interesting to be around.

in your mind, that means whatever similarities you can imagine having in common with a six-foot masked creature; and you still hadn't managed to find a single one.

you’re embarrassed to notice the changes in yourself– it's reminiscent of a teenager experiencing an identity crisis and the biggest crush on a person they’ve barely held one conversation with all over again. anytime you’re out shopping, you find yourself gravitating towards green clothes and items over any other color you normally choose.

you’ve been working as a barista for a while now, and while you enjoy coffee drinks just as much as the next person, you hadn’t put any real thought into the history and flavor profiles of different coffee blends since you’d been hired. but with harlequin visiting you almost everyday at work, you were trying to learn more about his interests and preferences. did he care about the tiniest hint of chocolate you were trying to gaslight yourself into tasting in the cold brew, or did he just like that it was bitter?

to anyone else, these were small changes, but they could never understand what was going on in your head; purchasing a gold necklace as someone who’d stuck to silver jewelry their entire life, you realized you had never put this much effort into an interest in someone. and it didn’t feel like pretending to be someone you weren’t, or a phase that would only last a few weeks–, you were actively trying to like black coffee because of harlequin. you drank it on days when he visited and on the days that he didn’t. you could say with confidence that you were slowly starting to enjoy the taste of it. your attraction to green and gold items felt innate rather than forced, and you didn’t think you looked terrible in the colors. maybe you had been a gold person all along, but you had never been confident enough to try it out until now. 

but signing up for a library membership was what made you realize how serious this interest was getting. you hadn't attempted to learn another language since high school, but next thing you knew, you were scouring the shelves of the language section for beginner portuguese vocabulary books, all because harlequin had offered you a few dishes from his home country and whispered things you couldn’t understand and he refused to elaborate on– you decided it was time to take it into your own hands. 

the books were still waiting on your coffee table at home, untouched. you were nervous about where to start; was it best to start with introductions? but you faintly recalled starting with expressing your mood when you took a class in school. that was something you’d have to push onto future you.

all you could pray for was that harlequin wouldn’t notice, the way you noticed everything about him. from exactly how many strides it took him to make his way from the café door to the stool he now claimed as "his spot." he chose that same stool every day, where he’d lean over the counter to grin in your face. even before he arrived, you would place a glass or plate in his spot to keep it unoccupied.

it’d been slow this morning, you didn’t see a point in putting anything out to save his spot. instead, you spent your time doodling on spare coffee sleeves, but you had already covered several of them while practicing round, symmetrical hearts. harlequin's costume had always interested you, from the detailing to what exactly kept his hat so puffed up all the time. you'd moved onto a rough sketch of harlequin’s hat, thinking it would be cute to draw some circus-themed sleeves. although your boss expected any circus fliers inside or on the windows to be torn down, you didn't see the harm in cute doodles.

you’ve just finished shading one of the hearts black when a breath on your neck immediately has you whipping around out of reflex.

“morning, little thing. no greeting today? what has you bent over the counter like this?~” harlequin's choice of words only add to the growing sense of shame and fear you're feeling. while you technically hadn't done anything wrong, you weren't intending to get so fixated on your doodles that you tuned everything out. speaking of your drawings, what should you do? cover the sleeve first? throw it across the lobby and hope he doesn’t go looking for it? act like you weren’t drawing him at all?

too late.

his eyes have already slowly raked down from your face to the flimsy piece of cardboard your fingers are doing a half-assed job of covering. he lets out a small “oh” that’s halfway between flattery and shock, and is it just you, or is it getting really hot in here?

something has been off about you for the past few weeks. when harlequin first met you on the streets, because he would be a fool not to remember everything about your first meeting, you had adorably refused to meet his eyes no matter how hard he tried. you had occupied yourself by fidgeting nervously with a silver necklace instead. 

but now, you've worn only gold for the past week. there are green clips in your hair, whereas before, you stuck to black pins that were barely noticeable. that made the abrupt changes from black to neon all the more prominent, and when he sees your little doodle on the coffee sleeve, everything clicks.

oh.

is this what it’s like to be worshipped?

you've put so much effort into being a little more like him. you’ve gone out of your way to wear his colors. you’re drawing him. you save a spot for him at your counter everyday, and you’re trying your best to learn even more about him– which is adorable in it’s own right. you refuse to ask him anything about himself directly, you're always trying to figure it out on your own.

he's reached into every corner of your mind and embedded himself there, spreading his poison throughout your mind. the realization of his success makes something in his own head buzz, especially with the look on your face.

you’re terrified.

you’re not changing yourself for him. you know he’s already interested. you’re just hopelessly falling for him, and the closer you're orbiting to him, the more you're becoming like him. and now that he’s caught onto what you're doing, you’re terrified of what happens next.

he’s had humans infatuated with him before. like a lovesick pierrot, they obsess over him, stalk him, try to manipulate him, even though they’re the one playing his game. it all ends the same, with their protests and justifications of “love” and admiration.

but you?

for you, it was pure reverence. 

you admired him. respected him. your innocent eyes told him more about how you felt than you could ever articulate. he wagered that if he asked, you'd get on your knees for him.

and he only wants more of it. he wants more of you until he doesn’t have to come out and find you at home or at your job. he wants to take you back to his tent and keep you at his side forever. he wants you at every hour, every minute, every second of the day. maybe he’s the one obsessed, this time. but no, it’s more than just obsession. it’s not infatuation, either. 

he might be on your mind, but you’ve weaseled your way into his head, too. he can’t seem to stay away from you even if he tries.

you’re different from any human he’s ever met, and it’s only right that you belong to him. special goes with special. if you were bound to someone like pierrot, it would only be a waste. a shining star dimmed, tied down to a pole.

and he wants you to want him. wants to hear you say it, yourself.

“my dear, what’s this?” his grin is wide, one slender finger pointing lazily to your drawing of him. 

“nothing! it’s nothing… oh, how do i explain–”

“no need, dear one. you were thinking about me,” he cuts you off before you could spiral, “it’s pretty obvious, you know. and i’m not talking about just your little drawing.”

your mouth opens, and then closes again, silent. you desperately wish you had a mask like him, something to cover your face and take the edge off the intensity of his stare. it burns into you, and he’s waiting, ready for any meek response you give him, which he'll immediately shut down. and what is there left to say? he already knows everything. “i…”

“how cute, little one~” he teases with a chuckle, the sound reverberates through your skull. you wish you could listen to his laugh forever. “it’s alright, my dear. your obsession with me is adorable. i love it.” he’s so close to you, but you sober up the tiniest bit at the realization of where you both are. you lift a hand, stopping him in his tracks, your palm just barely brushing against his chest.

“harlequin,” you hiss, but all he does is poke his forked tongue out. the sound of his name in your mouth is only exciting him more. “you’re behind the counter, you need to sit down before my boss comes out. people are already staring,” you whisper, ignoring the glint in his eyes, which is clearly telling you then let’s just walk out of here.

he obliges silently, only a small huff, and when he drops into one of the bar counter stools, you let out a sigh of relief. you can still feel the weight of a few customers staring at you, but at the very least, if your boss came out, harlequin wouldn’t be banned from the store and fire you. you mindlessly reach for a glass and a dry rag to polish a glass, preparing it for when he inevitably orders a coffee.

“well?” he starts, but doesn’t finish his question. he always talks like this, waiting for you to play along, or maybe he just likes to make you beg for it. you always obey, don't you?

“well, what?” you cock your head to the side in confusion.

“is there more?” he continues, still refusing to give you context until the very end, “i bet you’re so in love with me you have more drawings of me at home, don’t you? may i come over and see?”

just the idea of harlequin seeing your home has your heart in your throat. “what? no, i don’t have more drawings. this was just…” you trail off, unsure of what excuse to give. oh, i don’t know, harlequin. you occupy every thought in my head and every single second of my day and every breath i breathe is dedicated to you, and the best i could do was try to draw you on a stupid sleeve that protects your hand from getting burned. nothing special. “do you want something?” you change the subject.

“do you even have to ask?” he fires back, and you roll your eyes, turning your back to him.

when you place his drink in front of him, he’s resting his head in the palm of his hand. you shift from one foot to the other, feeling trapped in his gaze. “when did you start wearing gold jewelry?” he’s not looking for an answer to the question; he just wants to see your reaction. he already knows, after all.

you're fidgeting with the gold necklace in question as you spin up a lie on the spot, “oh, this? i always wear gold, well– not always- but i switch between gold and silver jewelry. you must have just never seen me wearing gold yet… why? does it matter?”

“it doesn’t,” he shrugs, watching the way your fingers continuously roll the gold chain back and forth, “except for that it’s one of my colors. but i guess you’re right, i must have never noticed until now.” he grins at the way you completely freeze up, your eyes widen a little more, and he truly does wish he could take it further. the amount of places he could just graze his fingers over that he knows would elicit this same reaction from you is running through his head, but he knows you wouldn’t let him. at least not here.

and you’re so frustrated because you know he’s teasing you, yet you still can’t help but give him every reaction and jump he wants. he’s like a predator, just playing with his food before he devours it.

"have you considered maybe not everything revolves around you?" his face doesn't change in the slightest despite your attempt to bite back.

"sure," he plays along, "but it's a little coincidental after i caught you drawing me, no?"

you bite your lip and his eyes follow your every movement, daring you to talk back. but you don't have an answer, and you're not sure why you even started this banter in the first place. but when you hear his laugh as you admit defeat, maybe your humiliation was worth the sound that makes your heart flutter.

when you look down at the coffee sleeve in question, you can't think of what to do. you're not ready to try to explain to him how you feel, but you don't want to pretend your feelings don't exist, either. a silence falls over the two of you, and it's calm, but out of character for harlequin.

“can i come over tonight?" he sure has a way of ruining peaceful environments, doesn't he? the question is out of the blue, yet he says it casually, as if he regularly comes over to your apartment. which is certainly not the case.

“don’t you have a performance tonight?” you quirk a brow, defensively placing your hands on your sides.

he shrugs, “i can come after i preform. i’ll start early and end early so i can come sooner. yes?” 

“no,” you answer quickly. “are you even allowed to do that? wouldn’t people be upset if they missed your performance?”

“if you’re not coming to see me, it doesn’t matter,” he answers passively, swirling the coffee in his hand. you wish you could tell him not to say those kinds of things or else you'll really start to get delusional. “i can do what i want. i’ll make up an excuse. so, i’ll see you tonight?”

“what if i come see to the circus tomorrow night instead?”

“then i’ll see you tonight and tomorrow night, too. just more for me~” his answers are childish at best, and he’s clearly not taking no for an answer. but before you can give him another response, he’s standing up, straightening his tunic. “well, i’ll see you tonight then, my dear,” he grins, placing a bill and a wrapped candy on the counter.

the bell of the cafe door chimes with his exit, leaving you alone, back with the same lifeless coffee sleeves you began with.

and wait–

where was the one with harlequin’s hat?

you search the pile of sleeves, scattering them everywhere and flipping them over.

“he took it when i wasn’t looking! how annoying,” you sigh to no one but yourself, rubbing your temple to try to alleviate some of the pressure in your head.

it wasn't from his teasing words, but rather the twinge of pain that came with being left alone again.

that he left, and you couldn’t follow.

you didn’t trust yourself to go to the circus tonight, worried about working early at the café tomorrow. instead, you began your language studies. your coffee table was covered in books, all open and scattered around your journal in the center where you were jotting down notes. 

you were certain you were near your breaking point. you were constantly losing your reading place, and now you seemed to have lost your pen. running a hand through your hair, you begin to clean up the mess of books scattered across the table, stacking them back into a neat pile for whenever you next decided to challenge yourself. 

intent on returning your journal to your desk, you reach for the handle of your bedroom door when you hear a sound on the other side of it. you freeze, heart dropping to your stomach in fear. maybe something fell over? but it sounded a little like something had been dragged, which wasn't comforting to think about.

but if someone was inside your home, you needed to catch them in the act before they took something or hid somewhere.

the door creaks open, and you hold your breath, trying to survey your room. the sight of a green and gold figure catches your eyes, and a wave of relief and fear simultaneously wash over you.

“...harlequin?” you say his name hesitantly, and a little quietly, unsure if he heard you until he snaps around to meet your eyes.

you’re still standing in the doorway of your bedroom, yet the distance between you and the man in front of you does nothing to dull the intensity of his stare. it makes it worse that your lights are off; only the sharp shape of his green eyes, black slits completely focused on you, stand out, the rest of him barely visible. his gaze actually has you wanting to step back even further, feeling a little bit like a rabbit caught in the teeth of a fox. his mouth curls into a wide grin as he turns to fully face you. “gatinha, there you are,” the tone of his voice sends chills throughout your body. all that studying tonight and you still have no idea what he’s said to you, you feel like a fool.

still, you take a few hesitant steps forward into your room, trying to regain your sense of composure. he’s the one in your house, you can’t be the one shying away. “how did you get in here?” you turn on the lights as you step into your room, and he barely reacts to the sudden change in brightness. if anything, his eyes seem to narrow down on you even more.

“your sliding door,” he answers simply, which seems to remind him to turn around and flip the lock on it.

you close your eyes for a brief second, trying to process the situation, “you– you can’t just come through my sliding door, harlequin. that’s breaking and entering. and how did you even get up this high? my apartment’s on the third level–” he hushes you, and when you open your eyes, he’s completely closed the distance between you two, causing you to squeak and step back reflexively.

“does that really matter?” he scoffs, “i told you i’d see you tonight, didn’t i?” 

while he’s technically right, he also walked out before you could answer. you shake your head in a small attempt to avoid looking in his eyes. at this point, you're starting to accept your unexpected company for the night. you can't think of a single instance you've ever won an argument against this man, it's futile to even try. 

and then the thought comes to you, what would you have said if he had given you the time to answer?

your mind is only making your heart beat faster, and you turn from harlequin, walking back to your living room to try to cool down. you can tell he’s trailing behind you from the second pair of footsteps you hear, almost silent, but still audible. you throw your notebook back onto the coffee table near the pile of books already on it and sit on the floor, trying to focus on calming yourself.

harlequin’s eyes follow your movements, but he stays standing for a beat longer before he sits as well. strangely enough, it feels the slightest bit domestic, this lanky man dressed in circus attire sitting cross-legged in your own home, silently staring at you with what seems to be curiosity rather than his usual playfulness that never lets up. he's looking at you as if you're a new species he's never seen, but truthfully, you're just in sweats.

but for him, this is an entirely new side of you he's seeing. watching through a window can only tell him so much. whenever you're in public settings, like the café or circus, you treat the place with a certain level of respect, knowing that you don't own the place, you're just occupying the space. but in your loungewear, in your own home, there's a different air around you. you're more comfortable throwing things around, plopping down wherever you feel like, he wants you to treat him with that same kind of casual trust. he wants you to be rough, but in your own personal way that still retains the kindness he will never understand that you extend to everyone, including him, even if he doesn't deserve it.

harlequin seems to try to mimic your respectful demeanor as he observes the walls of your apartment, small decorations and personal items of yours littered about here and there. you didn’t expect that behavior or his silence to last long, and it ends when his eyes dart back to the books on your coffee table. “what are these?” he asks.

your eyes widen a little, hands shooting out to try to turn the spines of the books away from his line of sight to hide the title of the books, “that's nothing! i’ve just been studying…a language. i thought maybe it would help me connect to more people at the cafe. we have a lot of foreigners, you know.”

“so you’re studying portuguese?” he calls your bluff immediately and your throat seems to close up. “hah! don’t make me laugh, gatinha. portuguese is my language, you know that. why are you trying to lie to me?” he inches the slightest bit closer to you, and your hands reach up to cover your face, unable to handle the weight of his stare anymore. “sweet thing, your devotion to me is adorable, don’t shy away– or i might just to pin you down.”

you can barely handle how this domestic, quiet moment flipped completely upside down into something sexual, and covering your face has hidden you from his sight, but now you can’t see either, which is only heightening your other senses and it sounds like he’s getting closer.

“gatinha, do you know what i’m saying to you? answer me,” he demands in a voice that makes you worried you did that's seriously offended him. your breath hitches as you try to recall reading any kind of term like that, but you come up blank, whether that’s because you're short-circuiting or from your lack of knowledge, god only knows.

“no…” you answer quietly and he laughs loudly again, mockingly. he sounds like he’s a breath away from brushing your shoulder. 

“sweet thing,” he murmurs, the rasp in his voice making you shiver as you peek through some of your fingers to try to see him, “these silly books aren’t teaching you anything. you don’t need them.” you gasp when you see his arm swipes the stack of books off the table, sending them tumbling to the ground in a flutter of aged pages and worn spines.

you've removed your hands from your face, looking at the mess on the ground. “harlequin, i have to return those…” you try to chide him, but your words fall on deaf ears, and suddenly, he’s in your face.

“why wouldn’t you just ask me to teach you?~” his grin grows wide as you try to shrink back into the edge of your couch to no avail. “i’ll teach you my language if you want, little thing. but in return, i want something.”

he’s barely talking about teaching your portuguese anymore, you know that. you’ve completely lost whatever game you two were playing. ever since that coffee sleeve at work earlier, he’s known everything. 

tonight, all he had to do was catch the little mouse, and he caught you the moment you’d opened the bedroom door.

“...what did you have in mind?” you avert your eyes, trying to look anywhere but him, but it’s difficult to do when he’s basically on top of you at this point. he’s all you see, hear, and smell– your head is spinning.

the chuckle that escapes his mouth makes you look back at him, and then you’re shamelessly watching the green tongue that pokes out of his mouth. he sounds pleased, like he knows you’ve realized the situation, too. he’s caught his prey, now you’re his.

“to start, maybe a kiss,” he hums, eyes looking down on you mercilessly, “then, i’ll mark you as mine. after that, i’ll take your clothes. i’ll decide from there what’s next, or maybe you already know, dear one?~”