asking pierrot why he was just sitting on your first encounter, irresponsive to the stranger harassing him. he lowers his head, forbidden from explaining the reason… for now.
while brushing his hair, you tell him there’s nothing wrong with defending himself, “as long as you’re not taking someone’s life like a maniac, of course.”
pierrot tilts his head in response, so you continue: he doesn’t deserve any beatings or insults, from a human or other creature. “and don’t they hurt?”
he only blinks, like this was a new concept to him. oh pierrot.
done with his hair, you kiss the space between his eyes, your last remark.
he taps and traces that spot every moment he’s not with you, when he’s prepping for his performance at the circus while you’re away, handling coffee orders.
he can’t wait to sniff that cappuccino scent off you.
