#tfc limerence

He nibbled on his thumb in contemplation, thinking back to how guarded you seemed.

What had he done wrong? He's been protecting you. You didn't even seem to recognize the tribute of his devotion during his performance. And now that he was thinking about it, you ducked away when he locked eyes with you during his dance. Were you perhaps shy?

He was intrigued by the puzzle that was you. Sometimes you were obvious with what you were feeling, but other times, especially when you were alone inside that apartment, you seemed so... lifeless.

So melancholic. Dull. Boring.

His darling wasn't boring.

His darling was a force of nature, with a smile that could cure all ailments and a sense of compassion that burned brighter than the sun.

He saw it in the way you automatically adjusted your path for strangers on the street, how politely you waited for your turn at the pharmacy, how patiently you held the door open for somebody entering or exiting the apartment complex.

There was a spring in your step wherever you went.

A nimble splash of color.

His splash of color.

You were so unassuming that had he not witnessed your wrath that fateful encounter, he would've sincerely thought you couldn't hurt a fly.

A kind, soft thing like you, getting angry for his sake...

Pierrot shivers, his mask practically glowing pink.

He could never allow that spark of passion in you to fizzle out.

Hence why he could never allow you to return to those miserable white walls.

It was for your own good, really.

But how was he going to convince you of that? Would you listen to reason?

Could he even afford to be patient if you tried to escape?

Kneeling by the bedside, he stroked your cheek, unable to help himself. A gasp escaped him when you leaned into the contact unconsciously.

He felt lightheaded from the sudden bout of exhilaration that surged through him.

Could this mean...?!

Before he could even get ahead of himself, Pierrot reminded himself that it wasn't a sign for him to do whatever he wanted. He wanted to hear it straight from your lips. He wanted you to be fully conscious and aware, to want him as much as he wanted you.

He wanted your love.

To do anything now would feel dirty. Lowly. Underhanded, even. What would be the point otherwise if he could just take what he wants from you? That wouldn't be love. That's greed. He wasn't selfish like that. Not like Harlequin.

His entire life up until this point had been a waiting game for his one true purpose. That purpose was you.

For that, he could wait a little more. He could wait for all of eternity as long as you were right where he could see you.

He was committed to you. He'd love and cherish you in sickness and in health, through any trials and tribulations, 'til the day he drew his last breath.

He sighed wistfully. For one blissful moment, he was just a simple man dreaming of the domestic and romantic moments you two were bound to share.

He dreamed of baking together, you playing with his hair, cuddling close at night, learning all your little quirks and habits, your fears, secrets, desires–

"Do you genuinely believe that your name is Pierrot and that you're some sort of clown?"

The memory of your doubt brought him crashing back down to reality.

You knew something was up. He hadn't really known what to say in the moment when you were grilling him about his identity. You were too sharp for your own good. It had been inconsequential when you asked him, but if you went around asking the others for their personal information, they'd no doubt want you dealt with.

He needed to hide you. He needed to keep you safe.

With a heavy heart, Pierrot reluctantly left your bedside to scrounge around in a box nearby for a chain.

It was for your own good.

~☆~

You didn't so much as "wake up" as you did emerge from unconsciousness. Opening your eyes was a chore in of itself, your heavy lids sticking together like glue whenever you blinked. You were beyond groggy, every sense felt like wading through molasses just to belatedly register one thing. But when your lagging brain finally processed the unfamiliar red and black roof, you sat up with a start on the equally unfamiliar bed, your now alert eyes quickly scanning your surroundings. You spot your jacket some meters away. Was your phone still in your pocket?

Seeing as nobody was around, you moved your legs off the bed — or tried to. A resistance accompanied by the chilling sound of rattling chains stopped you in your tracks. Throwing off the covers revealed a blue shackle around your right ankle, tying you to the bedpost.

This... This couldn't be real, right? It had to have been a prank or something. You weren't anything special, this made no sense. Why would anyone, let alone a guy who's only known you for two days, want to kidnap somebody like you? Things never happened to you.

Alright, well, maybe that's a lie, you've lived a pretty eventful life and not necessarily in a good way.

But you had moved past it all, cut all contacts, started something new.

You were supposed to blend in! You went out of your way to be as uninteresting as possible with your lack of any real hobbies (or maybe that's just the depression), interests or taste in media so that people wouldn't be able to bond with you.

How did you manage to fail this miserably?

With a CLOWN, no less?

You weren't some beautiful girl or anything, you were literally just some guy. A plain, unassuming guy with no standout features. Just how you liked it. The most interesting thing about you is probably that you're easily clocked as autistic by neurotypicals and fellow people on the spectrum.

That's it!

This was never supposed to happen. Not to somebody like you. This couldn't be real. You refused to believe it. Your only crime was leaving your apartment.

Or was this penance? For what you inadvertently brought to your workplace? For betraying the only people who could stand you?

Was it realistic for you to have known that Pierrot would end up doing something like this?

Resentment began to boil within you.

Who was he to act like he's entitled to you, anyway? Why did he even chain you up in the first place? Was this... some part of the performance? No. No, drugging people without their knowledge is highly illegal. And you also never signed a consent form or a waiver or anything of the sort.

Those missing people... were they also suckers who pitied the circus folk, only to end up in their trap?

You kept brooding as you periodically tugged at your ankle enough times for it to chafe against the restraint, but you didn't care. You needed freedom.

If you could just get to your phone, you could call somebody for help.

You were just on the verge of actually biting at the chain like some kinda animal when familiar bells rang out paired with the sound of footsteps approaching the tent.

What greeted you was the sight of your captor walking in with a tray of food.

When Pierrot noticed that you were awake, he paused, flashing you a nervous smile.

Wait, nervous? Wasn't he wearing a mask? How did it move?

Had he just been smiling for the hell of it all this time? You couldn't recall a single moment he wasn't smiling, but then again, clowns are supposed to be strict about that sort of thing, right?

Maybe it was just an ingrained habit?

It didn't help the uncanny vibes he was putting off. It didn't matter much anyways, you were too busy being livid to focus on that.

Slowly, as if to not startle you, he sets down the tray near the bed before stepping closer to you. Big mistake.

"M-my lord, you're awa—!"

He didn't get to finish his sentence before you suddenly pounced on him, dragging him down onto the bed with you atop him.

"Y o u . . ." If Pierrot could pale any further, he would've.

"You lying, conniving piece of SHIT! I NEVER should've helped you that day! They were right about you all along! You motherfucker!"

You were seeing red. All the fear, the tension, the stress culminated into one singular point, and it was righteous fury.

You raised your fist above your head, having no qualms giving in to your aggressive urges given the performer's criminal actions, but when he just stared at you with wide eyes, you hesitated.

Why did you hesitate? You've always beat up bullies, assholes, abusive fucks, how was Pierrot any different?

Just because he wasn't even trying to fight back? Because he wasn't even angry with you?

"Why are you looking at me like that? I'm the one chained to the bed here, stop acting like you're the victim here!"

When the aforementioned clown only continued to lay there with bated breath, involuntary flashes of seeing him in the same position two days ago appeared in the forefront of your mind. The crescendo that had been building up within you flickered before snuffing out, leaving a hollow wake in its place.

With a disgusted scoff, you get off him and scoot away to the far end of the bed the best you can, glaring daggers at him.

"Get the hell outta my sight, Pierrot." You mutter out, looking off to the side where your jacket was. Your ticket to freedom was so close, yet so far...

Pierrot remained in the same position as before, his chest rising and falling rapidly before he eventually sat up properly. Was he about to have a panic attack? Were you seriously going to have to comfort your own captor?

When he faced you, small tremors ran through him periodically, his normally snow white face bloomed into a brilliant hue of pink and he was panting as if he was in the throes of a most euphoric thrill.

"Hah... hahah... M-my lord... Your passion... Your fury...!" You were taken aback by his tone of voice, it didn't even sound like it belonged to him anymore.

With a wide, manic grin, he was now the one to bridge the gap between you, crawling closer with what you could've sworn were hearts in his eyes.

"Do you even know what you're doing to me, dearest?" He growled, his voice close enough that it was vibrating with a bass that you could feel resonating inside your ribcage. "Again. Show me the depths of your passion again!" You didn't know if he was begging or commanding you at this point, but both seemed likely.

"Back the hell off! Don't fucking touch me or I won't hesitate to beat your ass!" You snap, pissed that the tables had turned the moment you showed him pity. How did you fall for it again?

Sensing your genuine distress, Pierrot faltered his pursuit and stopped looming over you entirely.

"F-forgive me, my lord, for my impertinence. I don't know what came over me there... h-haha..." He looked down at his own hands, as if seeing them for the first time.

"You're... you're not afraid of me, are you? I'm sorry. I really am." You scowl at him. Seriously?

"If you really were sorry, you'd let me go right now!" You snap back, causing him to recoil.

"I-I can't..." He whispered quietly, shamefully.

"Why not?"

"I-it's for your own safety, my lord! I couldn't have you wander and get hurt or worse..."

"What do you mean by that?" He quickly peeked over the bed screen towards the entrance, as if worried somebody was about to walk in at any second.

"The others... they're nearby. Please, place your trust in me that I only have your best interests in mind!" When he was only met with a doubtful look from you, he pressed on. "I had to hide you, you understand, right? You were unconscious, vulnerable, I couldn't let anyone lay their filthy hands on you whilst you were in that state." You glanced down your body, internally checking for any immediate discrepancies, but other than being stripped of your jacket, you didn't feel or look any different. "But you can?" You challenged, sneering at him. Pierrot winced. "I-I only transported you when you fell, my lord. I didn't... I would never..."

You both jolted when you heard a gruff voice call out Pierrot's name, asking where he was.

Panicked, he rummaged in one of the nearby storage boxes and found a mask that was similar to what the jesters clad in pink were wearing.

With shaky hands, he places the mask over your face, now wearing a grim expression. You've never seen him so serious before.

"I need you to stay put, okay? I swear to you that I will return the moment I'm able to. If anyone else enters, do not say a word and. Do. Not. Move."

As he whispers his instructions to you, he wraps a rope over your wrists just enough for it look convincing, but fails to tie the final knot tight enough.

He sees the questions in your eyes, but he's out of time. Instead, he places a kiss to your masked forehead that makes your heart stutter and hurries away.

With your captor gone, you were finally given a moment to digest everything that just happened.

What others was he even referring to? The other performers? The public? Was he just paranoid about his crimes being found out?

Who even was he supposed to be?

Was he or was he not a manipulative asshole who hides behind his circus role to commit nefarious acts? You've always been able to trust your intuition about these kinds of things, but for some godawful reason... You get the feeling that he's being sincere.

Which makes no sense because he refuses to even give out his real name!

Was he being serious when he asked you to name him? Or is it just that he has low self esteem and hates who he is outside of his role? Maybe he wants to be a pierrot so badly that he's decided to adopt it and embrace it as himself?

Whatever his reason may be, you knew he needed therapy.

Then, was this circus enabling his bad habits? Or was it them who taught him to do these criminal acts in the first place? You try to remember what he told you that very first day.

If you recalled correctly, he said that the circus had a small core cast, hence why the performers had to hand out flyers too. That must mean he's been with them for quite some time. You're unsure how long this particular circus has been around for, but you'd estimate maybe atleast 5+ or even 10+ years?

His behavior didn't exactly line up with that of a serial kidnapper. He was... awfully tender, for some reason. As if you really were some medieval lord and he your court jester.

You circle back to a previous theory you had. The circus might be a cult and he desperately needs somebody to pull him away from it all.

You've heard of Jehovah's Witnesses letting their members seek contact with the outside world, but when they're met with rejection, it reinforces the idea that the world is against them and the only acceptance they'll find is within their faith and fellow members.

You felt like it was a direct parallel to the harassment he faces whenever he hands out flyers.

If he's been with the circus for a long time, that might be why he identifies with the role of the pierrot so strongly. Maybe he doesn't even know his real name because he was snatched up young.

How would you convince him to seek help then? You didn't know how to un-brainwash people. Maybe you could play along long enough to convince him to leave? It was either that or wait for a miracle, since you weren't going anywhere with this shackle around your foot.

Turns out, you didn't have to wait long before a certain green-clad menace strolled in, no doubt wondering what his rival had been up to in the storage room. You tense the moment he rounded the corner and stood before the bed, staring straight at you.

"Well, well, well... What do we have here?"

Shit. You still have no idea what to make of Harlequin. Recalling Pierrot's hurried instructions, you remained silent, not moving a muscle. You weren't sure what this really accomplished. You were still in plain sight. Maybe he wouldn't recognize you with the mask on...?

Your fragile hope was shattered when he let out a chuckle.

"I knew he was hiding something... but this is way more fun than I expected!"

His green eyes wandered down to the chain, and the sudden intensity emanating from him made you want to recoil. "Oh my, all tied up too? Must be my lucky day~!"

You got the foreboding sense that you were not safe.

With an air of insincere casualty, he gripped the footboard, giving you a lazy once-over that made your skin crawl.

"You know, I'm offended that you skipped out on my show last night, sir. I thought we had a good thing going. Do you just hate me? Is that it, hm?" When you didn't answer him, he let go of the board and placed both hands on the bed.

"Maybe I should take my revenge..."

Climbing onto the bed as if it was the most natural thing in the world, he made his way towards you, only stopping when he was hovering right above your lap.

"So tense... so quiet... I think I like you better this way. You're a lot less sassy when you're afraid." You really didn't like where this was going. With Pierrot, you knew atleast if you protested, he'd stop, but his supposed rival?

If they really were all criminals, what would stop him from doing whatever he wanted with you just to mess with his coworker?

"He warned you, didn't he? If you scream, it will not end well for you."

Your froze. Pierrot wasn't just being delusional? Was he actually looking out for you?

Or were they colluding? Was this planned from the start? Was he the good cop to Harlequin's bad cop?

Now that you think about it, it had been awfully convenient that Harlequin showed up just as Pierrot left. Just like yesterday at the café.

They were coworkers. Human beings at the end of the day. Their rivalry is just a part of the act. They aren't actually Pierrot or Harlequin.

Pissed off at the idea that the two of them believed you to be that gullible, you steel your resolve and wriggle the ropes around your hands loose.

"Hm?" Apparently, Pierrot hadn't informed his partner in crime about your wrists not actually being tied, so you, in a fit of adrenaline-fueled rage, slammed the rope against his neck with both hands before wrapping it tight. "Urk-!"

Instinctively, his clawed hands fly to his throat to alleviate the pressure, but you only press a knee to his stomach to gain more leverage, tightening the ropes.

You knew this wasn't sustainable, or even a good idea.You had no plan for what you would do after this, whether you fail or succeed. All you knew was that if you were going to die anyways, you might as well go down swinging.

Unfortunately, his questing hands manage to locate yours and crushed your fingers together tightly, forcing you to let go. Once the ropes finally loosened around his windpipe and he regained the ability to fill his lungs again, his panic-stricken expression morphed into a furious one.

With your hands still in his grip, he slammed your wrists above the headboard with one hand and pulled your mask off roughly with the other.

"Y-you... you crazy filho da puta!" You grimaced from the rough handling, but otherwise remained quiet, glaring back at him. "Are you trying to get yourself KILLED?!" In response, you spat in his face.

Slowly, he brought his free hand up to his face and wiped the glob off, looking down at it as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

You jut your chin out, daring him to retaliate. You didn't care anymore.

For one tense second, he just stared at you blankly before a chuckle bubbled past his lips, growing louder and louder until he was laughing hysterically, the bells in his costume ringing out in sync.

He doubled over, clutching his stomach as he wheezed, causing you to have to move your face away to avoid getting smacked by his hat.

When he finally calmed down, he sat up straight again and used a knuckle to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes.

"Oh, you're a riot, sir." He rasped and wiped off his hand.

Your eye twitched. You had just attempted to choke him out, and he's just laughing? Was he not taking you seriously? You tried to move your hands, but his grip on your wrists only tightened in response.

"You're wasted on the likes of Pierrot. He could never handle your fire the way I would." Your brows knit at the vague but threatening words. Wasted? Did they "own" their respective victim?

Noticing the look on your face, his grin grew as he took a hold of your chin.

"Speak to me. I want to hear your questions." You scowled at the command. An overwhelming part of you wanted to stay quiet just to spite him, but the rational part of your brain suggested that this could finally be your chance to learn more about what's going on.

Begrudgingly, you gave in.

"What's your game here? What are you doing with the missing people? How many slaves do you own?"

"Que?" Feeling blindsided by your third question, Harlequin could only stare in disbelief. "Slaves? What gave you the impression that I own slaves?" You press your lips into a thin line, not quite convinced despite his apparent bafflement.

"Victims, then. The people you abduct and strip of their autonomy." You clarified.

He tsked. "Hey, I didn't take you, remember? That was all Pierrot. He's the one who tied you to the bed."

"And your reaction upon seeing me wasn't concern, it was glee. Almost like this isn't the first time this has happened." You wouldn't give him an inch if you could help it.

"So what are you saying?" Was this guy being obtuse on purpose?

"I'm saying that you're either complicit in the crimes involved at the circus or an active participant. You're perfectly content keeping me tied up here despite it being, yanno, highly illegal."

He let out a derisive scoff.

"Puta, you tried to kill me, of course I'm keeping you restrained!"

"Only because you're a criminal!"

"I haven't even done anything! What, is it a crime to flirt? What are you, a prude?"

You felt all the momentum you gained come to a crashing halt at the bizarre choice of words from Harlequin. Was he trying to mess with you?

"Flirt? Flirt with who, death?" You snark, grunting quietly when your back begins to protest against the position you were forced in curtesy of the man before you.

"...Are you serious?" You were taken aback by the soft, incredulous tone he adopted. It was so unlike the jeering undertone that marred his every word. It only served to agitate you further.

"Serious about what?! Serious that you are a criminal? Yes, I am. I stand by that. You've yet to prove me wrong." He let out a long suffering sigh, and without any fanfare, pressed his toothy grin to your lips.

You recoiled, startled by the contact, but since you had no more space to move in, Harlequin was free to press closer.

When you felt something warm and wet slip past his teeth to nudge against your slack lips, you turned your face away, visibly mortified.

"Aww, what's wrong~? Was that too much for you, kitten?" Upon hearing the revolting nickname, you gagged.

"Don't ever fucking call me that again, y'hear me?" He gave your now warm cheek a pat in response, grinning ear to ear as he noticed how flustered you were.

"So, does that answer your remaining questions? You've been overthinking things, haven't you?" You glare at him.

"Fuck no! I was drugged! And then kidnapped! Why did you even kiss me in the first place? To distract me? Do you think I have the memory of a goldfish or something?" With a roll of his eyes, he sat on your lap and adjusted your position so that you were no longer slouching against the headboard, instead sitting with your back to it.

"Darling, what do you think Pierrot wants with you?" The sudden question made you pause. Why was he being so friendly with you? Just mere minutes ago, you were restricting his airflow with a rope.

"Does it matter?" He hummed in response. "I guess not." To your surprise, he let go of your wrists. He then proceeded to scoot backwards until he could grab a hold of the chain keeping your foot hostage.

"What are you–?" Before you could even finish your question, Harlequin put the links of chains between his teeth and then pulled.

Under the pressure of his apparently titanium teeth, the chain shattered, freeing you from your restraint.

He spit the pieces of broken metal out of his mouth all casually, as if this was just a normal thing humans could pull off. A feat made all the more improbable considering his skinny string bean physique.

"What? You wanted your freedom, didn't you?" He teased, as if nothing had happened.

You looked down at your leg. The shackle still remained.

Retracting your foot, you tried to shimmy it off your ankle, to no avail.

Harlequin, apparently eager to continue showing off his freakish strength, gently pried your hands away and took a hold of the shackle, warping the plating until it popped open.

Staring at his hands and the rope that was still partially around his shoulders, the realisation that he was never under any real danger of actually choking to death dawned on you.

"What the hell are you?" You couldn't help but ask. He tossed the torn piece of scrap to the side, letting it land on the ground somewhere with a loud clatter.

"Who, me? I'm the Harlequin, sir." He gave a mocking bow and got off the bed. "But don't you have more pressing matters to attend to?"

As much as you loathed to admit it, he was right. You didn't have time to stick around and grill him. Pierrot could be returning any second now.

With your feet finally free to move unrestricted, you set them down by the edge of the bed, only to be surprised to feel the top of your shoes being squished by your sock-clad feet.

Oh, so that's where he put them. You hastily put them on and grab your jacket. Immediately, you checked your pockets for your phone.

You checked your left pocket. The punched red ticket was there. You checked your right pocket. Nothing.

Not even your keys.

You felt your stomach sink.

"Sir?" Harlequin, who apparently had still been standing there, looked at you questioningly.

You grit your teeth.

"He took it. All of it."

He cocked his head. "What did he take?"

Instead of answering, you stormed out of the tent, ready to beat the answers out of that S.O.B clown when you accidentally bump into one of those pink-clad jesters, causing their mask to fall off.

"Oh, fuck, sorry-" You muttered and knelt down to grab the mask.

When you stood up to give it back, you were greeted by a horrifying sight.