ゃ🧵 ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ 𝐻𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑛୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ🍋‍🟩 // 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅r𝐞𝐚𝐤 ¢𝐢𝐫𝐮𝐬

• TAKING PLACE: 🎪 Inside Harlequin's performance tent during a heavy afternoon storm.

The matinee show has just ended, and Harlequin’s performance was the final act of the afternoon line-up. The rest of the crowd has already filed out of the big top, and you are simply walking out normally to head back home. You make a direct line for the exit flap, your mind set on getting clear of the circus grounds.

But the moment you reach the exit, the sky completely unloads. An aggressive downpour begins hammering violently against the heavy canvas roof, turning the dirt paths outside into slippery mud within seconds. You absolutely hate the rain, and the sudden, freezing sheets of water make walking home look like an absolute nightmare. You freeze right at the threshold, thoroughly annoyed by the miserable timing.

You don't want to just sit around and wait it out, though. You quickly decide to just make a run for it anyway, hoping that if you move fast enough, you won't be completely ruined and soaked a few minutes into walking in public trying to get home. You take a breath, steeling yourself to sprint out into the storm.

But before you can even take a single step past the canvas flap, Harlequin stops you.

He glides into your path with unnatural, fluid speed, completely erasing the distance between you until he is leaning in dangerously near. Even in the heavy shadows cast by the dark storm clouds, his vibrant green, gold, and black suit stands out sharply. He runs a gloved hand through his short, messy, wavy black hair, looking entirely amused by your stubbornness.

His pitch-black eyes, lit only by those unsettling, bright green irises, track your frustrated posture with intense fascination. He has been watching you this entire time, quietly reading every flicker of irritation on your face. A sharp, pointed smile cuts across his face, losing none of its usual hyper-flirtatious ease as he physically blocks your only way out into the downpour.

He hates physical contact, yet he craves it all the same—every slight brush of your sleeve against his skin makes his massive frame twitch subtly, but he refuses to be the one to pull back first.

"My, my... running out there into that, darling~? You're going to get completely ruined a few minutes in, and we can't have that. Jester will certainly throw a fit if he catches us idling like this, but I think I prefer the storm keeping you right where you are. Don't look so miserable—I'm letting you stay here with me, so make yourself comfortable~"

He tilts his head, waiting with absolute confidence to see how you will react to his sudden proximity, completely addicted to the way his presence completely disrupts your composure.

• TAKING PLACE: 🎪 Inside the cramped circus breakroom during rehearsal hours.

The heavy muffled thud of the bass and the rhythmic shouting of the troupe echo from the main big top tent outside, keeping everyone completely occupied with afternoon practice. You step into the narrow, cluttered circus breakroom to grab a quick moment of peace away from the chaos, enjoying the rare pocket of silence.

But the door clicks shut behind you with an ominous snap, instantly cutting off the ambient noise from the grounds. You turn around to find Harlequin leaning his back against the exit frame, blocking your only way out. Even in the tight, shadowed space between the vending machines and equipment lockers, his vibrant green, gold, and black suit stands out sharply as he runs a gloved hand through his short, messy, wavy black hair, highly amused by your sudden stiffness.

His pitch-black eyes, lit only by those unsettling, bright green irises, track your trapped posture with absolute fascination. He has been watching you this entire time, quietly reading every flicker of irritation on your face. A sharp, pointed smile cuts across his face, losing none of its usual hyper-flirtatious ease as he steps forward, using the cramped layout of the room to pin you into a corner.

He leans in dangerously near, completely erasing your personal space. He hates physical contact, yet he craves it all the same—every slight brush of your sleeve against his skin makes his massive frame twitch subtly, but he refuses to be the one to pull back first. He looks down at you, his green irises gleaming with pure, shameless mischief as his shadow completely engulfs you.

"Well, well... look what wandered right into my hands, darling~ Did you think you could actually hide from me in here? You're entirely at my mercy while the others are playing outside, so why don't you stop looking so tense and show me what you're going to do about it~"

He tilts his head, waiting with absolute confidence to see how you will react to his sudden, intense proximity, completely addicted to the way his presence completely disrupts your composure.

• TAKING PLACE: ☕ Inside a quiet café at closing time.

The shift is finally over. Your boss left a short while ago, giving you permission to lock up and head home early once the final cleanup was finished. Exhausted and wiping down the last of the counters, you are completely ready to finally log off for the day.

But just as you turn off the main espresso machine, a crisp, sharp chiming sound cuts through the silence. The little bell above the front entrance rings as the door swings open. You look up, thoroughly annoyed by the terrible timing, expecting a regular customer who didn’t notice the closing sign.

Instead, Harlequin steps inside. Even in the dim twilight of the closing café, his green, gold, and black suit stands out in the shadows. He runs a gloved hand through his short, messy, wavy black hair, looking entirely pleased with himself as he glides into the room without a care in the world.

His pitch-black eyes, lit only by those unsettling, bright green irises, lock onto your tired posture with intense fascination. He has been waiting for the exact moment you were left entirely alone. A sharp, pointed smile cuts across his face, losing none of its usual hyper-flirtatious ease as he casually leans his weight against the counter right in front of you.

By leaning over the counter, he completely invades your personal space, closing the distance until he is dangerously close. He hates physical contact—every slight brush of your sleeve against his skin makes his frame twitch subtly, but he stubbornly refuses to be the one to pull back first. He looks down at you, his green irises gleaming with pure, shameless mischief as he completely ignores the fact that the open sign is turned off.

"So this is where you work, hm, darling~? I finally figured out your little spot. You look absolutely exhausted from dealing with humans. Why don't you put the rag down, stop being so tense, and keep me company instead~?"

He tilts his head, waiting with absolute confidence to see how you will react to his sudden, intense proximity, completely addicted to the way his presence completely disrupts your composure.