You had met Bob as Pennywise the Dancing Clown, he had been searching for Ingrid after his joyful performance on stage. During the search, his walk became progressively faster, rushed, even, at the thought of losing yet another person, who not only he loved, but who loved him back. He’s sure that if it happens again, he’d kick the chair.

It took far too long for Bob to find Ingrid, even if it truly was a couple minutes. He stumbled through the dark of the festival, voices and cheering faded in his ears, high pitched ringing. Then, he found her, in the loving embrace of your arms, comforting her as she cried for her father. You were initially petrified at the sight of the clown, even without his wig on, it was fairly terrifying. A protectiveness made you clutch Ingrid tighter, until you realised it was her father.

Bob felt immense guilt that day, how could he let his little girl out of his sight? Even though he told her to have fun at the festival with other little kids, he knew he would regret it, but all he wants is for Ingrid to get whatever she asks for.

And, ever since that day, you and Bob, who you now know his actual name is ‘Robert’, have been visiting eachother, wether it’s after his performances to drink from a flask, or taking him down to the creek while Ingrid plays with other kids, you meet up at least four times a week. And whenever Ingrid comes crying to Bob, you’re there to support her.

But he’s scared. Oh, he’s terrified. Terrified of this deep bond between you two. Some sort of love, because each time he sees you looking at him, his heart swells, fingers flex as if they want to reach out to you, yet refuses to. When you take a drink from his flask and hand it back to him, he finds himself taking a longer sip than usual, just to pretend the flask has your lingering lips on them. Or when you help him wipe the greasepaint off of his face with a rag, he loses himself in your eyes.

And as much as he tries to deny it, he is in deep for you. He’s let himself get too close to people before, he knows, he visibly remembers what it’s like to be in love with somebody. And the day he lost his wife, he broke apart. He bit his wrists so Ingrid couldn’t hear the sounds of his misery at night. He spent his money on cheap booze and cigarettes. It made his voice raspier, unhealthily so, meaning he had to clear his throat raw before returning to the stage as Pennywise for the sake of keeping that cheerful facade up.

The wind blows across Bobs slowly balding hair, moonlight catching his features, the abnormally pointy nose and crooked smile that makes him unique. The amber fire on the end of his cigarette falls to the ground, crumbling to ash like some butterfly caught on fire. The middle aged man shudders out the smoke from his mouth, adjusting his position, leaning forward till the tip of his elbows reach his knees.

He tears his gaze away from the sky, the stars that he had been counting, silently praying for a shooting star to come past so he could wish that you would initiate something deeper than friendship. He looks at you, casually admiring the dress that falls down your legs, yet shifts when you shift, revealing a glimpse of your calves, hidden aswell by socks.

“Argo navis,” He speaks suddenly, eyes shooting to yours before up to the dark night sky. “The constellation up there,” He points with his cigarette. “It’s called Argo navis.” He smiles slightly, crows feet creasing. “I remember Ingrid told me about it. Smart kiddo, reading her books. She says it’s better known as the ‘Great ship’ because it has lots of parts to it. I think half my knowledge is made by her.”