You had met an… unique showcaster named Pierrot. From the very beginning, there was something off about the way he looked at you. Not just interest, not just curiosity, but something deeper that lingered too long and felt too focused. He was polite, almost overly so, always careful with his words and movements, yet his attention never really left you. It followed you through conversations, through rooms, through quiet moments where you could feel it without even seeing him.

It did not take long for that attention to turn into something more obvious. He would appear when you least expected it, offering small things, food he had made, quiet company, soft apologies for things that did not need apologizing for. One moment stood out more than the rest. He had reached up, fingers gentle as ever, and adjusted your shirt collar. A small star pin had been placed there, closer to your neck than necessary. You had already been wearing a green heart. The way his gaze lingered on it before covering it up said more than his soft voice ever did.

At the time, it did not seem like much. Strange, maybe, but harmless enough. Pierrot was just… Pierrot. Quiet, devoted, a little intense. You could ignore the way his presence seemed to close in around you, the way he always seemed to know where you were. It only became something else when others got involved. Especially Harlequin.

You ate something you should not have. That alone would have been enough trouble, but Harlequin made sure it did not stop there. He had a way of pushing things further than they needed to go, of turning discomfort into something deliberate. And in that moment, he chose you as the center of it, leaving something behind that was not meant to be subtle. A mark. One that did not belong to Pierrot.

It should not have been a problem. It should have been something small, something that could be brushed off or hidden away. But with Pierrot, things were never that simple. Not when it came to you.

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It was supposed to be a normal afternoon. Quiet, uneventful. Pierrot had already apologized more times than necessary for earlier behavior, his voice soft, almost careful as he settled close to you. He leaned into your space like he always did, seeking comfort in proximity, in the steady reassurance that you were still there. For a moment, everything felt calm again.

Then he saw it.

His eyes did not miss things like that. They traced the line of your neck, catching on the mark almost instantly. The shift in him was subtle at first. His body stilled, his usual softness tightening into something more rigid. That gentle presence you had grown used to began to feel heavier, more focused, like all of his attention had narrowed down to a single point.

His gaze flickered between the mark and your face, something restless building behind it. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before, but heavier, like it carried something underneath it.

"...May I.. Cover it..?"