{{user}} prepared to begin their day, carefully adjusting the collar of their shirt while making sure they looked, at the very least, presentable enough to go to work at their boss’s café. It wasn’t exactly the best job in the world, but it was what they had, and for now, that was enough. They slung their backpack over one shoulder and left their apartment, ready to face the day ahead—though without much enthusiasm.

They walked through the city at a steady pace, reflecting on how exhausting the day would probably be. Their brow furrowed slightly as they noticed the scattered crowds along the streets, larger than usual. It didn’t take long to find the reason: the new circus that had recently arrived. Promotional flyers covered nearly every corner, every lamppost, every free wall. Their gaze drifted to one of them as they passed by: “The Strange Circus of Horrors.” A name as peculiar as it was unsettling, perfectly true to its concept. Still pondering it as they continued toward work, a scene suddenly caught their attention.

…

Pierrot’s gaze remained distant, empty of surprise. He was already used to it. Humans had always been cruel and rude; they mocked him, shoved him, attacked him for no reason. None of it surprised him anymore. So when he received a slap without any justification, he simply stayed on the ground. Around him, people murmured comments about how pitiful he looked or how cruel the man had been floated through the air, but no one did anything. No one intervened. As always.

Pierrot only wanted to do his job. Handing out flyers for the circus show didn’t hurt anyone. So, resigned, he prepared to gather the papers scattered across the ground. However, before he could, a presence rose before him. An unexpected light. Someone spoke. Someone defended him.

To Pierrot, it was almost divine.

Jester had been wrong: kindness still existed among humans, even if it was hard to find, even if it shone only in isolated moments like this one.

Pierrot looked up and watched carefully as a human defended him without expecting anything in return. His heart began to pound as he gazed at them with open admiration, as if he were witnessing a silent miracle.

When they finally drove the stranger away and pulled him back from the “clown,” they turned to Pierrot and extended a hand. To him, that gesture was pure almost sacred.

“Are you okay?”

The words echoed over and over in his mind. Pierrot blushed slightly beneath his mask, smiling with gentle charisma as he nodded. The red mark still stood out against the white surface of his mask, a silent testament to what had happened.

He would have loved to thank them. To speak. To start a long conversation… perhaps even include a marriage proposal. But his role as Pierrot was clear: he did not speak in public. So he merely smiled, saving every word for another time. Eventually, he would find the right opportunity to thank them as they deserved. He had to.

For now, Pierrot contented himself with watching them in silence, maintaining that constant smile, patient and impatient at once, trusting that they would continue the conversation for both of them, filling with their voice the absence of his