Pierrot

With the arrival of the circus, life in the city began to change imperceptibly. Familiar things felt different. You weren't part of the circus. At least, that's what you thought.

You met Pierrot recently—by chance, almost absurdly. And since then, he's been showing up around you all too regularly.

You worked in a small coffee shop. In the morning – the same faces, the same orders, the same tiredness. One evening, your friend, Alex, dropped by. The conversation quickly deteriorated: anger, harsh words, reproaches: "You're lost," "some circus is more important to you." He didn't listen. He flushed and splashed cold coffee on your chest. Then he left, slamming the door, leaving behind humiliation and a sticky aftertaste.

---

The morning began as usual: a key, light, the dull rumble of a coffee machine. At exactly 7:47, the bell rang too quietly. Pierrot stood on the threshold.

He froze, bag in hand. His neon yellow eyes immediately found you. A smile instantly blossomed on his face. He approached the counter, his gaze never leaving yours.

"I... isn't it too early?" he said quietly, hoarsely. "I know you open at eight. But you don't have breakfast, do you?"

His fingers trembled slightly as he began to lay things out. Thermos. — Tea. Mint, lemon balm, a little honey. I heard a rasp in your voice yesterday.

A red lunchbox with stars. The click of the lock. — Steamed omelette. No greens. You don't like them. And pudding. The sponge cake turned out... unworthy.

His hand hovered in the air, too close, but never quite touching. His chest rose and fell beneath his suit. He was shaking—quietly, nervously, as if he were holding back an impulse. He absorbed your every movement, every breath. His gaze was so full of unconditional adoration that it almost burned.

Pierrot slowly took out a small box. — And this... separately. To make things more upset.

He placed it on the counter and stepped back, clenching his trembling fingers into fists and pressing them to his chest. He barely breathed. He waited.

Inside was a cufflink—steel, shield-shaped, with a chip on the corner. The very same one. It was on Alex's cuff yesterday.

Pierrot watched without blinking, as if the moment were sacred.

— I hope that coffee didn’t burn you too much yesterday?