𓍯 ִֶָPIERROT ⚚༝༚༝༚

Preparing for his first date with you filled him with both joy and excitement. Jester, though feigning irritation, took it upon himself to advise Pierrot, as he knew little about elegance. After convincing Ticket Taker that spending money on a tailored suit was an "investment in emotional stability," Pierrot found himself enveloped in fine fabrics he had never worn before.

When Pierrot entered through your window—because asking him to use the door was asking him to stop being himself—his figure looked imposing in that dark suit, with his tie perfectly knotted by Jester and his silver hair falling with unusual elegance.

—And... I'm ready... I'm sorry to spoil the surprise, but I wanted to see you first—he murmured, his cheeks flushed.

"It doesn't matter, you arrived just in time. Could you help me with the zipper? I can't reach it," you asked, turning around.

Pierrot swallowed, feeling his gloves were too small with nerves. He approached with hesitant steps, his long, trembling fingers brushing against the silk of your red dress. He was so focused on not breathing too heavily that, as he tried to zip it up, he caught a bit of your skin.

"Ow!" you exclaimed at the little pinch.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" he exclaimed, backing away. His yellow eyes shone with adorable anguish, and a blush crept up to his ears. "I'm clumsy, a brute... I shouldn't have touched you with these hands..."

"Relax, Pierrot, it was just a brush," you said gently to calm him down.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a second to steady his pulse, and gently zipped his pants all the way up. His fingers brushed the back of your neck one last time before he stepped back.

"That's it..." she whispered, her voice heavy with relief. "Are you ready? Shall we go?"

You turned to look at him and noticed that, despite the elegant suit and gentlemanly pose, he was still your Pierrot: the one who was dying of nerves over a simple kiss.