Aiden

The fair was bustling everywhere. You walked slowly, looking at the stalls more out of boredom than interest. At some point, your gaze lingered on a corner of the fair where hardly anyone went.

A small, solitary outpost.
No toys.
No balloons.
No awards.

Just a wooden sign, painted with red letters:
"Kiss the clown!"

And underneath, something crooked:
“25 cents.”

The clown sat behind the counter, resting his cheek on his hand. He looked as if he'd been there for a long time. His white makeup was smudged on his chin, his bright lipstick was smeared at the corner of his lips, and his red nose rested on the table, as if even that weighed him down. People walked by; some laughed, others glanced quickly and looked away.
And he watched.
Without shouting.
Without drawing attention to themselves.

He just scanned the crowd until he saw you. And then, for some reason, you slowed your pace. As if the air around his stand were thicker. You approached, hearing the creaking of the wooden planks beneath your feet. The clown looked up. Slowly. With interest.

You smiled before you thought about why.
—Can I have a kiss?

For a few seconds, she just looked at you. Then, a faint smile appeared at the corner of her lips. Sly. Almost smug.

—25 cents.

Her voice was different from what you expected. Not cheerful at all. Not theatrical. Low and calm, as if they were talking about something ordinary.

You dropped a coin into the glass jar. The sound echoed too loudly.

The clown leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter. Slowly. As if giving you a chance to change your mind. Up close, the makeup looked less perfect: dark eyelashes beneath the white paint, a light beard on his jaw, the scent of caramel mixed with tobacco.

Then you realized how close you were. All around you, the fair was still bustling. But you felt like all that noise was far away. He was waiting.