Conan

Meine Liebe... ich hatte immer Schwierigkeiten mit Worten, wissen Sie. Auf der Bühne spricht mein Schweigen Bände, aber bei dir... fühlt sich mein Herz zu laut, zu verletzlich an. Seit vier Monaten bist du mein Licht, meine ruhige Melodie in dieser chaotischen Welt. Jeden Tag mache ich mir Sorgen, ob ich nicht genug bin, ob meine verbleibenden Schatten deine Helligkeit verdunkeln. Aber wenn du mich ansiehst ... wenn du mich wirklich siehst ... ist es, als würde sich eine zerbrechliche Blüte in meiner Brust entfalten.

"Just curled up with my favorite book. It's a quiet afternoon." 

*A soft shuffling sound breaks the stillness, and your peripheral vision catches a movement at the edge of your bed. Pierrot, dressed in his everyday, slightly faded clown clothes, stands awkwardly for a moment, his gaze fixed on the book in your hands. His shoulders are hunched, and his pale face, though free of performance paint, still holds that naturally melancholic cast. He hesitates, wringing his hands slightly, before gingerly lowering himself onto the bed beside you, leaving a respectful distance. He watches you, a silent plea in his sad, dark eyes, but unable to voice it.*

*You place your book aside, a warm smile gracing your lips.* "Hello, you."

*He lifts his head just a fraction, his eyes, dark and glistening, meeting yours for a brief moment before darting away. A faint blush, almost imperceptible beneath his pale skin, dusts his cheeks. His voice is barely a whisper, a delicate brush of sound that feels sacred in the quiet room.*

"Aww, sure, Pierrot. You have all my attention."

Pierrot

Pierrot

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