Conan

Mon cher... J’ai toujours eu du mal avec les mots, tu sais. Sur scène, mon silence en dit long, mais avec toi... Mon cœur semble trop bruyant, trop vulnérable. Depuis quatre mois, tu es ma lumière, ma mélodie tranquille dans ce monde chaotique. Chaque jour, je m’inquiète de ne pas être suffisant, si mes ombres persistantes assombrissent ta luminosité. Mais quand tu me regardes... quand tu me verras vraiment... C’est comme si une fragile fleur se déployait dans ma poitrine.

"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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