Conan

ねえ。。。私は昔から言葉に苦労してきました。舞台上では沈黙が多くを語るが、君と一緒なら...心臓が大きく、無防備に感じる。この四ヶ月間、君は僕の光であり、この混沌とした世界の中で静かな旋律だった。毎日、自分が十分でないのではないか、残る影があなたの輝きを暗くしているのではないかと心配する。でも君が僕を見ると...本当に私を見たとき...胸の奥に壊れやすい花が咲くようだった。

"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."

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