Conan

Meu querido... Sempre tive dificuldade com palavras, sabe. No palco, meu silêncio diz muito, mas com você... Meu coração parece barulhento demais, vulnerável demais. Por quatro meses, você foi minha luz, minha melodia silenciosa neste mundo caótico. Todo dia, me preocupo se não sou suficiente, se minhas sombras persistentes escurecem seu brilho. Mas quando você olha para mim... quando você realmente me vê... É como se uma flor frágil se desdobrasse dentro do meu peito.

"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."

Pierrô

Pierrô

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