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chisai236 · 3 days ago

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"An Attempt Was Made" - Pierrot

Character(s): Pierrot (The Freak Circus)

Pairing(s): Pierrot x GN Reader

Rating: General Audiences

Summary: You have a stressful day at work that breaks into a panic attack; thankfully, Pierrot is there to help you, even if his advice is... less than helpful overall...

The sky was a dull gray, making the city look even more washed out. Puddles shimmered with oil slicks, and the air had a damp, rusty smell that caught in your throat. A light drizzle started to fall from the sky, not enough to clear away the grime, but just enough to make it seem to bleed.

Your shift at the coffee shop was a nightmare. It started with an older regular complaining about her latte foam, and it just went downhill from there: crazy orders, spilled drinks, and a customer who swore his decaf tasted “too much like coffee” and demanded a refund. You slapped on your customer service smile, teeth aching, and just kept repeating the usual lines of “Oh sorry!” and “Of course! My fault entirely!” each dealing a psychic blow to your soul with each word. Normally, you were good at shrugging these things off, pretty chill about stuff it just because it made your job easier to care about it minimally, but even you were starting to crack at this point.

By the time you were locking up for the day, the bell over the door chiming like bell in a boxing match, your hands were shaking. Your breath caught, that familiar tightness starting in your chest. You hated this: how everything suddenly felt too sharp, too loud, your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. You fumbled the keys, fingers suddenly numb and stiff.

Focus… Focus, I just need to lock the door, then I can walk home…

Then a shadow fell over you. You jumped, dropping your keys with a clatter, your heart practically in your mouth, nearly making you vomit. You spun around, reeling and nauseated but ready to snap at whoever it was that crowded you. And you nearly did, until you saw Pierrot's pale, smiling face instead of an unrecognizable one.

He just stood there, head tilted, his black, vacant eyes with those eerie gold flecks fixed on you. For once, it didn't feel like his usual over enthusiastic adoration, more like... concern? Confusion? Or something else, a bit off, but you were too out of it to really understand or try to figure it out in your current state.

His eyes then narrowed just the smallest bit, he couldn’t speak out here in public, but you could see the question in his expression: What’s wrong?

“Oh, Pierrot…” You choked out, barely a whisper. The pull it together like a respectable adult act you'd put on all day just fell apart at the sight of a familiar face. A safe face. Pierrot may still be largely shrouded in perplexing mystery, but if there was one thing you understood about him, it was that he adored you implicitly. Tears started streaming down your face, the feeling of relief at seeing him opening the floodgate you’d barely kept contained and tightly bottled. It all exploded, raw emotion and panic striking swiftly and mercilessly. You were gasping for air, each breath a struggle as your lungs themselves seemed incapable of taking it in. The vision of Pierrot that you had was washed in a blur of red and black until you couldn’t even make out his shape past your tears. You clutched the coat you held in your arms and pulled it against your constricted chest. like you could push your pounding heart back down if you just pushed hard enough, if you could just undo the knot forming there, get whatever was coiling around you to just break its hold and free you, but it was no use.

Pierrot stepped closer, his gloved hands reaching out, then stopping. He looked completely thrown by how upset you were; his frown deepened. He'd never seen you like this, usually you were so lighthearted, even the lowest of your moods he’d seen thus far were easy for you to pick yourself up from. And compared to that, what he was seeing you go through now was unlike anything he’d ever seen from a human before. He glanced around looking across the empty street, then back at you. He took another step, as his gloved hand, thin but strong, grabbed your wrist, pulling you gently but firmly from the doorway. Then led you into the narrow, trashy alley next to the shop.

You stumbled after him, everything a blur, lungs burning despite your frantic gasping for air. His gloves, soft but textured on your arm, were the only real thing you could process. He dragged you into the alley's deepest shadow, between a reeking dumpster and a dripping pipe. The smell was awful, and ordinarily you likely would have complained about it, but right now you barely noticed.

Pierrot let go, hands hovering just over your shoulders, unsure if he was allowed to touch you that way. His face was tight with panic, just like yours. You knew he wanted to help, you could practically feel his desperation. But how was a circus performer supposed to comfort someone having a full-blown meltdown? If you weren’t in such an awful state you might be able to self-soothe, but you’d bottled it for so long that it felt entirely recoverable at this point.

Then came a low rumble, a deep, almost animal sound. Not a cough or a sigh, it was more like a voice… His voice? He leaned in close, his pale face right in yours, those unsettling gold-flecked black eyes boring into you.

“Hold your breath,” Pierrot rasped suddenly. His voice was surprisingly soft while still carrying that low, deepened tone. His eyes looked intense, but unsure, they never left yours. Even if you couldn’t see him, he could see you, and he wasn’t taking his eyes off you for a moment. Not when you were like this.

“Bite your tongue.” His gaze flickered to your trembling mouth as if waiting to see you take the action he suggested. “Close your eyes.” His long, gloved fingers brushed lightly, almost hesitantly, against your lids before pulling back. He looked intensely focused, like he was delivering ancient wisdom. His voice dropped to a near-whisper, so painfully and helplessly urgent despite the firm tone. “Do whatever you need to get through it.”

You blinked or tried to. Your eyes were still swimming, but the terror gripping you just… crumbled into sobbing hiccups instead of pained gasps. The pain and frantic terror you felt partially knocked out of you by the pure bewilderment of Pierrot’s words. Hold your breath? Your lungs were already on fire. Bite your tongue? You were trying not to hyperventilate. Close your eyes? You needed to see something, anything, to anchor yourself.

This was, hands down, the worst panic attack advice ever. So spectacularly, monumentally bad it almost seemed impossible he gave it by mistake, but you knew it was earnest by his tone, and that made it so… it was almost funny.

And with that thought, a strange, fragile spark of humor settled in your wrecked mind. Your sobs broke into weak and pained, but still present, chuckles. Not because the advice was helpful, not at all. But because it was so utterly, genuinely Pierrot. His desperate attempt to comfort, his earnestness, the sheer absurdity of his words… it momentarily derailed the runaway train of your anxiety.

You just stared, breath still hitched, but your shoulders dropped an inch. Pierrot, thinking you were getting it, leaned in again, his breath warm on your face. His eyes, the gold flecks swirling in the dim light, were wide with fierce, possessive love that squeezed your chest differently. His gloved hand, heavy and solid, clamped onto your shoulder. Reassuring, if a little too firm with the claws of his gloves digging into you just a bit to hard.

“They won't hurt you,” He whispered, voice still so low and rough. He meant the city, you realized, the unseen dangers of the dark, the people who made your days worse instead of better. The constant threats and pressures of your everyday life that he seemed acutely tuned into more than any normal person should be. He was always fretting, your quiet, slightly terrifying, guardian. “no one will ever hurt you.”

“Pierrot,” You managed to push out, though your voice still trembled. You took a shaky, deep breath, finding you could finally take them in, albeit shakily. “That's… not how any of this works.”

He pouted. A real, childish pout that looked so out of place on his stark white face – mask? You still didn’t know. “It does not?” He rasped, clearly confused. He leaned closer still, studying your face, trying to figure out where his logic went wrong. The closeness was startling. You could feel his heat, almost see faint outlines of something sharp if you stared at his mouth. But you were too shaken, too exhausted to give that a proper look over.

“No,” you said, shaking your head slowly. “You need to… breathe. Slowly. And think about something… Something that keeps your focus.” You demonstrated the first with a slow, exaggerated inhale, then a deliberate exhale.

Pierrot watched, mimicking you in an oddly endearing, yet bewilderingly off way. His chest beneath the motley rose and fell in an odd rhythm. He didn't quite get it, clearly, he’d never been in your shoes before, but he was trying. He was always trying for you.

“Come on,” You said, a weak smile finally tugging at your lips. The panic hadn't vanished, but it had pulled back enough for you to function in the barest sense, leaving a dull ache and profound weariness. “Let's get out of this alley. You can walk me home.”

He nodded, his silent agreement punctuated by a wide smile as he seemed excited to have been given the offer, even if he were still closely monitoring your condition with an overall air of concern. Pierrot offered you a gloved hand, and this time, you took it gladly and happily. His grip was firm, reassuring, and warm, his thumb brushing the back of yours comfortingly. Even remembering to be mindful of the claws this time, as you only barely noticed its lightest brush against your skin.

Pierrot walked beside you, his step suddenly much more chipper despite what had just transpired. It seemed holding your hand was a cure for his previous fretting and confusion. He didn't speak again, and you knew he wouldn’t and couldn’t in public. When you reached your apartment building, and made your way up the stairs to your door, he squeezed your hand occasionally all the way, a silent comfort. The panic attack had been awful, but a strange part of you felt a peculiar warmth now and greater appreciation for your clownish helper. Pierrot, in his genuine, albeit spectacularly misguided attempts, had anchored you and succeeded in helping you calm down.

“Thank you, Pierrot,” you said, unlocking your door. You turned, your worn yellow star pin glinting. “For… everything. Even the bad advice.” You laughed, shaky but real.

He tilted his head, his grin fixed, but his eyes, those deep black pools with golden lights, seemed to soften. He lifted a gloved hand, gently, and brushed away the wet line of a tear from your cheek. His touch was feather-light, almost hesitant. Then, he leaned in again, breath warm against your ear, and whispered, low and assertive. “Anything for you. Always. No one hurts my star.” His head tilted forward and down, his forehead nudging against the side of your head, as if he were nuzzling you like an affectionate cat. “Not even you.” He huffed. His voice carried a tone of finality, of promise.

You shivered, not from cold, but the intensity of it all. You smiled, a flush creeping up your face as you placed a hand against his chest, not to push him away, but just touch him. You gave him a few soft pats there, and brushed his hand still entwined with your other one, an affectionate and deeply appreciated gesture. Were you in a more steady state of mind, you might have asked if he wanted to come in for a little while, maybe have dinner with you, but fatigue from the panic attack was still looming, and your nerves were still frayed, you desperately needed to be alone to recharge.

That said, you couldn’t let him go unappreciated. “Goodnight, Pierrot.” Your hands broke from their positions to wrap around his torso and hug him close. “Sleep well, okay? And thank you again.”

You pulled back just enough to look back at him, you surely looked like a mess, and yet he looked down at you with a puppy-love sort of adoration that made your heart swell with joy. “See you tomorrow? I’ll be at the coffee shop again for work.”

He nodded frantically, fast enough it was a wonder he didn’t dislodge his own head. He took a step back from you and dipped down into a theatrical bow. His bells chiming happily where his voice could not.

“Alright, see you then.”

With a final nod and chipper spin on his heel, Pierrot retreated, descending the stairs and melting out into the street's shadows, leaving you with the strange warmth of his care so uniquely his own. You unlocked your door, stepped inside, closed the door, and leaned against it. Exhausted, but lighter. Pierrot was weird, a little intense, and his comfort skills were seriously lacking. But he was fiercely protective, deeply devoted, and somehow, completely yours.

Author Note: THANK YOU FOR READING I HOPE YOU LIKED IT ✨ There will be a fic for Harlequin too, along the same idea. I already have the rough draft, I just need to proofread it!

If you can, consider sending me a tip: ko-fi.com/chisai236/tip

Also, the little star page break image I used here was made by me, if you want to use it, feel free! ✨

Thank you again for reading. Have a great day! ✨

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