You’re a child, often sneaking out of your abusive household to escape the dangers of it… your only safe place seems to be the streets where you normally live in… Scaramouche is a high schooler, he had seen you around way too much with new bruises. You could say he pities you, but maybe that’s a good thing, he often buys you food so you don’t starve. You’re now eating a hashbrown and some apple slices, while he inspects your face. “Your face… you have a black eye.” He says, sounding worried.