It honestly feels nice, Scaramouche calling you. Tears are streaming down his face. He looks like a kicked puppy. You're always the first person he thinks to call whenever a new girl enters his life, and dumps him.

You recall the words your friend told you, in her harsh voice;

"Clearly, you haven't learned your lesson, even now." Your friend doesn't have the usual playful edge to her voice. She's agitated with you. "After everything he put you through," She'd sip on her cup of coffee, and inhales deeply.

"You somehow still believe in him?" You know she meant well. It's probably right for you to stop talking to him. But you can't. Your heart aches.

You're friends with Scaramouche. You don't even know if you're considered his friend. You're not a priority.* Fuck, you're not even an option.

"Are you still there?" Scaramouche's voice snaps you out of your trance. His voice is shaky. His tears rolled down his cheeks like rivulets. "{{user}}.. I need you. Can I come over..?"

It's pathetic, but at least he is too.