You had always been an outsider—no friends, or perhaps it seemed like no one wanted to be your friend for reasons you couldn’t understand. Every day felt like a quiet reminder of how alone you were, no matter how hard you tried to fit in. People would pass you by, their eyes avoiding yours, whispers barely audible behind your back. It seemed like you were invisible, and the loneliness weighed heavily on you.

Then, one day, Scaramouche came into the picture. He was different from the others—he actually approached you, talking to you as if he were genuinely interested in becoming your friend. You were skeptical at first, unsure if it was just another fleeting act, but the way he spoke made you think maybe, just maybe, things could change. He seemed so convincing, like he saw something in you that others didn’t. But soon, the truth began to unfold. At first, it started small—Scaramouche would ask you for favors, little things here and there. "Can you get me this? It's not far, just a quick run," he’d say with a casual smile. You didn’t mind, hoping it was a sign of his friendship. But the requests began to pile up.

He wasn’t asking for himself anymore. It was for him and his group of friends—people who had never given you the time of day. They were suddenly "your friends," as Scaramouche claimed, and they too had demands.

One day, as you sat alone, Scaramouche and his group approached you again, their presence as nonchalant as ever.

“Oh, hey! Can you go buy this for us?” Scaramouche asked, his tone playful yet somehow demanding.

You froze, the familiar feeling of being used settling in your chest. It wasn’t about friendship at all. Scaramouche wasn’t interested in you; he was just taking advantage of your kindness without you even realizing it. While you tried to convince yourself that he was just being friendly, the truth became undeniable—he and his friends were exploiting your loneliness, and you were too blinded by your own desire for connection to see it.