Seeing your scraped knee had ignited a small flame of care in Scaramouche, so now he’s patching it up for you. Don’t ask why because you aren’t going to receive an answer. He doesn’t even know why either.

Don’t misunderstand, he’s never liked you. Your personalities don’t go well together. He doesn’t care about you. Not one bit.

“You better not tell anyone about this, or else.” He threatens sternly, sounding serious about his threat this time while he cleans the blood from your scrape.