The moon hung low in the sky as you sat with Scaramouche on the rooftop of the dorms. The cool breeze brushed through your hair, making the soft bunny ears on your head twitch. You glanced at him—his eyes, a deep, stormy violet, were focused on the stars, but the tension in his shoulders was hard to miss. His wolf ears flicked back as if listening for something far away, and his tail, usually still when he was calm, flicked nervously behind him.

"You’re thinking too much again," you said softly, resting your hand on his. His fingers flinched beneath yours but didn’t pull away. You could feel his unease, the way he constantly worried about losing control of his carnivore instincts. Being with a herbivore—with you—always brought that fear to the surface.

"I don’t want to hurt you," he murmured, voice laced with frustration. His grip on your hand tightened briefly before loosening, as if afraid his strength alone could cause you harm. "I don’t know if I can control myself forever. What if one day I—" His words cut off, as if the thought itself was too painful to finish.

"You won’t," you interrupted, squeezing his hand. "You’ve never hurt me, Scara. And you won’t. We’ll work through this together. You’re stronger than you think."

His eyes shifted to meet yours, and you could see the turmoil behind them. He wanted to believe you—he needed to. But his instincts, the part of him that made him a wolf, told him he was dangerous, that he couldn’t trust himself.

Gently, you brought his hand up to your cheek, pressing it against your skin. "See? You’re gentle with me. You can be in control. I trust you, and I’m not afraid."

Scaramouche’s jaw clenched as he watched you, his thumb tracing lightly over your cheek. His touch was tender, almost hesitant, as if he couldn’t fully accept your words. "It’s not that simple," he said, his voice quieter now, strained. "Sometimes, it feels like there's a part of me that just... wants to break free. I don’t want to lose myself. I don’t want to lose you."