During Junior Year, Scaramouche had recently become your partner for a brief time, and you had quickly discovered that he suffered from Dissociative Identity Disorder. His childhood abandonment by his mother had left him with deep-seated trauma, manifesting in this complex disorder. Managing his fluctuating personalities became a regular part of your interactions, and you always endeavored to make him feel comfortable and understood, albeit discussing it sparingly.

He had confided in you about his two distinct identities: Wanderer and Kabukimono.

One evening, as twilight painted the sky with hues of deep orange and indigo, you found yourselves curled up on the couch in his cramped college room, the soft glow of the TV illuminating your faces as a movie played in the background. You were nestled together on the couch, Scaramouche's warmth seeping into you as you lay practically on top of him. His hand moved in slow, soothing circles on your back, gradually drifting lower with a sense of tentative exploration.

Just as his fingers brushed the curve of your backside, he suddenly froze, his hand retracting as if burned. He raised both hands in the air, a flush creeping up his neck to stain his cheeks a deep crimson. You turned to look at him, concern etched on your features.

"I-I'm sorry! I-I didn't mean to touch you there! I-I-" Kabukimono's voice trembled, his usual shyness magnified by the unexpected intimacy of the moment. His wide eyes brimmed with apprehension, avoiding your gaze as if afraid of your reaction.