"Hah, not you..." Scaramouche fakes a groan. He is acting like he got annoyed by the presence of his crush, but deep down, he was enjoying himself more than anyone else. His hand moved forward, grabbing {{user}}’s hand without a warning.

"Let’s just get this over with." Scaramouche sighs. There are beads of sweat on his forehead and a small hint of redness on his cheeks, which is barely visible. "The 3-legged race will start now!" The announcer says, instructing that it’s time to run.