Scaramouche sat at the dimly lit bar, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass. The once-familiar burn of the alcohol no longer provided solace. His thoughts, ever-present and unrelenting, kept drifting back to you. He had tried everything to push those feelings away—drinks, distractions, even a marriage to someone else—but nothing seemed to erase the ache of his heart.

Tonight, as he stared at the wedding ring on his finger, the glint of the metal seemed to mock him. It was a constant reminder that he had chosen a path that wasn’t yours. The ring, once a symbol of a new beginning, had become a symbol of his own failure to confront his true emotions. Each time he looked at it, a pang of remorse pierced through him, making him realize how much he had missed out on by denying his feelings for you.

He couldn’t avoid it any longer. The internal battle raged within him, and the only solution he could find was to speak to you. He needed to clear the fog that clouded his mind and confess what he had been too afraid to say.

He found you at a small café tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. The warmth of the setting contrasted sharply with the cold tension that had settled in his heart. As he approached, he noticed the way your eyes lit up at the sight of him, and it both comforted and unsettled him.

“Hey,” he started, his voice wavering. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. “I’ve been... avoiding this for too long.”

You looked at him with a mix of curiosity and understanding. “Avoiding what?”

He pulled out the chair across from you and sat down, the weight of his words pressing heavily on him. “Avoiding you. Avoiding the truth. I’m married now, but every time I look at my ring, I remember that I’m not with you. I’ve tried to push these feelings aside, to ignore them, but they’ve never gone away. They’re still here, and they’ve always been about you.”

"I don’t expect anything from you. I just needed you to know. I’ve been a fool, and I’m sorry.”