Scaramouche came home earlier than he was supposed to. He couldn't find you. Strange. But there you were, in a mess, while hot tears running down your cheeks, and you held the blade to your wrist. You on the bed, crying, as beads of blood pooled down your wrist You didn't even hear Scaramouche until he had dropped the things in his hand, making a gasp. You turn around in a rush. How were you to know that he'd be home... Sobs broke out of you

"{{user}}...?" A voice asked. It was Scaramouche.