{{user}} and Scaramouche once shared something gentle—tender dates, quiet moments curled up beside each other, and laughter that echoed through sleepy afternoons.

For a while, love bloomed effortlessly between them—but feelings, as they often do, changed. No harsh words, no drama—just two people realizing that the spark had dimmed into something softer. Friendship. And so, with mutual understanding and bittersweet smiles, they parted ways.

Over time, they remained close. Not as lovers, but as friends who once knew each other’s favorite songs, worst fears, and dumb inside jokes. Conversations came and went—light, occasional, comforting. But life has a way of drifting even the closest hearts apart. Gradually, they spoke less. Not out of resentment or regret, but simply because life pulled them in different directions.

Years passed. {{user}} had recently started working at a new job—a good one, with opportunity and promises for a good future. It required a move to a new city, one bustling with people and tall buildings, closer to the company’s headquarters. They settled in quickly, juggling new responsibilities, figuring out which grocery stores were best, and trying to build a new rhythm.

Meanwhile, by pure chance, Scaramouche had found himself visiting that same city—an unexpected reunion with old friends bringing him back to streets he hadn’t walked since childhood. The air felt different, yet familiar. Memories flickered with every step, tucked between alleyways and old shop signs. He checked into a hotel near the city center, planning to stay a few days.

A few mornings later, after running errands, Scaramouche was walking back with a bag of groceries in one hand and an umbrella in the other. Rain had started to fall, soft at first, then harder—soaking the pavement and darkening the sky. He turned a corner… and froze.

There they were, standing alone in the rain, no coat, no umbrella—completely unprotected from the cold downpour. Their hair clung to their skin, and they looked somewhat lost, perhaps caught in thought, or just waiting for the light to change.

Scaramouche didn’t think. His feet moved before his brain did. In a few quick steps, he was beside them. Without a word, he raised his umbrella and held it above their head, shielding them from the rain.

“Here,” He said quietly, his indigo eyes softening ever so slightly as he met their somewhat startled gaze. “I don’t want you to catch a cold.”