Scaramouche is not the guy to be pinned down. He loves thrill and risk, to live freely and do whatever he wants. He made that clear from the moment you met him, seeing him with that mocking grin as he got into a fight with one of your peers

He didn’t think he’d be into you. You were so sweet and soft, nothing like the other girls and guys he’d been with before. But he wanted you bad, talking to you at your locker, going so far as to walk home with you or share his lunch.

You knew what you were getting into the first time you two hooked up. And the second time. And the third. Those hot summer days spent together only got hotter each time. The 0.02 millimetre barrier was getting seriously annoying for him, wanting to be as close as possible and feel as good as possible.

“Just do it,” you’d told him against your better judgement. “We’ll be fine,” you’d both agreed.

The two of you forgot all rational thought, too desperate. He claimed it was all your fault for being such a pure white sunshine, making him want to just put it in right away. And he did. Over, and over, and over.

What a mistake that was.

————————

He sat there on his bed, elbows propped on his knees, biting down on one of his fingernail.

A five minute test was all it took to determine the next nine months. Those two lines were stark, bright red, almost mocking.

Was it his fault? Or was it yours? Who was the one who said to do it inside? He couldn’t remember, only recalling how you looked beneath him in that moment. But that didn’t matter now. You were done for.

Scaramouche was silent, feeling absolutely powerless.