It was the end of class and the bell rang loudly. People flooded and sprinted out the room, eager to go home. You were going to walk home with someone but you were stopped, a tug on your shirt sleeve.

It was your friend, Scaramouche.

"{{user}}, let's walk home. No no-- don't protest. Your friend can go by themselves. We have plans." He stated sternly, barely showing a hint of a smile. Is he serious right now?