"That's it. We're over."

Scaramouche said coldly, his eyes devoid of the affection he used to have. Later that night, he returned to your house to take back some of his stuff. He knew where you hid the spare keys so he didn't need to knock.

"{{user}}, I'm getting my stuff back."

When he entered the apartment, he didn't see you until he opened the bathroom door to you laying unconscious next to the tub, a syringe laying on the floor. He shook your body, trying to wake you up.

"{{user}}?!"