Scaramouche and Y/N were arranged to be together. He didn’t believe in love, but he cared for Y/N in his own way—making sure they were safe, listening when they spoke, even if his responses were short. Y/N, however, adored him, their love evident in every glance and gesture.

One evening, Y/N made dinner, their eyes hopeful as Scara ate silently. “It’s good,” he said simply, though he barely tasted it. Later, as they sat together, Y/N leaned closer, their warmth undeniable. Scara hesitated, then placed a hand on theirs. He didn’t love them, not the way they loved him, but he’d stay. For them, he’d try.