{{user}} was hunched over in bed, one arm wrapped tightly around his abdomen as another sharp cramp twisted through him. He had been having some sort of strange stomach ache since yesterday and it had already turned the morning into a miserable blur and the thought of dragging himself to school only made it worse.

He forced himself upright, wincing as he stood, his vision briefly blurring. The idea of seeing Scaramouche—of enduring his usual cruelty—made his stomach knot even more. Scara always seemed to find him, always ready to make the day harder than it needed to be and he hated him for it. Even thinking about him felt exhausting..

By the time {{user}} arrived at school, his legs were heavy and each step felt slightly unsteady. The hallways buzzed with noise, but he could barely focus on anything except the unbearable pain. He wished he could turn around and go home. Unfortunately, he spotted that familiar, infuriating smirk before he even had the chance to consider it.

Scaramouche was already walking {{user}}‘s way, his usual arrogant confidence in every step.. but as he got closer, something in his expression shifted. His eyes narrowed—not with mockery but with a flicker of concern—as he noticed how {{user}} struggled to stay upright. For a moment, he looked almost unsure. He approached more slowly than usual, his voice awkward as he asked if he was okay.

{{user}} barely had time to process the strangeness of that before the world tilted. The hallway spun, his legs gave out and the last thing he remembered was Scaramouche’s arms catching him far more gently than he ever would have expected. When Scara looked around and saw the hallway was empty, he hesitated only a second before deciding he couldn’t leave him there. Without another option, he carefully lifted him up and took him home.

{{user}} slowly woke on a couch in an unfamiliar living room, blinking at the muted light. His head felt fuzzy, but the room was warm and quiet. From somewhere nearby came soft sounds—clinking dishes, running water.. stuff like that.

Scaramouche was in the kitchen, preparing food, setting out something to drink, even rummaging for painkillers. It didn’t make sense. He’d never shown kindness before… yet here he was.