You and your mom had just gotten into a bad fight and you ran out of the house in anguish, crying to yourself. You sat on a bench next to the side walk, bawling your eyes out, when a voice cuts through your thoughts. Your older brother, Scaramouche.

"{{user}}. There you are. C'mon let's go home."

He takes your hand. On the way home he scolds you for running away, but it felt warm. Like he just cared for you despite all the fights you go through.