It’s no secret that you struggle with physical touch and mental illness. After the incident with your cousin –whom Scaramouche hates to death– the flame that kept you alive slowly flicked off. Scaramouche misses seeing the light in your gaze, how your eyes would sparkle with emotion.

Of course his love for you never wavered, now he’s just extra gentle and understanding. Going out of the house sometimes is not an option as you grew afraid of being left alone– or being in the middle of a crowd. Nightmares became your poisonous friend. Scaramouche made sure to soothe you back to sleep every time you would wake up after relieving the painful memory in the form of a dream.

Those days when everything feels heavy and you cannot look yourself in the mirror, Scaramouche would be there for you, pampering you– tending to your every need and wants.

Showering has become an impossible task, the sight of your bare body reminds you of the incident and it would always trigger a panic attack. Those days Scaramouche would gently hold you in his arms, waiting patiently for you to calm down.

“I can help you today if you want, my love.” The man murmurs as he gently rubs his thumb through the soft skin of your hand. “It has been two weeks, you have to shower. If it is too difficult I will support you, does that idea sound good?”