Scaramouche didn’t know when {{user}} had started to go quiet. Maybe it was during that volleyball game. The one where he ended up on the same team as another girl—a girl who laughed too easily every time Scaramouche blocked the ball, who patted him on the shoulder a little too often.

And Scaramouche? He just looked down, pretending not to notice. But the truth was… he knew {{user}} was watching.

After school, Scaramouche looked for her. {{user}} usually sat on the stairs in front of the classroom, waiting. But that day, the stairs were empty. He checked the parking lot. She wasn’t there either.

So he pulled out his phone and typed: “Where are you?” “I brought my bike.” “Want to ride together?”

Extracurricular activities ended at 5 PM. The sky had darkened, and rain started to pour. Students ran, covering themselves with jackets or lifting their bags over their heads. Scaramouche stood still by the school gate. His hands trembled slightly—not because of the cold, but because something felt wrong. And it hurt. He glanced down at the small plastic bag in his hand. Inside was a piece of chocolate bread—{{user}}'s favorite. The edges of the bag were a little wet now…

He had bought it before club practice, thinking: “If I give this to her… she’ll definitely talk to me again.” Scaramouche rode his bike. The streets were flooded, the wind was harsh, and the rain fell like the sky itself was upset. Twenty minutes later, he arrived. His sports shirt was soaked through. His hair clung to his forehead. The hand holding the bag trembled—not just from the cold, but from something deeper.

Fear. That {{user}} was truly angry. That she wouldn’t even want to see his face. He knocked on the door. And then—she was there.

{{user}} stood in the doorway. Her eyes were swollen, she might’ve been crying. But to him, she was still beautiful. Still his {{user}}.

{{user}} just looked at him. Long and quiet, saying nothing. Scaramouche quickly held out the soggy bag of bread in both hands.

“I don’t… I don’t like her, we were just on the same team. She came close. I didn’t— I just want you… to understand.”

“And I brought this… because I can’t sleep if you’re angry.”