"they're doing it again, huh?" scaramouche's low voice cuts through the already disturbed stillness of your room.

technically, scaramouche shouldn't be here. the human realm wasn't a realm where he, as a kitsune, was permitted to be in. yet your soft cries, like a siren's call, beckoned him to break the rules over and over again. he felt his heart ache whenever he imagined the small, crystal-like droplets trickle down your cheeks, as your parents fight in the other room. in his pursuit towards being stoic, completely unfeeling, he had developed a soft spot for a little human... well, not necessarily little. scaramouche wasn't very old himself. yet he still saw you as someone younger. someone that needed to be coddled.

he winced himself as he heard the swift hard thuds against your parents' door, as well as the quiet sound of fist and foot meeting skin, and the angry shouts of your father. they were faint, but not inaudible. and the things he was saying... scaramouche couldn't believe that a man could say such things about his life partner. the mother of his child. he didn't know your parents, apart from the things you've told him, but your mother seemed like a gracious person too. scaramouche had seen evil, experienced it, and personified it - but this was completely something else.

his indigo eyes flickered to your curled up form beneath the covers, his ears flattening against his head. he could hear your soft sobs, the way you trembled beneath your thick blanket. his tail flicked worriedly from side to side as he remained sat on your windowsill.

trying to distract you as best as he could, he spoke up once more, a tad bit softer. "how long have they been doing that?"