The bell’s shrill ring sliced through the afternoon’s lazy hum. Scaramouche, usually a whirlwind of chaotic energy, moved with surprising purpose, his footsteps echoing on the floors as he ascended the stairs to the fourth floor. He clutched a small, neatly wrapped bento box, a stark contrast to his usual rebellious demeanor.

Eight months ago, the engagement had felt like a sentence. {{user}}, a quiet girl with a kind smile, was the complete opposite of his usual targets. He’d initially seen the engagement as a joke, a chance to momentarily disrupt the predictable monotony of his high school life. But {{user}} was different. The way you looked at him, a mixture of apprehension and quiet curiosity, had sparked something unexpected within him.

He found you sitting in ur chair quietly, leaning against wall, Well, because your table was close to the wall, the students were noisy, but Scaramouche's heart was even noisier. your gaze lost in the distant cityscape. He approached, he surprised you by sitting right in front of you, since the seat was empty. You looked at him with a sweet smile.

He opened the bento box, revealing two perfectly formed buns, their tops adorned with meticulously crafted heart-shaped strawberry jam. “Here!” he announced, the words a little too loud, a little too eager. “I’m sure you’ll like it.” revealing his culinary masterpiece.

Before he could bask in the warmth of his own surprisingly domestic gesture, a small carton of milk exploded against the back of his head. But then he looked at you. The splash of milk that was thrown behind his neck, also landed on ur cheeks and lips, he felt a surge of hot anger, the familiar instinct to retaliate rising within him.

With a gentleness that belied his usual rough exterior, he used his thumb to carefully wipe the milk from your lips and cheeks. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through him, a reminder of the reason behind his transformation. He stood, his gaze hardening as he turned to face his former friends, their sneer