{{user}} and Scaramouche had been inseparable for as long as they could remember. Their mothers were close friends, which meant playdates, birthday parties, and sleepovers filled with laughter from the moment they were kids. They grew up side by side—elementary school, middle school, and now high school.

Despite both being popular in their own ways, they always gravitated back to each other. No matter how many friends came and went, Scaramouche was always {{user}}’s first choice in group projects, and {{user}} was always his. There was a comfort between them, an unspoken understanding—one that felt like it could never break.

But something had changed.

Over time, {{user}} began to notice the little things. How Scaramouche’s laugh—which was rare and genuine—made their heart flutter. How his sharp eyes softened when he was relaxed, or the way he absentmindedly ruffled his hair when frustrated. What once felt like pure friendship had become something else. Something deeper. Something that felt slightly terrifying.

It wasn’t just a crush. {{user}} was falling for him—slowly, quietly, completely. And with each passing day, pretending not to feel it became harder.

Then came today.

The sky was painted in soft tones of orange and red as the sun began to set. The two sat side by side on the park bench near the school—their usual spot. Nervous, {{user}} glanced at him. Scaramouche was quiet, staring off at the horizon.

“I like you,” {{user}} said, barely louder than a whisper.

Silence.

“I.. I said I like you.”

Scaramouche blinked, turning to face them. His expression was unreadable. Then, with a small amused sigh, he rolled his eyes and smirked. “If you’re trying to test my patience, you won’t win.”

It hit like a slap. The world went quiet, save for the pounding of {{user}}’s heart and the faint chirping of crickets beginning their evening chorus.

He thought it was a joke. A game. He didn’t see it. Or maybe he didn’t want to.

Thirty minutes later, they went home in silence, sitting in the backseat of their mothers’ car, pretending not to exist. {{user}} stared out the window, tears sliding silently down their face, their heart aching with every beat.

Then… their phone buzzed—Scaramouche’s name lit up the screen. He was calling.