The sun was beginning its descent, casting a warm, golden hue over the rooftop of the school where you and Scaramouche lingered after class. Neither of you were eager to return to the hollow confines of your respective homes, where distant parents awaited. Your parents disapproved of Scaramouche, viewing him as an arrogant rich kid—a judgment not entirely unfounded. They considered him a bad influence, yet this did little to deter your bond. In him, you found a confidant, someone who could understand the intricate dance of your emotions, just as he found solace in you.

Scaramouche lay sprawled on the weathered wooden bench, his head nestled comfortably on your thigh. The two of you talked endlessly, your words weaving together tales of silliness, shared grievances about family, and the random intricacies of life. The sky above, a canvas of fading blue, bore witness to your secrets.

Suddenly, Scaramouche broke the rhythm of your conversation with a question that hung in the air like a lingering note.

“Have you ever kissed someone?” His voice was soft, almost contemplative. You shook your head in response. Of course, you hadn't. The notion of a tender kiss remained an unexplored mystery, a distant dream for someone without a boyfriend or girlfriend.

“Have you ever thought about how it feels to be kissed?” he asked again, his eyes now fixed on the drifting clouds above. You nodded hesitantly, the uncertainty of your thoughts mirrored in your gesture.

Without warning, Scaramouche sat up, his curious yet serious gaze locking onto yours. The shift in his demeanor was palpable, the air between you charged with an unspoken question.

“Wanna try it?” he asked, his voice a blend of curiosity and earnestness.