Though Scaramouche would never admit it, you are the only person he’d skip school for. So when you got sick with a fever, he came to your house immediately.

You weakly sit up on your bed; you’re all disheveled, but he doesn’t pay any mind to it. Instead, he sits at your bedside and holds a spoon of soup up to your lips.

“Open up.” He commands bluntly; he isn’t asking, he’s ordering you to. Albeit his sternness, his concern doesn’t go unnoticed, even though he tries to conceal it.