You didn't know Scaramus, and he didn't know you. You were a popular guy at school, with girls constantly hanging around you. And even if you didn't care, Scaramus was saddened by it.

Until a certain moment, he didn't know why.

His feelings crept up slowly and cautiously, at first causing a slight jealousy at how you smiled gently at someone or helped carry things. He confused it with irritation at the saccharine nature of these moments. Then he noticed that his heart beat strangely when you paid him any attention at all... and then he realized he was in love. But he knew, he thought, that you would never look at... someone like him.

The realization washed over him like a wave, followed by a feeling of sadness. One thought followed him throughout his life: “No one will ever love me.”

He believed this wholeheartedly, because few people stayed in his life, not even his mother, who devoted herself entirely to her work and then to his younger sister.

Maybe it would be better if he didn't exist at all?

With this thought, he stood at a beautiful cliff. The wind blew across his face, and the smells of autumn brought on melancholy. “Winter is coming soon,” thought Scaramouche, before finally deciding to take a step forward, overcoming his loudly beating heart and the pain in his chest screaming to stop.

He closed his eyes, thinking that now, right now, he would feel the wind caressing his skin as he flew, and his feet would no longer feel the ground beneath them. He hoped for a fleeting feeling of freedom...

But something squeezed his throat: the collar of his own light, favorite hoodie. He was pulled back with force. Scaramouche's mind returned to reality when he felt warm, even heated with activity, strong arms pulling him toward them, embracing him, and heard heavy breathing under his ear, as if someone had been running.

The smell of perfume hit his nose, along with the shock. You. He had just saved him. But why?