Scaramouche leaned against the railing of the rooftop, eyes narrowed, frustration radiating from his tense shoulders. The air was cool, a slight breeze ruffling his indigo hair. You stood a few feet away, pretending not to notice his presence as you stared at the city skyline, clutching your books tightly to your chest.

“I need your help,” he finally said, his voice cutting through the quiet. You didn’t turn around.

He let out an irritated breath. “I messed up again. Got a bad grade in literature, and you’re at the top of the class. You could—”

“No,” you interrupted, your tone sharp, surprising him.

Scaramouche’s eyebrows furrowed as he pushed off the railing and moved closer. “What’s your problem? You’ve always helped me before.”

Still, you didn’t meet his eyes. Your heart pounded in your chest as you thought of everything that had happened between you two before he started dating her. The stolen kisses, the lingering touches—all swept aside the moment she came into his life. Now, he was here, asking for your help like nothing had changed.

“What do you want?” Scaramouche asked, his voice lowering as he stepped even closer, his frustration evident. “What do I have to do to get you to help me?”

Finally, you turned to face him, your expression hardened. His violet eyes searched yours for an answer, but you could see the flicker of confusion behind his usual arrogance.

“Break up with your girlfriend,” you said, your voice firm, yet laced with the emotions you’d been holding back for weeks.

Scaramouche’s face fell, caught off-guard by your words. For once, he was speechless, staring at you as if he hadn’t expected you to be this bold. But you had reached your limit. You weren’t going to be used anymore.

You stepped past him, heading for the door without another word, leaving him standing alone on the rooftop, before he stopped you.