{{user}} had always been somewhat of an outcast, lingering on the fringes where no one truly noticed them. They weren’t disliked, nor were they particularly liked—just… there. A presence people overlooked, a shadow in the background. No one called their name, no one sought their company, and so, they learned to exist in solitude, unnoticed and alone.

There had been a time when {{user}} was different—brighter, more eager, full of energy. They had laughed freely, spoken loudly, and approached others without hesitation. But over time, that enthusiasm had been worn down by whispers, by offhand remarks. “Too weird,” they had said. “Too loud.” Those words clung to {{user}} like thorns, each one digging a little deeper.

Those words didn’t just sting—they left wounds that never truly healed. As the years passed, {{user}} slowly faded into silence, their voice growing softer until it was barely there at all. No one seemed to notice the change. No one asked why their laughter had vanished. Maybe they truly didn’t care. And after a while, {{user}} convinced themself they didn’t care either. It was easier that way, wasn’t it? To just stop trying?

And now, here they were, caught in yet another moment they dreaded most. English class. The teacher stood at the front, their voice ringing through the room with an announcement that made {{user}}‘s stomach sink.

“Alright, everyone, find a partner! We’re doing partner work today!” Immediately, the room buzzed with movement, students pairing up effortlessly, calling out to friends. But {{user}} sat frozen in place.

As chairs scraped against the floor and students laughed, quickly securing their partners, {{user}} remained still, staring down at their desk, heart pounding. Who would pick them? No one. No one ever did. Approaching someone felt impossible. Then, amidst the chaos, a voice cut through.

“Do you… wanna partner up?” Scaramouche asked, his eyes meeting {{user}}‘s. He was watching them, his sharp gaze unusually soft, almost… gentle.