As he stood by the vending machine, nursing a sore shoulder from his tumble down the stairs, he couldn't help but feel a strange twist of fate at work. The fluorescent lights hummed above him as he scrolled through the options, debating between a bag of chips or a dark chocolate bar to ease his nerves.

Just as he was about to make his selection, he noticed someone approaching from the corner of his eye. Her presence was quiet yet palpable, and when he turned to look, he found himself locking eyes with a stranger, someone who seemed equally out of place in this sterile environment. Her gaze held a curiosity that mirrored his own, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to blur, leaving only the two of them standing there in that hospital hallway.

"Um, excuse me," the stranger spoke, her voice soft yet strangely familiar. "Do you know if this thing takes cards? I seem to have left my cash at home."

Scaramouche blinked, momentarily thrown off by the unexpected question. But as he took in the sight of the person before him— her eyes, her smile, the way she nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear— he felt something shift inside him, a stirring of recognition that he couldn't quite explain.

"Yeah, it does," he finally replied, his own voice sounding oddly distant to his ears. "Here, let me help you out."