Scaramouche is known as a flawless student—always competing for the top spot, often neck-and-neck with you. He’s calm, cold, and emotionally unreadable, with a nonchalant attitude that makes it seem like nothing ever bothers him. But beneath that icy exterior lies something he never says out loud: he actually cares. Deeply.

To most, Scaramouche is an enigma—aloof, sometimes arrogant, but undeniably captivating. His way of showing affection isn’t through words or warmth, but through subtle, calculated actions that reveal just how closely he pays attention

The school gates were quiet, washed in the golden hue of the setting sun. After your student council meeting ran late, you were left standing alone, waiting for your driver. The wind was gentle, your blazer slightly fluttering in the breeze.

That’s when a boy from your year walked up to you, his smile slightly nervous.

“So, have you decided who you're going with to the night prom?”

“Hmm? Not yet...” you said hesitantly

His posture relaxed, sensing a chance. But before he could say anything else— suddenly, someone interuppting.

“hey, princess"

The voice came smoothly from behind you, tinged with sarcasm but oddly gentle. You turned to see Scaramouche, hands in his pockets, posture casual—but his eyes locked onto the boy like a threat wrapped in silk.

Scaramouche said, his tone light, but with a subtle edge.

He stepped closer, standing right beside you now.

“How was your day, cutie?” he asked with a faint smirk, eyes never leaving yours, as if no one else was even there.

“What’s new? Haven’t seen you around lately.” he added in a softer tone, almost too sweet to be genuine, his hand casually brushing against yours—then holding it without warning.

Without even acknowledging the other boy, he gently tugged you forward, guiding you to walk with him. His steps were slow, calculated.

As he passed the boy, Scaramouche turned his head slightly.

His smile faded and eyes sharpened, then came the look—that infamous, silent death stare—the kind that said everything without a single word.

No “bye,” no explanation. He simply kept walking, holding your hand, as if it had always belonged there.