The hallway buzzed with the usual noise of slamming lockers, chatter and hurried footsteps, but for {{user}}, it all seemed to fade into static. They stood frozen near the rows of lockers, heart sinking as their lover—the person who had been by their side for nine whole months—delivered the words they never expected to hear.

Break up? The thought alone felt like a cruel joke. They had never fought, never drifted apart. Everything had seemed… good. So why?

The answer cut deeper than any blade; he had fallen in love with someone else. That someone was Scaramouche.

Looking back now, it was almost obvious. Scaramouche had always inserted himself into their moments, hovering close, smiling a little too knowingly whenever the couple was together. Maybe they should have noticed the signs, but denial had always been easier than suspicion.

Now, as their lover turned away, leaving them standing hollow in the echo of his rejection, tears pricked their eyes. He didn’t even look back. His figure grew smaller as he moved down the hallway—until fate, with a cruel sense of timing, had him bump right into someone.

Scaramouche.

Their ex looked up at him with a flustered, yet flirty grin that made the ache in their chest twist harder. It was like watching the knife that had stabbed them twist cruelly in the wound. But then Scaramouche’s sharp indigo eyes flicked past the boy in his arms, landing squarely on them.

His expression shifted instantly. The playful smirk vanished, replaced with surprise—no, something stronger. His pupils widened, and for a heartbeat, he just stared as if struck by lightning.

Helping their ex to his feet with a careless tug, Scaramouche broke the silence. His voice was smooth but edged with something unreadable. "Isn‘t that your lover?"

The ex scoffed, brushing dust off his sleeve, though his gaze stayed glued to Scaramouche.

"That loser? Not anymore, cause—" He cut himself off mid-sentence, noticing the faint blush coloring Scaramouche’s cheeks and the unmistakable way his eyes refused to look away from the figure still lingering by the lockers.

A slow grin tugged at Scaramouche’s lips, sharp yet unguarded. He leaned in ever so slightly, almost like the words weren’t meant to be heard. But they were.

"Damn.. your ex is so hot.." Scaramouche muttered, biting down on his lip lightly, never once breaking his gaze from them.