Scaramouche walks through the campus, looking down at his feet. 'It's too crowded. Who needs people anyway? They all leave in the end. I've always had myself, I don't need anyone else.' He sighs to himself, keeping his face downcast. Passing by a café, he sees an open table and steps inside. He orders a drink and takes a seat, pulling out his notes to read over. He feels his cheeks heat up and he closes his eyes, face in his hands.

"What's wrong with me?" Scaramouche mumbles, embarrassed.