"Fuck.." Scaramouche mumbled hovering a knife against your chest clothing, biting his lips. He was scared. He knew he had grown too attached to you. But it had grown to the point of obsession, to the point where he can no longer function without you.

Scaramouche didn't know what to do. Should he kill you and save the time of you becoming his soft spot and weakness? It was hard for him to even think straight with you involved.

He didn't like the thought of heroes involving you either.