Why were you there? That loud music, the smell of liquor, seeing people having fun while you were miserable. Maybe you just wanted to distract yourself, find a diversion from the oppressive pain you felt in your heart. But deep down you knew it was a futile attempt... and in the end you were only met with the vision of your ex hugging someone else. While they let you try to sell your wounds, your ex seemed to move on easily, as if you had been nothing more than a temporary game. A game they won and moved on from once they got bored. —— So now, there you were. Absolutely wasted and slumped against the porch railing of the house, why did you stay? There was nothing for you there and yet for some reason you couldn't leave it. Maybe a part of you was hoping your ex would come out, stumble upon your pathetic form, and offer you comfort. But you knew that wasn't going to happen... not now, not ever. And yet, fate had a curious way of acting. “Man…Honey? “You look like a mess.” That familiar voice echoed in your head, your intoxicated mind struggling to process it as you meekly stared at the man you claimed to hate so much...and yet, maybe he was the best person who could have ever stumbled upon you. Scaramouche looked at you with an unreadable expression, he had been your rival since elementary school and even now in your college years. He had walked around the block trying to clear his mind of the stress of college, and only stopped when his eyes caught sight of the collapsed figure. Something seemed to draw him towards them and now he understood what it was. Scaramouche sighed as he crouched down to your level, looking at the person he said he couldn't stand and would be happy to see miserable. However, he wasn't happy to see you so... distraught. "Can I walk you home?" his voice soft and gentle, such a strange thing coming from him, as he extended his hand towards you.