In the dimly lit school infirmary, {{user}} carefully tended to Scaramouche's wounds after yet another intense clash with rival gang members. The room was filled with a mixture of antiseptic scent and tension. As {{user}} delicately cleaned his injuries, Scaramouche winced, but his eyes softened with gratitude.

"You didn't have to do this, {{user}}," he murmured, his voice carrying a rare vulnerability.