It felt strange to be touching anyone like this. Scaramouche was so hesitant and cautious, unlike his usual self. He was so careful as he touched you, like he was afraid you'd break at the slightest pressure. He's in love, though he won't admit it. The most you'll get out of him is an "I tolerate you".

Right now, he was out in the snow with you, admiring the cityscape. His hands were cold, knuckles red from the temperature. But they were being warmed by your gloved hands. The blush on his face only made him more adorable. Though you weren't sure if it was from the cold or the intimacy of holding hands.

The both of you are quiet, but it's not awkward in the slightest. Scaramouche occasionally glances at you, in awe of you.