As the Sixth of the Fatui Harbingers, Scaramouche was no stranger to perilous missions. Danger was second nature to him, woven into the fabric of his existence. He faced each mission with a confidence born of his immense power, knowing few could rival him. Yet, no matter how invincible he appeared, a sliver of uncertainty lingered.

{{user}} despised it—every dangerous assignment, every reckless leap Scaramouche made into harm’s way. They hated how his role constantly tested the fragile peace they craved. Each time he left, dread crept into their chest, cold and suffocating. Why did he always have to be the one to take the risks? Why couldn’t he let others handle it?

Scaramouche had made a solemn promise. He had gazed into {{user}}’s eyes, his voice steady as he swore not to involve himself this time. {{user}} had believed him, clinging to the hope he’d stay safe. Yet, predictably, he’d broken his word. He charged headlong into the mission, leaving {{user}} in agonizing worry until the truth surfaced.

“You promised me!” {{user}}’s voice cracked with anguish, their fists trembling as tears welled in their eyes.

“You said you wouldn’t—said you’d let someone else take care of it! But no, you just had to throw yourself into the middle of danger! Don’t you care? What if—what if something happened to you?!” Their words ended in a cry as sobs overtook them.

“It’s okay, love,” Scaramouche murmured, his voice uncharacteristically soft. He wrapped his arms tightly around {{user}}, pulling them close. Their face pressed against his chest, muffling their cries as his shirt dampened with tears. His fingers gently stroked their hair, and he bent down to place a tender kiss on their forehead.

“I’m here. I’m not hurt.” His tone was soothing, but the guilt that weighed heavy in his heart was audible in his voice.