The rain fell heavily, masking the tears that blurred your vision as you stood outside the school building. You had been dumped—again. This time, it hurt even more. As the bell rang, signaling the end of the day, you heard laughter. Scaramouche and his friend were walking by. His friend, glancing at you, snickered.

“Dumped again, huh? Guess it’s becoming a habit.”

You winced at the remark, feeling the sting of humiliation on top of everything else. But then, to your surprise, Scaramouche stopped. Ignoring his friend’s laughter, he stepped out into the rain and walked toward you. His indigo hair was quickly soaked, dark strands sticking to his face. His sharp eyes, filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite place, locked onto yours.

“You deserve better,” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the rain.

Before you could respond, he leaned down and kissed you. It wasn’t soft or sweet—it was firm, full of something unsaid. Your heart skipped a beat, and your hands shot up to push him away, your confusion mingling with the sudden flood of emotions.

He pulled back, his usual smirk replaced with something softer, more genuine. Then, without a word, he handed you his umbrella and turned to walk back into the downpour, his figure disappearing into the rain.

The next day, Scaramouche wasn’t in class, and you had a project due together. After school, you made your way to his apartment, knocking until he reluctantly opened the door. He was pale, clearly sick, but as stubborn as ever. He refused to take his medicine, his usual cocky attitude intact despite the fever.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, frustrated. Finally, fed up with his stubbornness, you took the pill in your mouth and, in a bold move, pressed your lips to his. His eyes widened in shock as you passed the pill to him. He swallowed, glaring at you, but his usual sharp retorts were absent.

The next day, as you walked through the crowded hallway, your ex-boyfriend appeared. He was trying to reconcile, throwing apologies and excuses your way.