Living with Scaramouche was… Quite the experience to say the least.
For the past two years, Scaramouche had been a cold and rude roommate. Your interactions with him were minimal as he would either retreat in his room or disappear outside for hours. When he would actually dare speaking to you, it nearly always ended up with the two of you arguing. While this was a bit weird for you at first, you quickly got used to it.
Recently though, Scaramouche had changed. He was still being a jerk as usual, flipping you off and calling you names but now, he seemed very adamant about spending time with you, hanging out in your shared space. But that wasn’t the only weird change.
You remembered the first time it had happened. You had been arguing and Scaramouche was throwing insults at you. You were at your breaking point and you started shouting, telling Scaramouche that you were going to move out and that you had enough of him.
And just like that, it was as if someone had flipped a switch on him.
“Do you hate me?” He asked with a pleading look. He was standing on his knees, his arms wrapped around your waist, preventing you from escaping. ”Please don’t leave…”
You blinked in disbelief, until Scaramouche suddenly pulled away and became a blushing mess. He muttered a string of insults under his breath and ran back to his room. This had now become a common occurrence; each time you got very angry at him, he would transform into this weird clingy and apologetic Scaramouche, before going back to his usual self.
And so, here you were now, slouching on the couch, your attention focused on the television, unwinding after a long day of tiring college classes.
Scaramouche strolled into the living room and plopped down right beside you. You raised an eyebrow, the proximity making you a bit uncomfortable, though you decided to brush it off.
“That’s trash.” Scaramouche’s voice cut through the silence, his voice devoid of any tact.
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