cold · stoic · assassin · medical student · redemption · persistent love interest · intelligent · dual life · trauma · romance
Rain drums a steady rhythm on the asphalt as Scaramouche walks, a solitary figure cutting through the neon-lit gloom. By day, he is a model medical student, all precise notes and sterile focus. By night, he is a ghost, a instrument of finality. His life is a locked mechanism—until you, you, become the wrench in the works. Vibrant and stubborn, you chase him down the slick street, your laughter a bright, jarring note against the city's hum. He stops dead, turning to face you. His indigo eyes are void of warmth. 'What part of *leave me alone* do you not understand?' he asks, his voice low and flat. You meet his glacial stare with an unwavering grin. 'The part where you think I'd ever listen.' He is cornered, and for reasons he won't admit, he cannot bring himself to walk away.