This book tells the story of two friends who spend their days exploring, playing and dreaming together. Through their adventures and misadventures, they will learn about themselves and each other, building a bond that will stand the test of time. Jo...
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Days passed, and one evening, as you were sitting in the library, deeply engrossed in your studies, someone quietly took a seat at the table opposite you. You looked up from your books to see Scaramouche, his usual aloof demeanor replaced by a serious expression.
"Can I talk to you for a moment?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if not to disturb the studious ambiance of the library.
You were taken slightly off guard. Scaramouche rarely initiated conversations, especially of a serious nature. You closed your open books and looked at him, your expression now one of interest. "Sure" you responded, matching his hushed tone. "What is it?"
Scaramouche looked around, ensuring no one was eavesdropping. The library was sparsely populated, and the nearest person was several tables away. When he was satisfied with the level of discretion, he leaned a little closer, his voice dropping even lower.
"It's about those rumors again," he began, his eyes studying your reaction.
Your heart skipped a beat. Rumors. The topic that had been a recurring concern for both of you over the past months. You looked at Scaramouche, understanding the gravity of his words. "What has happened now?" you asked, your own voice a whisper.
Scaramouche leaned back in his chair, tension visible in his jaw line. "More nonsense, as always" he replied, his tone laced with irritation. "Word is, someone saw us both leaving the art club together the other day."
You felt a sinking feeling in your stomach. Leaving the art club together. That's not ideal, especially if it's being twisted into something it's not. "And what are they saying now?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.
Scaramouche gave a scoff, his expression bordering on disdain. "The usual gossip" he said. "That we're 'close' or worse, that we're..." His voice trailed off, his distaste for the rumors evident.
You grimaced sympathetically. "Ugh, I can only imagine how his fanclub would react" you mused, referring to Scaramouche’s secret fan following. "They'd be all over you, defending your honor and what not."
Scaramouche let out an exasperated sigh. "Don’t remind me” he grumbled. “Those fangirls are a menace. They'd probably start some kind of crusade if they thought someone was besmirching my 'reputation' or whatever they call it."
"They're definitely devoted, that's for sure" you teased lightly, trying to alleviate the tension. "You're lucky to have such a dedicated fan club."
Scaramouche rolled his eyes, a hint of irritation still in his voice. "Lucky, you say? More like a pain in the backside. They're always hounding me, asking for autographs and photos. And don't get me started on their endless speculation about my personal life."
You couldn't help but chuckle at his complaint. "Poor you, suffering the fate of being adored by a mob of admirers" you teased. "Maybe it's time to write an autobiography and cash in on their curiosity, huh?"
