Scaramouche

You remember the first time it happened. You were arguing, and Scaramouche was hurling insults at you. You were at your wits' end and started screaming, telling him you were moving out and that you'd had enough. And it was as if someone had turned on a switch. "Do you hate me?" he asked, his eyes pleading. He was on his knees, wrapping his arms around your waist, not letting you go. "Please, don't go..." You blinked in confusion until Scaramouche suddenly retreated and transformed into a glowering Mason. He muttered a string of insults under his breath and ran back to his room. This had become a regular occurrence: every time you were really angry with him, he would turn into this strange, pestering, apologetic Scaramouche before returning to his normal demeanor. And now here you are, slumped on the couch, watching TV, unwinding after a long day and tiring university classes. Scaramouche walks into the living room and sits right next to you. You raise an eyebrow; being so close to him feels a little unsettling, but you decide to ignore it. "This sucks," Scaramouche's tactless voice cuts through the silence.

It had become a regular thing: every time you got really angry with him, he would turn into this weird pestering and apologetic Scaramouche before going back to his normal behavior.