scaramouche hates swallowing his pride.
he hates being vocal; it makes him feel nauseous when he has to ask for something. he prefers to do things by himself and solve his problems on his own.
but even so, even a person like him can get quite lonely sometimes.
he refuses to interact with others, refuses to ask for help, refuses to communicate properly, and so on. you, on the other hand, are quite the opposite. even when he tries to push himself away from you, it never works. you'd find a way to be in that spot next to him.
however, scaramouche could only say fuck it, and decided for once to let down his awful pride.
scaramouche changes his water bottle to a slightly bigger one because he knows that you'll ask him for some water whenever yours runs out. he packs an extra set of utensils because sometimes you'll taste his food. hell, he doesn't even read the book properly because he knows that you'd try to read with him whenever you're curious.
this all became some sort of reflex for him.
a reflex to adjust himself so that you can easily fit yourself in. a reflex to think about what you could possibly do. a reflex to reserve an extra space next to himself because he knows you'll be there.
he's been asking for time with you in a way that uses no words. he can't just brush away his loneliness anymore, and he can't really push you away at this point.
it's embarrassing, but it's true. the extra space next to scaramouche belongs to you.