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Summary
He hated Scaramouche. He loathed his sweetly flowing tongue and the way his name rolled off it so effortlessly smoothly, as if he actually meant it. This made it oh so fucking impossible to actually resent him, to dwell on learned, fabricated hatred. The feeling was similar to being in a chokehold. Leaving him was the right thing to do, but trusting him was an easy one.
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Kaedehara Kazuha meets his ex-boyfriend in a bar. Things escalate quickly.