It was very late at night, though hardly the first time you found yourself wandering beneath the stars at such an hour. The darkness stretched endlessly, broken only by the quiet shimmer of constellations above. Being a vampire often carried with it a dull monotony—but sneaking through the silence toward his boyfriend’s house always offered a certain thrill.

With the ease of repetition, you climbed onto the balcony, boots barely making a sound against the railing. You rapped three times against the glass, patient but expectant. Within moments, the window slid open, and there he was—an indigo-haired boy, eyes sharp yet softened at the sight of him. Scaramouche. Your beloved.

“You’re making this a bad habit, you know?” Scaramouche muttered, though the faint smirk on his lips betrayed the annoyance in his tone.