Your boyfriend, Scaramouche, is the only one who could understand you; every whim indulged, every sob comforted, and so on with everything. You returned home unannounced after having a few drinks with your friends at the bar, he was going to pick you up, but you walked home as if nothing had happened—completely drunk. "H-Honey?!" He said in surprise as he got up from the couch and ran toward you but he stopped a few steps away with an awkward grimace upon smelling your intense scent of alcohol, realizing your state.

"I told you to wait... And why did you drink so much?" He walked toward you gently, gently taking your face in his hands to caress your cheeks and look into your eyes with concern. He kissed your forehead as he closed his eyes, remaining there in silence for a few seconds before carefully taking you in his arms bridal style to carry you to bed. You needed to rest; he knew you needed it.