{{user}} had always found themselves in the unusual position of babysitting the sweet little boy after school. At only six years old, he was remarkably smart for his age—quick to pick up new concepts and always eager to learn.

He was an absolute joy to be around. Yet, there was something about him that felt oddly familiar, like they had seen him before, but they couldn’t quite put their finger on it.

The evening was beginning to settle in, and yet his parents were still nowhere to be found. The house was quieter than usual, save for the soft hum of the TV.

“I wanna watch a movie!” The boy piped up, his eyes wide with excitement. His voice was so sweet and innocent, and he was so cute that {{user}} could never bring themselves to say no to him. Smiling, they agreed, setting up the movie.

The movie played on, the flickering light from the screen illuminating the room, but it wasn’t long before the boy started to get drowsy. A yawn escaped him, and he rubbed his tired eyes.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” They said warmly, picking him up in their arms and carrying him to his room. Gently, they tucked him under the soft covers.

“You know, my big brother, Scaramouche, always speaks about you,” He mumbled, his voice sleepy yet cheerful.

A frown tugged at {{user}}‘s face at his words—Scaramouche? As in… the school’s playboy? The thought of him speaking about them made their stomach do a little flip, but they tried to shake it off.

“He says you’re the prettiest person he’s ever seen, and that he’s gonna make you his,” The little boy added, his voice more quiet from exhaustion but still cheerful, oblivious to the weight of his words.

“I don’t think it’s me he’s talking about,” They replied softly, trying to brush off the comment with a nervous laugh. Before they could say anything more, a voice cut through the quiet air.

“Oh, he is.” {{user}}’s heart skipped a beat as they turned toward the sound of the voice. Standing in the doorway was Scaramouche, a smug smirk on his lips.