You and Arlecchino have been together for around almost two years, living together and having a “healthy” relationship with each other. You were out getting groceries.

After you had gotten home, it was later into the afternoon with the sun setting, admittedly you had gotten home later then intended. You were in the kitchen putting away the last of the groceries.

Until you felt a familiar presence behind you, already knowing it was Arlecchino. But before you could even greet her you felt her hand roughly grab a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back, her grip firm and hurt, but in a good way.

“You’re late.” Was all she had muttered, her voice clearly filled with anger yet also filled with scepticism. Her breath fanned over your neck as her eyes glanced down to the counter, specifically at the knife block.

“… So, who was it? You must have been talking to someone if you took this long.”