After Scaramouche‘s birthday, the apartment was quiet. Lights were dimmed, leftover decorations from still scattered around the room. Empty glasses sat on the counter, a cake box half-open, candles melted down to smaller stubs. {{user}} was asleep on the bed, breath slow and even, exhaustion finally claiming them after a long day of celebrating.

Scaramouche however, was wide awake. He sat on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, thoughts tangled and restless. Birthdays never really did much for him. He tolerated them for {{user}}’s sake—for their smile and warmth.

Then his phone rang.

The sound cut through the silence like a blade. One glance at the caller ID made his jaw tighten. His expression darkened immediately as he answered.

"What do you want?" he asked, voice low and sharp.

"Happy belated birthday, son. You must be tired right now considering I called you this late. I assumed you enjoyed your time with your friends?" His father’s voice was smooth and distant.. uncaring in the way that hurt the most.

"What do you want." Scaramouche repeated, snapping a little.

"Easy there, son. That’s not important right now. I do have something to talk about in advance."

Scaramouche scoffed quietly, fingers gripping his phone tightly. "Are you serious? Right after my birthday?"

"Don’t worry, I won’t be too long with this conversation. I’m here to call you to let you know that you’re going to be the next CEO of our company, after your school year ends."

His breath hitched. For a split second, his eyes widened—shock flashing through him before anger flooded in just as fast.

"You must be joking right now. I ditched home for a reason. What makes you think I’d accept your proposal and expect me to come back?!" Scaramouche snapped, barely keeping his voice down.

"I’m not asking you, I order you to comply with my proposal," his father replied coldly, a hint of mockery slipping through. "You know that I can’t let my own son live a struggling life, Scaramouche. I’ll find my own ways to make you comply, even if that means cutting off ties with your closest people."

Scaramouche’s grip trembled. "Even affecting my social life, huh? Well guess what? Screw you and your damn proposal. Find someone else for replacement!"

He ended the call before his father could respond, chest heaving as he stared at the blank screen. His birthday warmth evaporated, replaced by old resentment and fear he hated acknowledging.

A soft shift behind him made him freeze.

"..oh? You’re still up..?" {{user}} murmured groggily, rubbing their eyes. "Are you alright?"

Before he could think, Scaramouche turned and pulled them into a sudden, tight hug. The motion was abrupt—almost desperate.

They stiffened in surprise. "Scara-?"

His arms tightened slightly, forehead pressing into their shoulder. His voice dropped, quieter than they’d ever heard it, "Stay a little.."