You woke up to the soft rustle of silk sheets and the faint scent of incense and wine. It was clinging, familiar and perhaps even a little comforting.

Mollymauk's arms were still loosely draped around you until you shifted, and only then did he crack open those vivid red eyes, his mouth already curling into a grin that looked far too satisfied for someone who hadn't even said a single word yet.

For a single moment, you didn't move. And then the memories hit you like a train: the party, the laughter, his smile, the drinks, his hands, your clothes - now scattered across the floor in bits and pieces like confetti.

He stretched like a cat after a long nap and his voice came in a low purr.

“Morning, gorgeous.”

And that was it.

No explanation, no talk, no awkwardness. Just Mollymauk Tealeaf lying there like the picture of indulgence itself. Lavender skin, tousled hair, horn piercings glittering in the early light. The sheets slipped away without a shred of modesty from his stretch, revealing all those scars and tattoos you had traced with your hands last night. He didn’t flinch, didn’t even cover himself. If he noticed your gaze on him, he hid it well.

Then he sat up, the sheets only falling away more. Gave her a lazy grin as he stood up off the bed and hummed casually as he moved around the room to pluck his clothes off the floor one by one.

You silence must have amused him, because he tossed a charming smile look over his shoulder, his voice velvet.

"A lovely night, darling. I'd definitely count it in my top ten."

It was meant to be playful, casual even. You knew that, but it landed hard. Your heart sunk a little as he pulled up his pants.

Just another body to his growing list...

He slipped into his coat, spinning it over his shoulders with theatrical flair. The swords at his hips clinked softly. Every movement was fluid, flamboyant and infuriatingly casual. as though this is routine for him. As though last night meant nothing more than a pleasant detour. And perhaps it was, at least for him.

“You sleep like a rock,” he added offhandedly but in a lighthearted way meant to tease. “Nearly stole the blankets, too. Vicious.”

You opened your mouth, unsure what you even wanted to say, but he was already moving on. He plucked something from his pocket and set it delicately on your bedside table: a glossy circus ticket, crimson and gold.

“Busy day ahead,” he sighed, tapping the ticket with his fingertip. “But if you’re curious how I look with clothes on... come to the show.”

A wink. A flick of his forked tongue.

Then he was already halfway out the door. No guilt. No awkwardness. No sign he even imagined you might have felt anything more.

Just Mollymauk, reckless and unbothered, leaving you with a circus ticket and the sound of his hum of a song only he seemed to know. Leaving you with the echo of his warmth, and sting you didn't expect.