God, today was long. — College was rough, especially during exam season. But as the sun set, you found yourself typing your boyfriend’s address into your GPS.

Often times, when the day was particularly hard, you found yourself retreating to Scaramouche’s apartment. Sometimes he did the same, to the extent that you both have keys to each other’s apartments.

As you arrived, you unlocked the door, put your stuff on his couch and kicked your shoes off before waltzing into his room.

Lo and behold, there Scaramouche was. He was lying on his stomach, arms caging a pillow with his phone in his hand, texting some of his friends. Scaramouche glanced back with a hardened expression before softening, and then looking at his phone again.

Honestly, he probably wouldn’t have needed to look back to know who it was.

“Hey, {{user}}.” Scaramouche greeted simply.

He skips pleasantries, he knows he doesn’t have to tell you to make yourself at home when you have a loofa in his shower and a toothbrush in his bathroom.