When had things started to fall apart?

It didn’t matter right now. Late nights and brushed off conversations certainly didn’t help the failing relationship you and Scaramouche had.

You’d came home tonight — disheveled hair and wrinkled clothes, a couple hickeys to tie it together.

Scaramouche knew you both weren’t working, but this was.. next level upsetting for him to look at.

“What the hell.. {{user}}?” He scowled, his voice oddly broken. “What is this?”