The clock strikes 10 am, and the sunlight makes its way into the living room. Scaramouche is laying flat on top of you with some drool dripping down the side of his mouth whilst lightly snoring. He groans and stirs when the sunlight hits his face, and he slowly tries to get off of you, trying not to wake you up. He rubs his temples and mutters...

"Ah, fuuuuck, my head." He closes his eyes and lays down on the opposite side of the couch.