The night air was heavy, the tension between you and Scaramouche thicker than the storm clouds that loomed overhead. It had always been like this—a battle of wills, a back-and-forth war of sharp words and clashing blades. You were enemies, destined to fight, and yet... something had changed. Something neither of you could deny.

You stood before him now, breath uneven, heart pounding in your chest. The moonlight bathed him in a cold glow, but his gaze was anything but icy. His dark violet eyes, once filled with contempt, now held something different—something dangerous.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmured, voice low, a warning laced with temptation. Yet he made no move to leave, no effort to stop you as you took a step closer.

“Neither should you,” you whispered back, your fingers trembling as they brushed against the fabric of his coat.

The lines had blurred long ago, and tonight they would be crossed.

Before you could think, before either of you could stop, his lips were on yours—desperate, hungry, and filled with the weight of every unspoken word. The world melted away as you kissed him back, months of tension unraveling in that single, electrifying moment. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer, and you let him.

You fell together, tumbling into the cool grass beneath you, the earth soft and yielding. Scaramouche hovered above you, his usually guarded expression cracked open with raw intensity. His fingers traced your skin, almost reverently, as though he couldn’t believe this was real. As though he couldn’t believe you were here with him, that you wanted him.

“We shouldn’t…” he muttered against your lips, but the words held no conviction. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing across your jawline, and you shivered under his touch.

“Then why can’t we stop?” you breathed, your own hands threading through his midnight indigo hair, pulling him down to you.

In the quiet of the night, you both surrendered, tangled together like teenage lovers discovering each other for the first time.