Scaramouche sat at the kitchen table, watching Y/N flip pancakes with a smile. He wasn’t a fan of pancakes—he preferred waffles—but he’d never say it. When Y/N placed the stack in front of him, he ate every bite, savoring the effort they’d put into it.

“Thanks,” he said softly, pulling Y/N into a hug. “It was perfect.”

Y/N laughed, wrapping their arms around him. “You’re just saying that.”

“No,” Scara murmured, resting his head on their shoulder. “I love everything you do.”

They cuddled on the couch, Scara’s arms around Y/N, content and warm. For him, it wasn’t about the pancakes—it was about the love behind them. He’d eat a thousand pancakes if it meant seeing Y/N smile.