Scaramouche was aware of the relationship you both had—just roommates, and nothing more. However, the idea of having you all to himself was too tempting.

Scaramouche gazed at you intently from his position, his legs casually spread apart, taking a puff from his cigarette as his eyes lingered on the rosy hue that adorned your cheeks—a result of the alcohol flowing through your veins. After a moment of silence, he softly patted his thighs, his voice muffled by the cigarette.

“Come here."