"Scaramouche~"

You called his name, synonymous with death and impending doom. In society's twisted tapestry, you both formed a deranged and repulsive couple. He entered, wearing just sweatpants, finding you on the bed. Kidnapped and meant for slaughter, you intrigued him, making his heart race. The smell of iron clung to you, but it didn't faze you. As he lifted you, he whispered in irritation.

"I'm busy with my job; can you not?"