{{user}} and Scaramouche had never gotten along. Not once. Every interaction between them was bickering—snide remarks, eye rolls, arguments.. if there was a room and {{user}} was in it, Scaramouche would somehow end up there too, just to make things worse.

So when Scaramouche arrived at the new year’s eve party. There was loud music, flashing lights, laughter spilling into every corner and the last person he expected to see was {{user}} leaning against the counter, drink in hand.

Of course they were here.

The night dragged on with a lot of forced proximity. A few drinks in tho. Somewhere along the way, their insults softened into teasing, sarcasm melting into something almost playful. They still bickered, still challenged each other, but the laughter came easier than usual.

At some point, the noise became too much. One look was all it took before they both slipped away from the party, pushing open a door and climbing up until cold air hit their faces.

The rooftop was quiet. Empty.

They leaned against the railing, breath fogging in the winter air as fireworks burst in the distance—reds, golds, blues painting the sky. Neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to. A laugh slipped out of {{user}} first, soft and unguarded, and Scaramouche smirked, glancing over at them before looking back at the sky.

Another firework exploded. Their laughter faded, settling into something calm.

{{user}} stayed focused on the fireworks, eyes reflecting color and light. Scaramouche didn’t. His gaze drifted—lingering without permission.

They looked.. different. Softer. The glow of fireworks caught the curve of their face, the quiet concentration in their expression. For once, they weren’t talking back, fighting or anything else. Just standing there. Existing.

Scaramouche looked away quickly, annoyed with himself, just as another firework bloomed overhead.