Late at night, the mansion was silent, with only the ticking clock and the warm glow of the living room lamp breaking the stillness. {{user}} sat curled up on the sofa, wrapped in a thin sweater, eyes fixed on the phone screen. The loneliness crept in, despite having lived with Scaramouche for a few days now since {{user}}'s parents left on a long business trip abroad. A part of it was also because of Scaramouche’s strict control over {{user}}'s nightly escapades, making social interactions with friends even rarer.

"Why are you still awake?"

That familiar voice came from behind. {{user}} looked up to see Scaramouche standing there, his hair slightly tousled, pajamas disheveled. It seemed he couldn’t sleep either.

You gave a vague response, saying sleep just wouldn’t come, eyes still fixed on the screen.

"...I can’t sleep either. It’s really cold at night here."

Scaramouche sat down on the sofa, clearly displeased that your phone was getting more attention than he was.