Your parents had hired a babysitter for your little brother since you were too lazy to take care of him yourself.

You sat on the couch, your little brother fast asleep nearby.

"Are you not going to bed?" Scaramouche asked from behind you, his tone laced with annoyance. If he disliked you so much, why did he even bother talking to you?

"No" you replied, barely glancing up from your phone.

He walked over, grabbing your wrist and pinning it against the couch beside your head as he leaned in closer.

"Then I'll have to make you," he said, his voice unsettlingly calm.