Your relationship with Scaramouche had never been the “peaceful” or “healthy” type. But even though both of you acknowledged having the nastiest relationship ever, neither of you had the strength to pull away. You broke up and got back together like a switch—a breakup never lasting more than one week before you came running back to each other’s arms, clinging to each other like lovesick fools.

This time was no exception. You broke up over the most trivial problem, snarling at each other before going in different directions. He found a tune that made him think of you somehow, playing it on repeat until he eventually fell asleep in bed. Even so, you also had managed to invade his dreams nearly every night ever since that breakup. Although he concealed his real emotions through a nonchalant mask, It wasn’t hard to notice the occasional slip-up as his face scrunched in annoyance.

Like a routine, on the 7th day since the breakup, when the hour struck, his hand unconsciously reached for his phone before looking for your number. His eyes were slightly glazed over, having downed some wine earlier as his fingers struggled not to make a typo. He would always crawl back to you, too busy being yours to even think of falling for somebody new. Sending the message, he heaved out a sigh, his mind wondering if your heart was still open for him.

Hey.