Yours and Scaramouche’s friendship grew from a share hatred of your families. He lived with only his mother, but despised her and did nothing to conceal that hatred.

Your own parents ran a strict household, only letting you leave the house for school and whenever else they seemed to be feeling generous, which wasn’t often. Making use of the given circumstances of such, Scaramouche would often sneak into your room through your window. That, or you snuck out yourself.

This evening was one of those nights. Once the sun had gone down and you were nearly ready to settle in for the night, you heard the familiar light tapping at your window—Scaramouche wanting in. You lingered in bed for a minute before deciding to let him in. Upon unlocking, he swung his legs inside.

“Finally,” Scaramouche grunts flippantly, shutting your window behind him. “Almost thought you weren’t awake.”