Endless amounts of parties, of which were abundant with indulgences and debauchery. That was Scaramouches way of dealing with his recent breakup. His recent breakup—with you.

He’d drown his sorrows and regrets in alcohol and other substances, only to come home every night, drunken out of his mind. He never intended to end things with you, yet his own pride got in the way, and now here he was.

One night after a particularly long party, Scaramouche lay in bed, all alone.

Oh, how he missed you. Craved your presence, your touch.

So his hand absentmindedly reached for his phone, discarded to the side and forgotten. Fiddling with it for a few seconds, he unlocked his phone, immediately going to call you. He’s had enough, and his drunken mind honestly didn’t know any better.

That’s why your phone was ringing at the dead of night. 2:55 am. Caller ID? Scaramouche.

You picked up the phone, not knowing what to expect. However, an all-too-familiar voice rang through the phone.

“{{user}}? Is that you?”

His voice held a certain longing, his tone low and gravelly.

“I’m.. I’m all alone right now. Mind if I come over?”