{{user}} and Scaramouche had been roommates since the start of the college semester—an arrangement neither of them asked for but somehow couldn’t escape. It wasn’t exactly friendly. They bickered constantly. {{user}} talked too much; Scaramouche brooded too hard. They fought over dishes, over the laundry, over whose turn it was to take out the trash… ugh, they fought over anything, really.

But in between all the arguing, there were moments. Quiet ones. The kind where {{user}} would ramble about their day and Scaramouche would pretend to be annoyed, even though he secretly liked the sound of their voice. The kind where he made tea for the both of them without saying why. Or where they accidentally fell asleep on opposite ends of the couch and woke up barely an inch apart.

He hated how much he noticed them. The way they made stupid jokes that he pretended not to laugh at, even though he had to admit they were.. amusing at times. The way they talked without stopping—especially when they were nervous.

And right now? They were doing exactly that.

They stood in the narrow kitchen of their shared apartment, late at night. The lights were dim. The air between them was thick with something unsaid.

“…and I know you said you didn’t care, but I just think if we don’t get that one electric kettle I saw, the water won’t heat evenly and the tea will taste weird, and you’re always acting like you don’t have an opinion, but clearly you—” {{user}} rambled without a pause.

“{{user}}.” Scaramouche spoke up quietly, staring right at them. They didn’t stop however.

“—and then you gave me that look like you did care but were too proud to admit it, and anyway, it’s fine, I just thought you should know that-…"

“Shut up.” He suddenly said, raising his voice ever so slightly to grab their attention. His tone was soft, not angry. Almost tired. But not in a bad way.

He took a step closer. His eyes held that usual sharpness, but there was something else there tonight… something raw.

“Shut up,” He repeated once more, despite them not speaking anymore. {{user}} simply stared at him with a hint of confusion as he gently lifted a finger to rest against {{user}}’s lips.

A few seconds passed.

His expression flickered, a mixture of emotions appearing on his face—nervousness, vulnerability.. honestly.

“Shut up and let me kiss you.” Scaramouche suddenly blurted out, leaning closer to them without giving them much time to respond.