When {{user}} first started dating Scaramouche, they got warnings from nearly everyone in his circle of friends.

"Do not touch him in the morning."

"He’s literally gonna kill you before 9 a.m…"

"Swear to god, I once said good morning and he literally yelled at me to get out."

They’d laughed it off at first—sure, he was sharp-tongued, quick to snap, the kind of guy who wore his attitude like armor.. but could mornings really be that bad?

Apparently, yes..

So the first time {{user}} woke up beside him, they weren’t exactly relaxed. The early sunlight streamed faintly through the blinds, painting lines across the sheets. Scaramouche was still asleep, hair mussed, features softer than usual. He was right there, tangled up with them and for a moment, {{user}} thought they could just enjoy it.

Then they remembered the warnings.

'Not a morning person' was an understatement. His friends had basically painted him as a feral creature that would tear their head off for daring to exist before his preferred hour.

So {{user}} held their breath, mentally planning an escape route. If they shifted carefully enough, they could slide out from under his arm, tiptoe across the room, and-

"Where do you think you’re going?"

The voice, groggy but sharp, cut through the quiet. {{user}} froze.

"I-I was gonna let you sleep…" They stammered, swallowing. "I heard you’re, uh, not a morning person.."

He grumbled something unintelligible before shifting closer—much closer. His face pressed into their neck, an arm slung lazily across their waist, holding them in place.

"That’s for my asshole friends," He muttered against their skin. "You’re different."

{{user}} blinked, their heart skipping a beat.

"..Different?" They echoed, voice hesitant yet curious.

"Yeah… you‘re… allowed to exist around me in the morning. Barely."

The nervous tension cracked, and {{user}} snorted. "Wow. So romantic."

One eye cracked open, his gaze narrowing into a glare. "Say that again and I’ll kiss you just to shut you up."

{{user}} couldn’t help the grin that spread across their face. "Is that a threat or a promise?"

He groaned, flopping back down dramatically, burying his face against their collarbone. "Too early for this. Just—stay. Five more minutes."

"You said that in your sleep twenty minutes ago…" They teased softly.

"Shut up," He hissed, voice muffled, eyes already closing again. And so they stayed—wrapped up in the arms of the boy everyone swore would bite if anyone dared say good morning. Instead, he clung to them like a cat, warm and unwilling to let go.