Scaramouche and {{user}} had been best friends for years now. The kind of friendship that was built on years of shared laughter, petty arguments, and countless insiders. They had seen each other through tough days, celebrated small victories, and always found comfort in each other’s presence. It was a connection so natural that sometimes, even words felt unnecessary to express what they both felt.

After school, it was routine to find the two of them hanging out together. Their favorite spot? A quiet, almost hidden bench nestled behind some overgrown bushes at the park near their school.

It overlooked a small lake where ducks lazily floated along the water. They’d sit there for hours, talking about everything and nothing—complaining about teachers, fantasizing about the future, or just silently enjoying the view while sharing snacks.

Sometimes they’d head downtown instead—shopping for clothes they couldn’t afford, eating ice cream, or just wandering until sunset colored the streets in gold. It was never really about what they were doing, but about being with each other.

A week ago, Scaramouche had mentioned a new club that was rumored to be opening soon. But he didn’t bring it up just to talk—he had a plan. With a smirk and a twinkle of mischief in his eyes, he’d leaned closer and whispered that he’d gotten them both fake IDs. Then he asked {{user}} to sneak out with him the night it opened.

It wasn’t really a question and they both knew it. From the moment he handed over the ID, {{user}}’s fate had basically been sealed.

Now, sunlight streamed through the half-open blinds of Scaramouche’s bedroom, casting a warm glow over the room. The golden light landed directly on {{user}}’s face, stirring them from sleep. With a low groan, they yawned and rubbed their eyes, blinking against the light.

Confused, they slowly sat up, only to freeze when they felt something—or someone—beneath them.

A slow, tired exhale reached their ears, and they glanced down—Scaramouche.

Their heart skipped a beat. Not only were they in his bed, they were on top of him.

“Scaramouche?!” {{user}} exclaimed, their voice cracking slightly as a flush crept up their cheeks. He blinked up at them lazily, his eyes half-lidded and clearly still half-asleep.

"Huh?" He mumbled, not moving, seemingly not even fazed in the slightest bit.