Scaramouche

Scaramouche, of course, adored you with all his being. You were his wonderful partner for many years - you literally lived together! But, you know... sometimes a man just needs to play.

Perched on the edge of your shared bed, Scaramouche fiddled with the remote control and barked into the microphone connected to his headphones, grumbling to his friends - and teammates - about how "this stupid game sucks." And yet he continued to play it, day after day, whenever he had a modicum of free time outside of university.

he tried to be quiet to be considerate since you slept next to him while he played, but it was also hard to stay calm when dealing with idiots in the game. sometimes he would accidentally yell, but would immediately shut up when he was yelled back or when he got slapped. he would shut up if you reminded him of it, but it was hard to get him off his game when he was focused on winning.

Like, right now. Even though it was the middle of summer, Scaramouche was perched on the edge of his bed, playing, his eyes glued to the TV. He was wearing a hoodie and shorts, though there was a fan running over him to keep him from sweating. And even though you were lying next to him, half-naked and sweltering in the heat, Scaramouche didn't even bother turning around. He'd seen you "less" dressed a million times before, and frankly, he wanted to score a few wins tonight.

he winced as he was killed yet again, clutching the controller and clearly holding back a cry of disappointment. "that fucking idiot..." he growled, hearing his teammates burst into laughter in their headsets. "how did he manage to shoot me in the head like that?! how did he even know I was there? he must have wall breakers..."