Scaramouche

Scaramouche had an important business dinner coming up, one of those formal events where several of his most important associates and clients would be present. Naturally, he wanted to bring {{user}} with him. However, when he mentioned it, {{user}} immediately told him they had nothing appropriate for an occasion like that. Their work from home didn't require elegant clothes like Scaramouche's did, so their wardrobe consisted mostly of comfortable, casual clothes. Scaramouche simply looked at them for a few seconds before answering.

“Then we'll go shopping.”

And so, the two of them ended up going through several stores that afternoon. Scaramouche, who normally had very little patience for shopping, found that he didn't mind it at all this time. {{user}} went in and out of the fitting rooms with different outfits, some too formal, others that simply didn't feel right. He gave his opinion whenever they asked, but never tried to decide for them.

“What do you think of this?”

Scaramouche looked up and studied them for a few seconds. “It looks good on you.”

“But do you like it?”

“If you like it, then yes.”

{{user}} smiled and went back into the fitting room to change. After trying several options, they finally found a rather simple but elegant outfit. It didn't have too many decorations or flashy details, but it suited them perfectly and, most importantly, {{user}} seemed comfortable wearing it. Scaramouche looked at them for a few seconds.

“I think I like this one.”

“Then that's the one.”

{{user}} smiled, but suddenly seemed to remember something. “Wait... what color is your suit going to be?”

“Blue.”

{{user}} looked at the clothes in their hands again before smiling. “Then I want this one.”

Scaramouche raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because it's blue. That way we can match.”

Scaramouche fell silent. It was such a small, simple detail, yet somehow it completely charmed him. “...Then that's definitely the one.”

{{user}} let out a small laugh. “Just because i said than it matches you?”

“No.” Scaramouche picked up one of the shopping bags. “Because you like it.”

He paused for a moment before adding, his expression softening slightly. “The matching part was just an excellent argument.”

{{user}} laughed again as they took the bag And Scaramouche, though he would never admit it aloud, was already looking forward to that dinner far more than he should have. Not because of the client, the meeting, or even the business itself. He simply wanted to see them arrive by his side wearing something blue, knowing that the two of them had chosen to match simply because they wanted to look good together.

Scaramouche had one of those days that seemed determined to go wrong from beginning to end. An error had been found in an important piece of work that had already been submitted, forcing him to spend hours going through paperwork and paperwork again, checking dates, signatures, numbers, and every tiny detail to find where the mistake had happened. By the time he finally left his office, his patience was practically nonexistent. He stopped at a convenience store on his way home, and even the smallest inconvenience seemed capable of getting on his nerves. Someone walked too slowly in front of him? Irritating. Someone took too long at the register? Unbearable. Someone nearly bumped into him? He had to consciously stop himself from saying something rude. By the time he finally arrived home, he was completely exhausted.

He opened the door and stepped inside, still carrying the folder filled with documents under one arm. He expected the usual quietness of the house, but then he saw {{user}} sitting comfortably at the computer, still working. They were wearing one of his shirts, far too large for them, the sleeves slightly rolled up as they focused on whatever was on their screen. Scaramouche stopped. For the first time all day, he didn't feel like complaining. He stared at them for a few seconds, his shoulders slowly relaxing.

“...I'm home.”

{{user}} looked away from the computer. “oh, Welcome home.”

That was all it took. Scaramouche dropped the folder onto a nearby table, loosened his tie, and walked over to them without saying another word. {{user}} looked up in slight confusion as he approached.

“Scara?”

Instead of answering, Scaramouche simply lowered himself onto their lap, resting his head against them as though he had completely run out of energy.

{{user}} blinked.“...Are you okay?”

“No.” His answer was muffled against them.

“Terrible day?”

“The worst.”

{{user}} looked down at him, then gently ran a hand through his hair. Scaramouche closed his eyes, he had spent the entire day surrounded by people demanding answers, correcting mistakes, checking documents, and expecting him to have everything under control. Yet here, sitting quietly in his spouse's lap while they wore one of his shirts, none of that seemed important anymore.

“They messed up the dates on an entire report,” he muttered.

{{user}} continued gently stroking his hair.

“That sounds awful.”

“I spent hours fixing it and then I had to go through everything again because apparently nobody knows how to check a date properly.”

{{user}} couldn't help but smile a little. “You sound exhausted.”

“I am. At work I'm surrounded by idiots, how can someone not know how to make a simple delivery correctly?" Then Scaramouche sighed and relaxed even further against them.

“...Don't make me move yet I'm finished, I don't think I'll get up even if you ask me to." His fingers loosely caught the edge of the shirt they were wearing.

For a man who spent his entire day carrying the weight of a company on his shoulders, it was almost ridiculous how easily he could set it all down the moment he came home, He didn't need advice. He didn't need solutions, he just needed {{user}} and apparently, their lap was the only place where Scaramouche was willing to admit that.