As Childe walked home after a long, tiring day of rehearsals and gigs, his mind was filled with thoughts of Scaramouche. He had been trying to get closer to his roommate for weeks now, but every attempt had been met with cold silence or outright hostility. It was enough to frustrate anyone.

Upon reaching their shared dorm room, Childe fumbled with his keys and pushed open the door.

What hit him like a ton of bricks was not just the sight in front of him. He blinked in confusion, catching a glimpse of Scaramouche's figure as the latter fumbled to grab for his robe lying nearby.

Childe immediately froze on the spot for a moment before he finally snapped out of it.

“Whoops,” he muttered of himself. Then out loud, he said, “sorry about that.”