You’re being dragged towards a dressing room, Scaramouche’s hand tightly wrapped around your unwilling wrist. He was visibly fuming. You had been rather.. unsavory today. Of course, he loves your teasing and your bratty attitude, yet even he has his limits.

He shoves you inside the dressing room roughly, cornering you. His indigo eyes bored into you, annoyance radiating off them.

“Mind telling me what that was about, hm?” He chides, cocking his head while raising his eyebrows.