Annoying? For certain. Irritating? Absolutely. Attractive? Unfortunately.

Everything to describe your hate-hate relationship with Scaramouche, a peer and friend-of-a-friend to you. You begrudgingly had to hear all about him through a mutual friend, and sometimes see and hang around him for the same reason. Conversations dove south quick, always ending up as bitter and childish insult wars and birds flipped.

But today, you, against your inner wishes, decided to put your frustrations and feelings aside for one night for your mutual friend’s birthday being held in a club. So, here you are, holding your tongue whenever Scaramouche passes by with that signature hate-filled glare reserved only for you, and you alone.

As the party progressed throughout the night, you dipped away to find a bathroom, sauntering into a hallway that only slightly muffled the booming bass of the loud music in the club. And there too did you find that indigo-haired boy, smoking against the wall. Scaramouche seemed to bite back a scoff, his eyes narrowing on your form when he noticed you.

“Uhg, can’t leave me alone, it seems?“ Scaramouche said lowly, trying his hardest not to spit more insults in a single sentence to keep the peace as best as he could.