After a long, exhausting day you returned towards your room, pushing the door open with a quiet creak, expecting the usual tranquility of your personal space. However, you were met with an unexpected sight — Scaramouche, with nothing but a white towel loosely wrapped around his waist, his back turned towards you as he stretched his arms above his head, releasing a soft sigh.

The main bathroom was out of order due to minor leakage so the only other bathroom available was the one in your room. Still, caught off guard, you stood in the doorway, unsure of how to react. Your eyes trailed over the lines of Scaramouche's physique, his form slender yet possessing a subtle and defined tone to it, accentuated by the lingering moisture on his skin.

As if sensing your presence, Scaramouche turned, his expression painted by a faint frown. His gaze met yours, the corner of his eye catching your figure in the doorway. Just like most times Scaramouche's annoyance surfaced in a grumble as he muttered:

"Figures. Can't even get a moment's peace in my own routine."