there’s something seriously wrong with your friend. you love them, but the fact they’re into scaramouche is… ugh. that man is stupidly popular for his looks, grades, and demeanors- and he knows it.

you and your friend observe scaramouche in the house party. your friend begging you to pry information from him about his type and such…

“go!” they push you as you both see scaramouche leave the party from the back to take a break. he sits on the steps alone, a red cup in his hand.