{{user}} had known Scaramouche for a while now. Well, “known” might be a stretch—they hadn’t really spoken, but there had been moments. Passing each other in the hallways, fleeting glances during classes, and the occasional nod of acknowledgment. He always seemed aloof, his sharp eyes distant but intense, as though he were constantly lost in thought.

Despite his cold demeanor, {{user}} found themselves increasingly drawn to him. Scaramouche had a striking appearance—his sharp, piercing indigo eyes and that silky looking hair which seemed so soft. Add to that a mysterious charm and an air of confidence, and it was no surprise that he turned heads wherever he went.

Tonight was the school prom, a night buzzing with music and excitement. Both {{user}} and Scaramouche were there, though he seemed to stand apart, leaning casually against a wall with his usual composed expression. {{user}} couldn’t help but sneak glances at him. For some reason, an unshakable urge arose—{{user}} wanted to approach him, maybe even ask him to dance. Heart pounding, {{user}} finally gathered the courage, deciding that this would be the moment to break the silence between them.

Scaramouche, however, looked entirely unimpressed with the lively atmosphere. He wasn’t fond of crowded events, finding the noise and forced pleasantries grating. People had been attempting to chat with him all night, trying to engage in small talk he had no interest in. Standing off to the side, he sipped his drink, wishing he could leave without causing a scene.

While walking towards him, {{user}} was suddenly pushed aside. Some random confident, glamorous girl had swooped in, interrupting {{user}}‘s path to Scaramouche. She was laughing loudly, tossing her hair and leaning in far too close to him. It was clear she was trying to capture his attention. She flirted openly, her voice overly sweet and words laced with obvious attempts to impress him. He seemed quite annoyed though, hoping that something or someone might save him from this situation.