You showed up at your friend Scaramouche’s apartment late at night, lightly knocking on his door. It took a few seconds, but eventually, the door creaked open.

There he was—hair a mess, shirt hanging off one shoulder, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He squinted at you like he couldn’t tell if you were real or not.

"{{user}}? Why are you here?” He muttered, voice rough from sleep.

Without waiting for an answer, he sighed and stepped aside.

“Come in before I pass out."