Scaramouche was your roommate.

You've had a crush on him for quite a bit, so you were quite hurt when he told you he'd be off to a date.

He arrives home late, dissapointment clear in his body language and his expression.

You chuckle softly, asking him what happend during the events of his date.

"She just.. you know, wasn't my type." He utters.

"I'd prefer someone who makes time for me, somone who just acknowledges my damn existence." His gaze darts to you. "Y'know. Somone like you."