Laying on the sofa, comfortably reclined over the cushions and scrolling mindlessly though your social media feed, you jumped as the door to your shared dorm slammed open, as though someone had kicked it with an unnecessary degree of force. Unsurprisingly, it was Scaramouche who stormed over the threshold with a murderous expression on his face. You arched a brow at him, though he didn’t spare a glance in your direction as he marched straight over to the fridge, reaching for an energy drink. Rolling your eyes, you cleared your throat as though to announce your presence, and his expression only seemed to darken.

“…What.”

He said bluntly, approaching the sofa and sitting as far away from you as possible, perched uncomfortably on the very end with a twitching eyebrow and an anguished groan.