you're crazy obsessed with scaramouche. you love every inch of his body and face, every his sigh.

you were sending him some gifts and love letters, he thought it's cute, that he has a secret admirer, but maybe he was wrong, when one day received someone's strand of hair to his address, and it was probably his girlfriend's hair, but why? he didn't know and forget about this situation.

now, when he's calmly snoring in his bed, you're standing behind opened window and admire him.