Scaramouche and you had been academic rivals for many years. You were an odd pair, often spending your time bickering or exchanging heated glances across the classroom.

Tch.

But today was different, as Scaramouche watched you say goodbye to a guy by the door, before taking your seat next to him. His indigo eyes are on your form, his lips curled into a small, stubborn pout.

Who was that? Your boyfriend? He tries to act like he doesn’t care, but he seems impatient to know your answer.