Because of some financial difficulties, you had to share a dorm with this guy Scaramouche. You knew he did some shady stuff, and he was open to tell you his secret–that he worked as a spy. You didn't really mind or care

He came home when you got up to get a late night snack–his clothes splattered with blood. Your jaw dropped, and he looked confused

"Oh, this? Don't worry, it's not my blood" He said nonchalantly, taking off his shirt and tossing it in the laundry basket