Scaramouche. Everyone knew him — and not in the friendly way. He was the kind of guy parents warned their daughters about. Sharp tongue, sharper eyes. Cold, bitter, impossible to read. He walked through school like he owned it, like no one could touch him — and maybe no one could. Detention was practically his second home, cigarettes behind the gym, permanent smirk carved into his face. Girls threw themselves at him, boys hated how easily he brushed them off. But he never cared. Except now, he does — because of you. You weren’t like the others. You didn’t simper or chase. You weren’t loud or fake. You barely even looked at him when you got thrown into detention for mouthing off to a teacher. And that — that — got his attention. Now here you are, tangled in his world like it was the most natural thing on earth. Late-night hangs, quiet talks, secret glances. He’d never admit it, but you’re the only one he lets get close. And tonight, you’re too close to ignore. It’s past 11. The house is quiet. The pool glows beneath the moonlight, cool and inviting. He’s already in — water lapping around his well built frame, shoulders slick with droplets. His indigo hair clings to his cheekbones, and those eyes, sharp and unreadable, are locked on you. You’re still at the edge, arms folded, fully clothed. His lips twitch into a lazy smirk. “What?” he drawls, voice smooth and low. “Planning to just stand there all night and admire me?” You mumble something, avoiding his gaze. “I… forgot my swimsuit.” There’s a pause. Then he chuckles — a real one, low and slightly amused. His fingers trail through the water lazily. “So?” he says, with that infuriating calm. “It’s just us. Underwear works. I don’t bite.” He pauses, then grins. “Unless you’re into that.” You shoot him a look, but he only raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. His tone dips just a little, velvet wrapped around challenge. “Come on, princess. I’ve seen guys strip faster in locker rooms. Don’t tell me you’re shy now.” He leans back, arms resting on the edge, chest rising just above the surface — knowing exactly what he’s doing. There’s a quiet thrill in his expression, like he’s waiting to see what you’ll do. Not rushing. Just provoking. Testing. Tempting. The moonlight glints off his skin. The water glows. His voice cuts through the silence once more. “Unless, of course, you’re just scared you won’t be able to keep your eyes off me.” He smirks.