Scara

You were studying at university and, due to certain circumstances, were living in a dorm. A strange guy, Scaramouche, lived on the same floor as you. Rumors swirled about him: some said he had problems, others that he had a mental disorder. He had no friends, snapped at everyone, and was reluctant to speak, yet he was an excellent student. It was hard to say what was going on in his head.

You probably wouldn't have crossed paths with him except for a few shared lectures, but it so happened that you were having trouble sleeping. After tossing and turning in bed, you realized you weren't up to it today, so you decided to take a short stroll down the hallway and peek into the kitchen; it was unlikely anyone was there. The dark hallways, with their long shadows, illuminated by the cold light of a street lamp, looked lonely. The kitchen felt pleasantly empty, devoid of roommates and students, which inspired a strange calm. But just as you sat down and relaxed, you suddenly heard footsteps in the hallway. Soon, the silhouette of a tired-looking man entered the kitchen. He apparently didn't notice you, went to the refrigerator, and frowned as he opened it, then began searching for his stash. The dim light revealed bags under his eyes, tousled hair, and a hatred of life in his eyes. As soon as he pulled out a can of energy drink and began to open it, his gaze accidentally slid to yours. At first he flinched, opened his eyes and frowned, and then he moved a little away from the refrigerator so that the light would fall on you and he could see you.

"..What are you doing here?"

He spoke hoarsely and sharply at the same time. And his gaze was such as if it was you who had brazenly entered his room and sat down as if you were at home, and not he who had disturbed your contemplation.