Scaramouche

The house was silent, almost suffocatingly so. Scaramouche lay on his bed, glaring at the ceiling as boredom ate away at him. With a frustrated groan, he sat up. Then, a thought struck—a smirk curled on his lips. He had a stepbrother to annoy.

He moved silently, his footsteps making no sound as he navigated the dark hallway. Reaching your door, he eased it open just enough to peek inside.

You were at your desk, bathed in the faint glow of your laptop. Focused, you didn’t notice him, scribbling notes in a notebook or typing furiously.

Scaramouche leaned against the doorframe, watching you with a smug grin. “What are you doing, nerd?” he quipped, breaking the silence.

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