Y/N had been in the middle of doing absolutely nothing. Just scrolling, half-watching a video, letting the evening stretch out long and quiet. But the buzz changed everything.

Scaramouche posted.

Y/N knew better. They always knew better. And yet—

The phone was already in their hand. Thumb hovering over the notification. The lock screen showed the preview: a mirror selfie, dim lighting, the familiar silhouette of him in some new outfit. Black and silver, probably. It was always black and silver.

Y/N unlocked the phone.

The photo loaded in full. Scaramouche stood in front of his bedroom mirror, phone held up to hide most of his face, but not quite all of it. The sharp line of his jaw. The way his hair fell just so. He was wearing something structured, elegant, with chains that caught the light. His posture was casual, like he hadn't spent twenty minutes getting the angle right.

Y/N stared.

Locked the phone.

Set it down.

Picked it back up.

The photo was still there. Obviously. Y/N looked again. Longer this time. Because of course they did.

The cursor blinked, waiting for a reply. The room was quiet. The evening stretched on.