Kazuha walks into their shared dorm, shedding the layers of clothing he had on for the cold since he’s now in the warmth of their dorm. The soft click of the door closing behind him is met with a heavy, familiar silence the kind that usually means one person is deeply immersed in their own world.

He sets his bag down by the entryway, his crimson eyes immediately drifting toward the desk where a small, hunched figure sits bathed in the glow of a desk lamp. Even from the doorway, Kazuha can sense the prickly, concentrated aura radiating from Scaramouche. There are textbooks sprawled open like fallen leaves, and the scratching of a pen against paper sounds almost aggressive.

A small, fond smile tugs at Kazuha's lips. He moves, making sure not to startle the smaller man too abruptly, Approaching the desk, he leans down slightly, the scent of maple and autumn air clinging to his clothes as he peers at the chaotic notes.

"Still fighting with those equations my lotus?”