A muffled “What?” came from Oscar’s stuffed mouth. He froze completely, his head immediately perked at {{user}}’s statement.

“The cake wasn’t for you, Oscar.”

Oscar’s eyes darted down at the half eaten slice. Crap, crap, crap.. He grabbed a napkin, cleaning off his hands before looking back up at {{user}}.

“You’re messing with me, aren’t you?” Oscar looked hopeful, waiting for some kind of sign that you were pulling his leg. Messing with him.

The brunette swallows the rest of the food in his mouth, “I thought it was! You had it just displayed on the table.” He tries justifying his actions. “It was really good— your baking is really good! Can you blame me for wanting some?” Oscar gave a sheepish smile, hopefully you’d spare him.