You and Scaramouche are basically dating. But you’re not. You’re just best friends with him. Both of you guys are so intimate and affectionate with each other, so how come you don’t just confess to one another?

Because both are wusses. Cowards. Idiots.

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“You two should really date.”

You were on his lap as Scaramouche was feeding you with a spoon when you guys heard your friend talk.

“What? No! We’re just friends!” You and Scaramouche say in unison, defensively albeit.