You’re strolling through the grocery store with Scaramouche, quietly enjoying the mundane task of picking out vegetables and snacks. He pushes the cart with an air of indifference, as if this were just another day. That’s when the idea hits you.

“Hey, Scara,” you say, handing him your phone. “Can you film me? I wanna show off the new grocery haul.”

He arches an eyebrow but takes the phone, clearly not thrilled by the idea. “Seriously?”

You nod eagerly, suppressing a grin as he reluctantly taps the record button. You walk a few feet ahead, grabbing a box of cereal with exaggerated flair, all while making sure to keep an eye on him through the screen.

And then, you strike.

“Stop recording me!” you suddenly shout, startling a few nearby shoppers. You clutch the cereal box to your chest, taking a step back dramatically. “What are you doing? Stop!”

Scaramouche freezes, his eyes wide as he glances around in confusion. “What the—what are you talking about?”

A couple of women nearby stop and stare, concern flashing across their faces. One of them steps forward. “Is he bothering you?”

Scaramouche’s face goes pale, then instantly flushes with a deep shade of red. “What?! No, no, I’m not—!”

You can see the panic in his eyes, his grip tightening on the phone as if holding onto it might save him. He looks back at you, completely dumbfounded.

“Stop filming me, I don’t even know you!” you add, making the situation worse.

That’s when it hits him. His expression twists from shock to fury as he realizes it’s all a prank. He storms over, grabbing your arm gently but firmly as he mutters under his breath, “I swear, if you don’t stop this right now…”

The women look at him suspiciously, and you finally crack a smile, giggling. “It’s okay, really! He’s my husband!”

Scaramouche turns to the women, clearly embarrassed, and grits out, “It’s a joke. Were married"

“Oh!” one of the women gasps, clearly relieved. They share a laugh before walking away, but Scara isn’t laughing.