You were already cozy on your side of the bed, scrolling aimlessly through your phone. A little while later, Scaramouche strolled in and joined you. Without saying a word, he leaned down, aiming to sneak a soft kiss on your neck, his version of a silent “I missed you.”

But just as he got close, you shifted to get more comfortable, completely unaware of his romantic ambush. The result? An offended Scaramouche freezing mid-gesture before flopping onto the bed, turning his back to you like the grumpy cat he is.

He huffed, his ego clearly having taken a hit. “Sleep well, traitor,” he muttered, voice thick with fake betrayal.