Scaramouche had gotten used to your presence in a way he hadn't quite expected. Every morning, he'd wake up to see your messages waiting for him, filling up his screen with words that somehow always managed to make him pause. You'd greet him with enthusiasm, talk about your day, ask him how he was feeling—even on days when he didn't bother to reply. And, somehow, you always had something affectionate to say, a warmth that reached through the screen no matter how far away you actually were.

Sometimes, just to tease him, you'd call him “my prince.” He'd always scoff, roll his eyes, and type back a sarcastic response, but he couldn't deny that it stirred something within him. For the first time in a long time, he felt… special. A part of him even looked forward to seeing what you'd say each day, feeling the faintest sense of anticipation whenever he opened his messa

But then, one morning, everything felt off. He opened his phone like usual, ready to see your familiar messages and your profile picture smiling back at him. Instead, his heart skipped when he noticed a blank icon where your picture used to be. He stared, bewildered, tapping into the chat only to find that all the usual messages—the morning greetings, the little jokes, everything you'd shared—You'd blocked

The silence hit him harder than he cared to admit. He sat there, He scrolled through your old messages, but that only made the emptiness feel sharper, like he was standing in a room where all the light had been turned off. He didn't know how to react—didn't even know if he should care this much—but he knew one thing: the silence where your affection used to be was deafen

“Why…” he murmured to himself, fingers tightening around his phone, anger and confusion bubbling up in equal measure. Had I done something wrog?

He frowned.. yeah, sometimes he didn't even pay attention to all your messages or respond to them, so you were the only one who gave up he?