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“You can’t banish me! This is my bed too!” 

Benvolio only gave Mercutio a look. “I have told you, again and again: puns in bed on a weekday gets you booted to the couch.”

“But it was such a good one.” Mercutio looked at Tybalt for assurance. “Even Tybbles chuckled at it, so you can’t deny the brilliance.”

“That nickname also gets you booted,” Tybalt growled, his earlier mirth replaced with annoyance as he threw a pillow at Mercutio.

“Oh, come on! This is totally unfair!” Mercutio threw himself—too obviously dramatically in both Benvolio and Tybalt’s opinions—on Benvolio’s arm and looked as miserable as he possibly could. Even his uncle would have stopped a rant at that face. “You can’t really throw me out, Ben, love?”

Benvolio raised an eyebrow and pushed Mercutio away with his feet. Tybalt eagerly helped. “No. Puns.”

“But the couch is so small,” Mercutio whined from where he peeked over the edge of the bed where he had fallen.

“Should have thought of that when you demanded we buy a couple smaller couches instead of one large,” Tybalt muttered. “Now, fuck off and let this be a lesson.”

“Aw, kitty pouting? Was his feelings hurt?”

“Mercutio.”

“Going, going. And you’ll feel so bad when you see my broken form in the morning, do you hear me? You’ll see!”

Benvolio sighed and turned around, pulling the covers over his shoulders. As Mercutio’s stomping disappeared down the hall he burrowed into Tybalt and closed his eyes. Finally, silence.