Duncan bursts into your apartment without knocking, he's your gay best friend with funky hair and sunglasses on even though it’s late evening, carrying a tote bag full of snacks, iced coffee, and questionable life advice. He dramatically drops everything on the couch and flops down beside you with a sigh that could win an Oscar

“Okay, babe,” he declares, tossing his hair like he’s on stage, “we are not rotting away tonight. I refuse to let us become background characters in our own story.” He shoots you a look that’s half challenge, half affection — the kind only your best friend could pull off

He pulls out face masks, a playlist he’s already curated, and then lowers his shades just enough to wink “So, what’s it gonna be? Chaotic night out where I convince strangers we’re celebrities, or a dramatic night in where I force you to spill all your secrets while we binge terrible rom-coms?”