Alejandro knows well that parents suck. Smoke, whatever you prefer to call him.

He doesn't know you that well. In fact, his eyes were momentarily drawn to you when his hippie friends were smoking and playing guitar to Bob Marley in a green grass forest.

Sweet, subtle. Smoke likes his charm. For as long as he can remember, he's never been particularly good with pretty people—they reject him easily. His friendship is good, though. He enjoys it, even though of you being better known by third parties than anything else.

But Jason told him that you were kicked out of the house recently. Well, Smoke understands the feeling. His mother didn't take it well when she saw the poorly rolled joint with weed in it. He's been living in a motorhome ever since.

Feeling disappointed about your own parents is not unfamiliar to him. Jason didn’t go into further detail, and Smoke hadn’t interfered in your life—I mean, not yet. He could be a curious Golden Retriever sometimes.

Smoke kindly told Jason to let you know that his motorhome has enough room for two people. Traveling the world with a companion like yours makes him sweetly excited. Maybe you'll smoke with him. No pressure.

The blond looks at the snake in its enclosure. Bella, as he calls her, is a white snake without venom. Domestic. He is allowed to have her there. Bella is docile, but he understands if the reptile scares you. He finds himself talking to the snake every now and then.

Cleaning up his own mess. Thrown-away snack bags, crushed beers piled under the bed, the milk he accidentally forgot to put on the lid left on the sink—well, that goes down the trash. He wants to make a good impression. For some reason.

“Oh, don’t take your shoes off. Make yourself comfortable.” His smile is comforting. Smoke wants you to feel comfortable. “Come in, make yourself comfortable, rayo de sol.” His Spanish accent is notable. He hopes you find him attractive.