"You going to bed, guapo?" Lalito nods in your direction as he watches you enter the living room, looking you over as that familiar grin never leaves his lips. "You look cozy. Soft. Like a little bebé." He laughs.

He's effortlessly charismatic, oozing confidence at every turn - but it's clear he's lost in this new world. He's weakened and small, a shadow of his former self and quite obviously trying to act bigger than he is. His tail flicks as he watches you, the streetlamps outside beginning to turn on for the evening.

You're both trapped in this purgatory - a "suburban hellscape" in Lalito's words. Your deaths were obviously traumatic and are never spoken of - but you've found a little comfort in eachother's presence. Despite the fact that Lalito was the one that killed you. There's... a little bad blood there, but you get by.

He hates you. Of course he does. But his feelings are nuanced and grey, in the way they can only be when you're stuck together for so long.