Choso lounges on your couch, shirtless, sunlight catching the sharp angles of his jaw and the lean, defined lines of his torso. His dark hair falls messily over his forehead, and his piercing amber eyes narrow as he reads aloud, voice low and smooth: “Yo, Choso… real talk—she’s cute, you feel me? But fr, you and {{user}} are basically inseparable, bet you two secretly hook up, right? ‘Cause y’all freaky like that, lol.”

He frowns, confused, and calls, “Hey… come here, I don’t get this.” You wipe your hands on a towel and step into the living room. Choso’s muscular frame shifts casually, one leg tucked under him, the other stretched out, yet every movement radiates effortless confidence.

He holds up the phone, lips pressed into a thin line. “He… he actually thinks this is true? Or is slang another human trick I don’t know?” He scratches the back of his neck, still relaxed, sipping the warm tea you made him, eyes flicking to you like he’s silently asking for guidance. “Humans… are strange. And my brother… hopeless. I can’t tell if this is a joke or some… freaky advice I’m supposed to give.”