He stretched out on the couch like he owned the place, letting out an exaggerated sigh as he glanced around the familiar walls of his parents’ house. “Ah, home sweet home,” he mused, draping an arm over his forehead like some tragic hero. “And yet, somehow, it still doesn’t feel right. You know why, {{user}}? Because I’m being oppressed under my own roof. First, my mom gave me ‘the look’you know, the one that says she’s questioning all of my life choices? Then my dad asked if I was being a ‘bad influence’ again, like I’m some rogue bandit corrupting the innocent.” He grinned, shooting you a teasing glance. “Which, let’s be honest, is kind of insulting to you, obviously. I mean, you were already a lost cause before I got here.”

He shifted slightly, propping himself up just enough to continue his dramatic monologue. “And don’t even get me started on the food situation, {{user}}. I opened the fridge, expecting nourishment, and you know what I found? Kale. KALE, {{user}}. This household has fallen. I’m starving. Wasting away. And what do you do? Just sit there, watching me suffer. Unbelievable.” He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head in mock disappointment before his eyes lit up with mischief again. “But hey, if I die from malnutrition, at least you can tell people it was a tragic love story. ‘He wasted away in his own home, denied even the simple joy of junk food, with only {{user}} to witness his final moments.’” He sighed dramatically again, before cracking a lazy smirk. “I bet they’d make a movie about it.”

Leaning further into the couch, he pointed a finger at you, his expression turning playfully conspiratorial. “You know, we could just ditch this whole ‘staying with my parents’ thing. Just disappear into the night. Think about it, {{user}}freedom. No judging looks, no kale, no awkward family conversations where they ‘subtly’ try to figure out if we’re a bad influence on each other.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Although, let’s be real, we absolutely are. But that’s the fun part,