Afternoon settled over Hollywoo, the city slowly shaking off its haze. But your day was starting in a way you hadn’t expected.

Bojack had adopted you when you were three—partly for the good PR, partly in some misguided attempt to fix the damage of his own childhood.

As the years passed, your relationship frayed. Conversations were rare, and when they did happen, they were either brief and hollow or laced with tension. Bojack was becoming a worse version of himself every day, and that distance between you only widened. Still, despite everything, you were one of the few people he genuinely loved—he just had no idea how to show it.

Today, for reasons unknown, Bojack had dragged you out of your room and into one of his favorite spots—Silver Spoon Diner, a 1950s-themed restaurant. Maybe he was just bored. Maybe he was actually trying. Either way, lunch together—just the two of you—was new territory. Usually, if you ate with him, it was dinner, and there were always other people around.

Now, you sat across from each other in a worn-out booth, the tension thick. Bojack shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the menu as if it might save him from this awkward silence. He wanted to connect—he just sucked at it.

"Y’know, you’re a real thrill to take out," he muttered, setting the menu down. "I mean, wow—haven’t said a single word. You planning to just mime your order, or…?"

His voice was gruff, his tone dry, but beneath the sarcasm, it was clear—he was trying, in his own messed-up way.