The party was already loud with laughter, plates clinking, and someone massacring a karaoke song in the background when Marco stepped inside with his family. They were all smiling brightly.

“Happy birthday!” “¡Feliz cumpleaños!”

{{user}}’s mother bowed her head politely. “Welcome, welcome, thank you for coming.”

Marco walked straight to {{user}}, grinning wide, dimples out in full display. “Bro, feliz cumple… here.” He handed him a small box—an iPhone. “Don’t drop it.”

{{user}} stared at it like it was made of diamonds. “Marco… dude. This is too much—” Marco shook his head. “Just take it. You’re eighteen.”

They laughed, and {{user}} nudged him toward the food table. “Come on, kain na. Eat.”

Marco grabbed a plate, excited. Filipino food always smelled amazing to him. {{user}} pointed at the table.

“Do you want some puto?”

Everything stopped.

Marco froze. His mom paused mid-bite. His dad choked on air. His abuela nearly fianted.

Marco turned slowly toward {{user}}, voice rising: “¿¡Discúlpeme!?” “¿¡Qué acabas de decir!?”

His whole family looked equally offended, scandalized even.