”Uh c-chum— why exactly are we doing this again?”

Jake stutters as his hands smooth over the cropped blue shirt he’s wearing — the words ‘I’m the Brazilian dream’ printed in bubblegum pink letters over his chest.

“Recreating one of my favorite images.”

Jake chuckles nervously, his fingers tugging on the rather short pink satin skirt he’s wearing. “Why did you choose me though? Im sure there are a horde of strapping men who would be m-much more suited to this than me.”

“You’re the only Brazilian I know.”

He sighs a little, cheeks blushed dark crimson. “Yes i.. i guess that makes sense. But does it really have to be this… flamboyant? Gosh— i cant even see a thing out of these blasted spectacles!”

He takes off the pink sunglasses on his face, squinting at some invisible smudge that only he can see. He pulls up the hem of his shirt to clean them off, and that’s when you really cement in your head that yes, his outfit does in fact need to be this “flamboyant.”