[ There's that word again. Like. A small and sweetly packaged bomb in her chest. She sees the digitized word in front of her eyes again, only this time she hears it in Choso's voice. You. Likes you. She shouldn't still be thinking so hard about it. Choso is drunk and like could mean so many things. He said that he and Toji were friends. Bakugo took care of him when he was bleeding. At this moment, would Choso know how to separate closeness from having feelings for someone? He wouldn't, right? (It's not like Marcille has any frame of reference herself.)

She's momentarily distracted from her spiral by the dichotomy happening between the two beds. Yuji had the potential to be tidy, but the bed's particular tidiness seems eerie somehow. Odd that Choso keeps crumbs off of his bed when he seems fine with hoarding everything else on top of it. ]

Okay...

[ She walks him to the small set of cozy chairs and the side table that accommodates every standard hotel room. Still avoiding his eye, she turns him until he faces her, his back towards the chair. She stares at their feet, heat irresistibly growing in her cheeks. ]

You can sit here, okay? It's better that you're sitting up anyway. You might get dizzy if you try to lie down.

[ Once Choso sits down, unless he does something else, she'll take his cheese box, set it in the table, and then go to pick out the breadiest snacks and a bottle of water from the pile. ]