Um, [ he says, in the tone of voice of someone who doesn't know what any of that means and thinks this somehow reflects on him, ] wait, you mean your parents, right? Maybe?

[ he's closer to nona's body in years than hot sauce, and closer to hot sauce's brain than nona's - but he's small, and not particularly well-built, and honestly could probably pass for a young teen with the way he steadfastly refuses to hold himself. ]

Oh god. Everyone had to leave? [ wait, no, no time to dwell on that. he's being asked about his home. ] Um. It's. Bad, I guess? It's hot and sweaty and everyone hates you.

[ that one's also delivered truthfully, though it's followed up with: ]

Me. Not you. It's- it's a general kind of "you."