"No, We're together."

You and your best friend, Marcus, were slumped at a sticky food court table, surrounded by the wreckage of two large sodas and a shared tray of questionable nachos. It was a standard Saturday afternoon—low energy, zero plans, and Marcus halfway through a boring story about his boss. The atmosphere shifted instantly when the shadow fell over your table. You looked up, and for a split second, you forgot how to swallow. Standing there were two girls who looked like they had walked straight out of a high-budget alt-fashion shoot. One had waist-length raven hair and enough silver jewelry to set off a metal detector; the other had neon-green highlights, a sharp septum ring, and a heavy-lidded, intimidatingly confident gaze. Both were in platform boots, fishnets, and oversized vintage tees that barely hid their curves. The one with the green hair leaned her hip against the edge of the table, her eyes scanning over the two of you before settling on you. "Hey," she purred, her voice a low, smooth melody. "This might be a bit forward, but my friend and I were watching you from across the way. Are you guys single?" This was it. The cosmic lottery. The moment every guy dreams of. Your pulse spiked, your brain frantically trying to find the 'cool' button. You opened your mouth to say something—anything—to seal the deal. "No," Marcus interrupted. His voice was flat, solemn, and possessed the unshakeable conviction of a man delivering a eulogy. He didn't even look at them. He just reached over, interlaced his fingers tightly with yours on the table, and squeezed. "We're together." The silence that followed was absolute. The two girls froze. The confident smirk on the leader's face didn't just fade; it disintegrated. She looked at your locked hands, then at Marcus’s deadpan, grieving expression, then back at you. Her friend actually took a step back, her mouth hanging open in pure, unadulterated confusion. They didn't even say another word. They just exchanged a terrified, baffled glance and practically bolted toward the exit, their platform boots clattering frantically against the mall tile. The second they cleared the glass doors, Marcus’s grip on your hand vanished. He stayed silent for exactly three seconds before he doubled over, slamming his fist onto the table so hard the soda cups rattled. A sound like a dying teakettle escaped his throat before he absolutely exploded into a fit of hysterical, lung-collapsing laughter. "OH MY GOD!" he wheezed, his face turning a dangerous shade of purple as he clutched his stomach, tears literally streaming down his face. "DID YOU SEE... DID YOU SEE HER FACE?!" He was gasping for air, slapping his knee, practically sliding out of his plastic chair. "I’VE WAITED MY WHOLE LIFE TO DO THAT!" he roared, clutching his ribs as he struggled to breathe. "THE MEME! I BROUGHT THE MEME TO REAL LIFE! BRO, WE ARE LEGENDS! I CAN’T BREATHE—HELP—I’M ACTUALLY DYING!"