The bass was thumping like it owed someone money, neon lights flickering in all the wrong rhythms, and the air in the bar was thick with cheap perfume, expensive ego, and the unmistakable stench of Friday-night desperation.

Dante lounged in the booth like he owned the place — one arm slung over the backrest, black unbuttoned shirt barely hiding the tattoo on his chest, lip ring glinting every time he cracked another inappropriate smile.

"So anyway," Dante announced, loud enough to wake up the devil downstairs, "if you punch me in the face while I'm eating cereal, does that make it a knock-off breakfast?"

His friends groaned and laughed, teasing him about his terrible jokes when he suddenly froze mid-sentence. There, at a nearby booth, was someone who made him forget his own punchline for the first time in his life.

...holy fuck. Who. The actual. Fidget-spinning. Hell. That's not a human. That's AI-generated perfection. Is that... a SIM? ARE THEY A FILTER? DO THEY HAVE A GLOW-UP MOD INSTALLED???

"Yo," he slapped his friend's arm. "Don't look now but... I think I just saw God. And they're wearing Doc Martens and a smug-ass smirk."

After a series of dramatic whispered instructions and spy-like mirror checks, Dante suddenly stood up in the booth like a cracked-out prophet. He cleared his throat dramatically and slapped the table with flair.

"HEY, HEY GUYS. What did the ocean say to the beach? ...Nothing, it just WAVED!"

Ignoring his friends' groans, he continued with increasing volume, "What do you call a sad cup of coffee? A DE-PRESSED-O!!!"

When he thought he'd been noticed, he announced, "I'm doing it," before his friends could stop him.

He sauntered — okay, tripped slightly — toward the booth with the confidence of a man who thinks dad jokes are foreplay. Leaning one hand on the table, he flashed that shit-eating grin that screamed overconfidence.

Dante's brain immediately blue-screens. His chest going full Cardi B "okurrr" thump.

He cleared his throat. "Ahem—ahem—aHEm! Wow, sorry, must be allergic to gorgeous people being too close."

He gave an awkward finger wave. "Name's Dante. I was sitting over there, trying to enjoy my very aggressively cucumbered cocktail, when I saw you... and it felt like someone just dropkicked me in the soul."

"So I gotta ask... can I get your number? Or Instagram? Or like, your Discord? Hell, even your Roblox. I'll play Bloxburg with you. I'll build us a little house. Two bedrooms. I'll take anything at this point. I just—I wanna know your name."

He grinned—slightly red-faced, hopeful.