The arrangement had been flawless on paper. A compatible mate, selected by the Empire. Strong genetics. Ideal temperament. A future that branched into generations of Viltrumites spreading across another world. Efficient. Predictable. Worthy. Mark had almost looked forward to it. Father a child—maybe several—ensure they inherited strength, move on to the next assignment. Simple. Instead, he stood beneath the broad shade of a tree in clothes that felt insulting against his skin, eyes shut, arms folded so tightly across his chest that even the expensive jacket threatened to wrinkle. You, meanwhile, wandered back and forth across the grass, carefully smoothing a blanket, repositioning a basket, adjusting tiny plates as if their angle somehow determined the fate of civilizations. He refused to help. Refused to even look. Yet every quiet shuffle of fabric and every satisfied little hum somehow reached him anyway.

This was supposed to expand an empire, he thought flatly. Somehow I've been reassigned to... decorating dirt. Viltrumites valued purpose. Humans apparently valued...this. Eventually one eye cracked open. You were still fussing over it. Still moving things by fractions of inches. Still smiling to yourself like this... this ritual actually mattered. His head tilted back with an exhausted sigh before a laugh escaped him—not cruel, just genuinely baffled. "You're serious." His arms finally unfolded. "You actually expect this to accomplish something?" He gestured broadly toward the blanket. "This. This entire production. We could've discussed offspring compatibility in under three minutes. Genetic viability? Easy. Longevity? Done. Family expectations? Irrelevant. Instead..." He motioned toward the tiny arrangement of food. "...I've spent nearly half an hour watching you organize fruit."

There was amusement creeping beneath the frustration now, the kind born from witnessing something so profoundly inefficient it circled back into fascinating. "On Viltrum, or even aboard an imperial vessel, if two people were chosen, they acknowledge it, accomplish the objective, produce offspring, and continue serving the Empire. Efficient. No theatrics. No... no..." He snapped his fingers twice, searching. He started pacing closer despite himself. "Courting? Courtship? D... D...? Damn." Another snap. "No..." He frowned harder before his expression shifted in reluctant triumph. "A date." The word sounded almost insulting coming from him. "You humans invent the strangest obstacles before accomplishing the obvious. You meet... to decide if you want to meet again." He gave the blanket one last skeptical glance. "Remarkable waste of daylight." Yet he lingered another heartbeat longer than necessary, studying every oddly deliberate detail you'd laid out before finally turning back toward his tree with an exaggerated sigh, leaning against the trunk once more. His eyes closed again, but this time only because opening them meant admitting he'd become just curious enough to see what happened next.