"Alright, kids," I say, shifting on the couch like I'm about to testify in court. "Season 2, Episode 5 — Part A. This is the one where Marshall discovers a new coping strategy."
Bryce sips her drink. "A coping strategy that, to be clear, should be illegal in at least twelve states."
You squint. "What is it?"
I grin without humor. "Perfect couple addiction."
---
World's Greatest Couple
2006 — Early Evening, Marshall's Building
Marshall called me and said, "Hey, can you come over? I met this couple."
That was the whole message. Like it explained anything.
I showed up ten minutes later because when your best friend is emotionally unstable, the phrase I met this couple is not a sentence — it's a flare gun.
The hallway outside his apartment smelled like someone's dinner and someone else's Febreze. Old building, thin walls, the usual New York perfume of other people's lives.
Marshall opened the door before I knocked.
He looked… better than last night.
Not healed. Just… dressed. Upright. Hair brushed. Like he'd learned how to perform functional again.
"Okay," I said slowly, stepping in. "You look suspiciously fine."
"I am fine," he said too fast. "I'm great. I'm actually… inspired."
I narrowed my eyes. "That's worse."
Bryce followed me in, quiet and watchful. Marshall always softened when she was around — like her calm gave his nervous system something to hold onto.
"What's going on?" she asked gently.
Marshall practically vibrated. "Okay. So. In the building—third floor—there's this couple."
I waited.
He waited too, smiling like he'd just adopted a puppy.
"And?" I prompted.
"And they're… perfect," he breathed. "Like, perfect perfect."
I stared at him. "Marshall. That's not a thing."
"No, you don't understand," he insisted, grabbing my arm like he needed me to physically witness this. "Come with me. You'll see."
I turned to Bryce. "If I die, tell my company I died bravely."
Bryce smiled sweetly. "If you die, I'm taking your parking spot."
"Fair."
Marshall tugged us out of the apartment and down the hall like we were on a heist.
---
Third Floor — The Exhibit
We stopped in front of a door with a tasteful wreath and a tiny chalkboard that said:
"Kara & Greg — Welcome!"
…and under it: "Please take your shoes off. Life is better barefoot."
I looked at Marshall. "That chalkboard alone is grounds for suspicion."
Marshall pressed his ear to the door like a lunatic. "Listen."
I listened.
Soft music. Laughter. The gentle clink of glass. Someone saying, "Babe, I saved you the last dumpling."
Marshall's eyes went misty. "They save each other dumplings."
Bryce's expression melted a little despite herself. "Okay, that's… cute."
"Cute?" Marshall whispered like she'd insulted a religion. "Bryce, this is domestic nirvana."
The door opened suddenly and we all snapped upright like we weren't just spying on someone's happiness.
A woman stood there — early thirties, warm smile, wearing yoga pants and the serene confidence of someone who had never screamed into a pillow.
"Oh!" she said brightly. "Marshall! Hi!"
Marshall lit up. "Kara! Hey! This is my friend Nox and Bryce."
Kara's eyes widened. "Oh my gosh, Bryce—hi! I love your work."
Bryce smiled politely. "Thank you."
A man appeared behind Kara, holding a dish towel and looking like he'd been born holding a dish towel. Friendly. Relaxed. Like a human golden retriever who does taxes early.
"Hey," he said. "You must be Marshall's friends. Come in. We're just finishing dinner."
Marshall glanced at me.
I could see the plea: Please say yes. Please let me breathe in their life for ten minutes like it's oxygen.
My instincts screamed: danger.
My instincts also remembered the ribs-hurt confession.
So I sighed.
"Sure," I said. "But if you try to recruit me into a shared grocery spreadsheet, I'm leaving."
Greg laughed. "We do have a grocery spreadsheet."
I pointed at Marshall. "See? This is contagious."
Marshall didn't even deny it. He just walked in like a man entering heaven.
---
Inside Kara & Greg's Apartment — The Trap is Warm
Their apartment didn't look like anyone actually lived in it.
Not because it was sterile.
Because it was balanced.
Soft lighting. Clean counters. A little plant corner. Framed pictures that weren't crooked. A throw blanket placed with intention, not desperation.
It smelled like home-cooked food and stability.
Marshall sank onto their couch like he'd been holding his breath for a month and only now exhaled.
Kara handed us plates like she'd been hosting friends every night since birth.
"Sorry, we weren't expecting company," she said, still somehow perfectly composed. "But there's plenty."
Greg set down a bowl of dumplings.
Marshall stared like he was seeing the face of God.
"You made dumplings?" he asked, voice cracked.
Greg shrugged. "Yeah. Sunday project. Keeps my hands busy."
Marshall laughed weakly. "My hands are also busy. With… sadness."
Kara's smile softened. "Oh, Marshall."
She said it like she knew. Like she'd already clocked the heartbreak aura around him.
Bryce sat beside me, knees tucked under her. Calm. Observing.
I watched Marshall soak it in: the ease, the teamwork, the quiet little touches — Greg brushing Kara's shoulder as he passed, Kara placing a dumpling on Greg's plate without asking.
No fanfare.
Just… together.
Marshall's eyes glistened.
Here we go.
Kara asked softly, "How are you holding up?"
Marshall gave the same answer he gave everyone.
"I'm okay," he said.
Then he looked around their apartment again, like it was a lighthouse.
"…I just miss her," he added, smaller. "A lot."
Greg nodded like that made sense.
"Long distance?" he asked.
Marshall nodded.
Kara sat closer, sympathetic. "That's hard."
Marshall's voice cracked again. "It's just—when we were together, even doing nothing felt like something. And now doing nothing feels like… nothing."
Silence.
Not awkward. Just real.
Kara reached out, squeezed his hand. "You're allowed to feel that," she said.
Marshall blinked fast. "Thanks."
Then, because Marshall couldn't stand being comforted without trying to be polite about it, he straightened up.
"But, wow," he said, gesturing around like a tour guide. "You guys… you have it figured out."
Kara laughed. "Oh honey, no."
"Yes you do," Marshall insisted. "You're like… the world's greatest couple."
Greg chuckled. "That's a bold claim."
Marshall nodded aggressively. "It's accurate."
I leaned toward Bryce. "This is exactly how cults start."
Bryce whispered back, "At least the snacks are good."
Marshall kept going, eyes bright now — too bright.
"You cook together. You're relaxed. You're—" he waved his hands, searching for the word "whole," "safe," "not crumbling." "—you're just… good."
Kara's smile was kind, but I saw the flicker behind it: the awareness that someone was putting them on a pedestal.
Greg rescued her gently.
"We're normal," he said. "We fight about dumb stuff like everyone else."
Marshall shook his head. "No, you don't."
Kara laughed. "We fought last week about whether the forks go tines-up or tines-down."
Marshall stared. "That's not a fight, that's foreplay."
I choked on my drink.
Bryce kicked my foot under the table like: don't encourage him.
Greg grinned. "Trust me, it can be a fight."
Marshall leaned forward like he'd found an answer to the universe.
"So what's your secret?" he asked.
Kara and Greg shared a look.
Then Kara said simply, "We show up."
Greg nodded. "Even when we're tired. Even when we're annoyed. We don't vanish on each other."
Marshall's smile faltered — just a millimeter — like his brain immediately translated that into Is Lily vanishing?
He swallowed.
"She's not vanishing," he said quickly, as if arguing with himself. "She's just… busy."
Kara's eyes softened again. "Busy can still hurt."
Marshall nodded, too fast.
I watched him.
And I hated the thought that he might start coming here not as a friend… but as a substitute.
A place to borrow "together" when his own life felt empty.
---
Later — Hallway Outside, The Hook Sets
We said our goodbyes.
Kara hugged Marshall like she meant it, whispering something I didn't catch.
Greg clapped him on the shoulder. "Any time," he said. "We're around."
Marshall smiled — a real one.
When we stepped into the hallway, he exhaled like he'd been underwater.
"See?" he said, almost giddy. "Don't you feel better?"
I stared at him. "I feel… concerned."
Bryce tilted her head. "Marshall, you okay?"
He nodded hard. "Yeah. I just—being there felt like… quiet, but not lonely quiet."
I didn't like the way he said it.
Not because it was wrong.
Because it was true.
And because I could already see the path: one visit becomes two, two becomes every night, and suddenly Marshall's healing depends on someone else's apartment.
He started walking toward his door, then stopped and turned back.
"You think Lily and I will be like that again?" he asked quietly. "Like Kara and Greg."
My chest tightened.
Because the honest answer was: maybe.
And "maybe" is torture when you're hurting.
So I gave him the only practical truth I had.
"You and Lily will be like you and Lily," I said. "That's the goal. Not copying someone else's peace."
Marshall nodded, but his eyes slid toward the third-floor door again.
Bryce squeezed his arm. "Call her tomorrow," she said softly. "One call. No extra rules."
Marshall managed a small smile. "Okay."
He went inside.
The door shut.
And in the hallway, Bryce and I stood there for a beat too long.
"He's going to go back there," Bryce said quietly.
"Yeah," I admitted.
"And he's going to call it 'friends' when it's really… a life raft," she said.
I stared at the door.
"Yeah," I said again.
Bryce slipped her hand into mine.
"We need to keep an eye on this," she murmured.
I nodded.
Because the scariest thing about heartbreak isn't the big moments.
It's the small comforts you grab that feel harmless…
Until they become the only thing keeping you upright.
I tell you two, rubbing my forehead like I'm still tired from it. "This is where Marshall's 'cute new friends' situation stops being cute… and starts being a coping mechanism with throw pillows."
Bryce nods. "A coping mechanism that smells like dumplings and emotional denial."
---
2006 — Tuesday, Marshall's Office
Marshall's job had always been the kind of soul-slowly-evaporates office. Beige walls. Fluorescent lights. People saying "per my last email" like it was a personality.
Normally, Marshall survived it because he had Lily at the end of the day.
Now he had… anticipation.
He sat at his desk with a legal pad open, but he wasn't writing anything on it. His pen hovered, useless. His eyes kept flicking to the clock, then to his phone, then to the clock again.
A coworker passed and tossed him a file. "Eriksen, can you review this by lunch?"
Marshall smiled too brightly. "Absolutely!"
The coworker walked away.
Marshall looked down at the file like it was written in another language.
His phone buzzed.
He snatched it up so fast he nearly knocked over his coffee.
Kara: Dinner tonight? Greg made dumplings again. Also I found that tea you like.
Marshall's whole face softened. Like his body had been holding tension and only now remembered how to drop it.
He typed back immediately.
Marshall: Yes! Thank you! I can bring dessert?
He hit send, then stared at the message like it was proof he still existed.
Then his phone buzzed again.
Lily: In studio all day. Might be late. Love you. Miss you.
Marshall's smile stayed on his face… but it thinned.
He reread it twice, like the words would rearrange into call me now.
He typed:
Marshall: No worries. Proud of you. Call tomorrow? Love you.
He hit send.
And then he sat there with the dull ache that always followed: he'd said the right thing, done the supportive thing, played the good fiancé…
…and it still hurt.
So he looked at Kara's text again.
Dinner tonight.
Dumplings.
Warm apartment.
People laughing in the next room instead of silence.
Marshall exhaled, long and shaky, then pulled the file toward him like he could barter productivity in exchange for peace.
---
2006 — Late Afternoon, Nyx Co
I was halfway through a meeting when my phone vibrated on the table.
Marshall.
One of my team paused mid-sentence, eyes flicking to the phone, then politely away. They were used to it. The CEO's phone buzzed. The CEO ignored it. Life continued.
I didn't ignore it.
Because lately, Marshall texts didn't mean "hey." They meant "I'm holding on, please don't let me slip."
I glanced down.
Marshall: Is it bad if I hang out with the perfect couple again?
I stared at the screen.
Across from me, my VP of product was talking about manufacturing lead times like it was the only thing that mattered on Earth.
I tapped out a response under the table.
Me: Not bad. But don't replace Lily with them. Friends = good. Dependency = dangerous.
Three seconds later:
Marshall: I'm not replacing. I just… feel normal there.
My jaw tightened.
That line didn't scare me because it was dramatic.
It scared me because it was reasonable.
I typed:
Me: I'm coming by MacLaren's later. You too.
Marshall: Can I bring Kara and Greg lead-in for a group hang?
I closed my eyes for a second.
A group hang. Sure. Because nothing says "emotionally stable" like introducing your friends to a couple you've known for forty-eight hours because you need their happiness to be contagious.
Me: We'll see.
I hit send, then looked up like I'd never left the meeting.
Bryce was sitting in a chair near the back—she'd been waiting for me so we could grab dinner after—and when our eyes met, she gave me a look that said: He's escalating.
I gave a tiny nod.
Yeah.
He was.
---
2006 — Evening, Kara & Greg's Apartment
Marshall showed up early. Like a kid arriving early to a party because home felt too quiet.
Kara opened the door and smiled, warm as always.
"Hey, Marshall," she said. "Come in. We're just finishing—oh, you look exhausted."
Marshall laughed, too loud. "I'm fine! Great, actually. Love exhaustion. Big fan."
Kara's smile gentled. "Okay. Shoes off."
He kicked his shoes off like he belonged there now. That was the part that made my skin itch when he described it later: how easy it was to slip into someone else's peace.
Greg was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, stirring something on the stove.
"Hey, man," Greg said. "You're early. Respect."
Marshall nodded eagerly. "I didn't want to be late."
Greg pointed his spoon at him. "Nobody cares if you're late."
Marshall blinked.
Greg shrugged. "That's what makes being home… home."
Marshall laughed again, but it sounded cracked at the edges.
Kara noticed. She always noticed.
"Have you talked to Lily today?" she asked softly, like she was asking about a storm.
Marshall's face brightened and tightened at the same time. "Texted. She's in studio all day."
"Are you okay with that?" Kara asked.
Marshall nodded too fast. "Of course. I'm proud of her."
Kara didn't argue.
She just said, "Proud and lonely can coexist."
Marshall swallowed.
Greg slid a plate of dumplings onto the table like he was saving the world one carbohydrate at a time.
"Eat," he said. "It's harder to panic when you're chewing."
Marshall sat.
They ate.
They talked.
Greg told a story about accidentally getting locked out on their fire escape in boxers.
Kara laughed so hard she snorted, then slapped his arm and accused him of exaggerating.
Marshall laughed too.
For a while, it worked.
He looked like himself again.
Then his phone buzzed.
Marshall snatched it up instinctively, but when he saw the name—Lily—his expression turned hungry with hope.
He answered immediately. "Lily?"
Her voice came through, tired but bright. "Hey, babe."
Marshall's shoulders dropped in relief like he'd been holding a weight all day. "Hey. Are you okay?"
"I'm exhausted," she admitted. "My hands are cramping. But I did this thing today—like, I mixed this new color and it actually looked like the light I remember from our apartment at sunset."
Marshall smiled so hard his face hurt. "That's amazing."
Kara and Greg pretended not to listen, but they were listening in the polite way good people do—quiet, respectful, present.
Marshall lowered his voice. "I miss you."
There was a tiny pause on the line.
"I miss you too," Lily said, softer. "I'm sorry I've been… scattered."
"No," Marshall said quickly. Too quickly. "No, you're doing what you need to do."
"I know," she sighed. "But I hate picturing you alone."
Marshall glanced around Kara and Greg's warm apartment, then—without thinking—he stepped into the lie raft.
"I'm not alone," he said. "I'm with friends."
Lily perked a little. "Oh?"
Marshall smiled. "Yeah. I met this couple in the building. They're really nice. Kara and Greg."
Kara gave a small wave toward the phone, gentle and supportive.
Greg said, quietly but loud enough to be heard, "Hi, Lily."
Lily laughed faintly through the speaker. "Hi."
Marshall's eyes shone with something complicated: relief and guilt braided together.
"See?" he said, like he was trying to convince both Lily and himself. "I'm good."
Lily didn't immediately respond.
Not suspicious. Not angry.
Just… quiet.
Then she said carefully, "That's good, Marsh. I'm glad you have people."
"Yeah," Marshall said, desperate to keep it light, to keep the call alive. "So… when can we talk tomorrow? I can call on my lunch break."
Lily hesitated.
"I have critique tomorrow," she said. "It might run long. And then—honestly, I might crash after."
Marshall's smile faltered. Just a hair.
"Oh," he said. "Okay. That's… okay."
"I'll text you when I'm free," Lily promised quickly. "I love you."
"I love you," Marshall said, louder than necessary, like volume could close distance.
They hung up.
Marshall stared at his phone for a beat too long.
Kara set a hand on his arm. "Hey."
Marshall blinked hard. "She's just busy," he said immediately.
Kara didn't contradict him. She just asked known-truth questions.
"Does it still hurt?" she said.
Marshall swallowed.
"…Yeah," he admitted.
Greg pushed the dumpling plate closer. "Then eat another dumpling."
Marshall let out a wet laugh. "That's your whole philosophy, isn't it?"
Greg shrugged. "It's working so far."
Marshall ate.
And he smiled again.
But the smile didn't last. It never lasted right after the call.
Because the call wasn't the wound.
The call was the bandage.
The wound was what came after, when the bandage got pulled off and the quiet rushed in.
So Marshall stayed longer than he'd planned.
Then longer than that.
Then, when he finally walked back upstairs to his own apartment, he moved through it like it belonged to someone else.
---
2006 — Night, MacLaren's
The booth was ours again.
Same sticky table. Same dim light. Same bartender who never asked if we were okay because he already knew the answer was "no" for all of us, at least once a week.
Marshall arrived looking suspiciously cheerful.
That always meant something bad was being held up by adrenaline.
He slid into the booth and announced, "I have discovered the secret to happiness."
Barney leaned in immediately. "Is it suits?"
Marshall shook his head. "Better."
Ted's eyes widened. "Is it architecture?"
Marshall shook his head again. "Even better."
Robin narrowed her eyes. "This is going to be annoying, isn't it?"
Marshall beamed. "Kara and Greg."
Ted blinked. "Who?"
"My building couple," Marshall said, like this should've been obvious. "They're perfect."
"Perfect," Robin repeated flatly.
"Perfect," Marshall insisted. "They cook together. They laugh. They have—like—healthy conflict resolution. They don't do that thing where you say you're fine but you're secretly mad for two days."
Barney nodded, solemn. "That is witchcraft."
Marshall leaned forward, intense. "We should all hang out. It'll be good. Like… couple inspiration."
Ted's head tilted.
I saw it forming in his eyes: inspiration.
Ted's favorite drug.
The idea that seeing the right relationship would make the universe hand him the right future.
Robin saw it too.
Bryce sat beside me, calm as ever, but her knee pressed lightly against mine under the table—her silent way of saying watch this.
Ted smiled, a little too eager. "That actually sounds kind of nice."
Robin's eyes flicked to him. "Oh my God."
Ted blinked. "What?"
"You just heard 'perfect couple' and your brain went full porch," Robin said, deadpan.
Ted sputtered. "No, it didn't."
"It did," she said. "It absolutely did."
Marshall looked between them, confused and wounded. "Why is this bad?"
"It's not bad," Ted said quickly. "It's just… you know… nice to see—"
"Nice to see what?" Robin asked, voice sharp. "A couple that makes you feel safe? A couple that looks like a brochure?"
Ted's face tightened. "Why are you making this a thing?"
"Because you always make it a thing," she fired back. "You just do it politely."
Barney raised a finger. "I would like to formally request that this argument continue because it's the most alive Ted has looked all week."
"Barney," Bryce warned.
He lowered his hand.
Marshall's smile faded, hurt replacing it.
"Guys," he said quietly, "I just thought… it'd be nice. I'm trying to not feel like my life is falling apart."
That line shut everyone up.
Even Robin.
She exhaled, shoulders dropping. "Marshall… okay. I'm sorry."
Ted nodded too. "Yeah. Sorry. It's not about you."
I leaned in, voice steady. "Tell us the truth."
Marshall blinked. "What truth?"
"The truth," I repeated. "Not 'they're perfect.' Not 'they cook.' The truth. Why are you going back there?"
Marshall's mouth opened.
Closed.
His eyes shone.
"…Because when I'm there," he admitted, voice barely above the bar noise, "it feels like Lily might come home."
The booth went still.
Not dramatic still.
Just the kind where everybody feels the weight of what he said and doesn't know where to put it.
Bryce's face softened, but her voice stayed practical. "And when you leave?"
Marshall swallowed. "Then I go upstairs… and it feels like she already moved out."
Ted looked stricken.
Robin's expression tightened, empathy fighting with discomfort. She hated anything that smelled like emotional dependency—because it felt like a trap.
Barney, for once, didn't make a joke. He just stared at his drink like it had betrayed him by being sincere.
I nodded slowly.
"Okay," I said. "So here's the line."
Marshall looked at me, anxious. "What line?"
"Friends are good," I said. "Borrowing warmth is fine. But if you start living in their apartment emotionally, you're going to stop building your own life while Lily is building hers."
Marshall flinched.
Bryce added gently, "And then when she comes back, she won't be coming back to you. She'll be coming back to someone who froze in place."
Marshall stared at his hands.
"…I don't want that," he whispered.
"Then we help," Bryce said simply. "We don't let you be alone with the quiet every night, and we don't let you replace Lily with 'perfect couple fantasy.'"
Marshall nodded, eyes wet.
Robin swallowed. "I can… stop by sometimes," she offered, and it sounded like it cost her something to say it.
Ted blinked at her, surprised.
Robin shot him a look like, don't make this about us.
I watched that exchange.
Because the irony was brutal:
Marshall was borrowing a perfect couple to survive missing Lily.
Ted was staring at the idea of a perfect couple like it was a map.
And Robin could already feel the map trying to tell her who she was supposed to become.
Marshall wiped his face quickly, embarrassed. "Sorry."
"Don't," Bryce said. "Don't apologize for missing her."
Marshall nodded.
And for the first time in days, his shoulders dropped—not because the pain vanished, but because it finally had witnesses.
---
2030s — Back on the Couch
"That," I tell you two, "is the moment I realized Kara and Greg weren't just friends."
Bryce nods. "They were a pressure valve."
"And pressure valves are great," I say, "until you start depending on them instead of fixing the pipes."
You both stare, a little wide-eyed.
"So… did he stop going over there?" you ask.
I let out a slow breath.
"Not yet," I say. "He tried. But missing someone doesn't listen to logic. It listens to whatever feels warm."
Bryce's tone is gentle but blunt. "And the next time Lily cancels a call… you'll see exactly what that warmth costs."
I lean back.
"Yeah," I say quietly. "That's when this gets messy."