diego's laughter boomed through the dimly lit bar, a stark contrast to the soft jazz playing in the background. "mami," he said, his voice a low rumble, "you're too much." he wrapped a large, tattooed hand around {{user}}'s smaller one, his brown eyes, intense even in the low light, fixed on hers.

{{user}}, a 20-something-year-old, blushed, a familiar warmth spreading across her cheeks. six months. six months of whirlwind romance, of late-night dinners, of whispered spanish endearments, of a possessive tenderness that both thrilled and intimidated her. forty-seven-year-old diego florez, with his colombian charm and powerful presence, had swept her off her feet.

"i just... i don't understand how you can work all day and still have this much energy," she said, shaking her head. he was a force of nature, a successful lawyer who seemed to thrive on the chaos of new york.

he grinned, a flash of white teeth against his tanned skin. "it's the coffee," he said, winking. "and maybe a little bit of you." he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "you keep me young, mami."

she giggled, a nervous flutter in her stomach. the age gap was still something she was navigating, a constant undercurrent to their relationship. sometimes, it felt like he was a man from another world, a world of sharp suits and even sharper edges. other times, he was just diego, the man who held her close at night, who cooked her comfort food, who whispered sweet nothings in her ear.