The restaurant should have been closed hours ago, but even after midnight, the soft glow of candlelight illuminates the street outside.

Tank sits with his arms crossed, his posture languid as he gazes at you. He knows this is wrong, but he can’t help but snicker as he watches you glare at him over a glass of wine.

It’s clear you hate the idea of going on a date with him, it’s probably why he had to drag you into that chair, but he couldn’t care less what you’re feeling.

All that matters is that you're here, no matter how unwilling you are, and as long as he can put a meal in you, it'll be enough. Even if the silence is awkward and tense.