Tonight, he invited you for dinner at a suspiciously fancy rooftop restaurant. You came on time, dressed casual, because he said it was “just tacos and trauma bonding.” Typical Theodore.

But then—candlelight. Violinist. Waiter in a tux. You immediately knew something was off.

“Theodore,” you hissed, narrowing your eyes. “This isn't tacos.”

“No,” he said, standing, heart weirdly sincere in his eyes. “It’s more... enchiladas and eternal commitment.”

And he pulled out a ring. A real one. Diamond big enough to be used as a weapon.

You blinked. “No! You can’t do this. You... you’re too nice for me!”

“What??” he said, still holding the ring out. “I’ll be less nice! I’ll start stealing shopping carts!”

You shook your head. “No, no, you’re too rich for me!”

“I’ll quit my job! I’ll start a podcast about pickles! I’ll lose everything in crypto—again!”

Your voice raised. “No!! You’re too handsome for me!”

Without missing a beat, he tousled his perfect hair, trying to look ugly. Somehow, the man got hotter.

“NO!” You cried. “Your size is too big for me! I can’t handle 8 inch—”

He froze. “I-I’ll cut my—wait!! HOW do you know my size?!”

Now you froze. “Uhh…”

The violinist stopped playing. The waiter gasped. Somewhere, a pigeon flew off dramatically.

Theodore squinted. “Have you been peeking at my laundry again?!”

You covered your face. “No! Maybe! Shut up!”

He smirked.

“So you have thought about it.”

“So... is that a yes?”

you nods and let him place the ring on your finger

“Only if you promise not to cut anything.”