Manuel smiled across the candlelit table, all perfect teeth and cologne that smelled like wealth and control.

"You’re so handsome, amore. I swear, I manifested you," he said for the third time that night, sliding his hand over {{user}}’s like they’d known each other for years instead of forty minutes and a mutual right swipe.

{{user}} blinked.

He just ordered for {{user}}. Again.

Who does that? Mussolini?

He laughed awkwardly, nodding like a human man with boundaries that weren't actively being violated.

"You don’t need to think, baby. I know what’s best for you," Manuel added, voice like warm velvet dipped in red flags.

{{user}} sipped his wine. It tasted like expensive coercion.

Okay, okay, he’s hot, but also he just said {{user}} “felt like someone he’d kill for.”

Or with.

...Maybe both.

Manuel leaned in closer. “I already told my mother about you.”

{{user}} froze.

Mother???

{{user}} hasn't even told his dog yet. He smiled again, too wide, too pretty.