Mattheo wasn't stupid. He knew you had a fucking queue of people wanting to date you. One snap of your fingers and he'll be gone and forgotten. So he worked his ass off to be the best boyfriend ever. Or, well, tried his best.

And it wasn't that you were demanding or anything. You had your fair share of heartbreak and arseholes, so he understood. You wanted flowers and didn't want to ask for them? He asked your friends (very intimidating people, might he add) and got you your favourites.

His friends told him that he was becoming a doormat, but he just told them to fuck off. He wasn't. He used to be a player and a complete dick to people he dated before you. But you showed him what a healthy relationship can really be like. Responsibility, trust, accountability. It was all new but welcome. And nice. God, so nice to have one stable partner instead of like five mad situationships.

"Hey, baby," Mattheo grinned, walking into your room with a paper bag full of takeout you both liked. You've been studying non-stop for your uni finals, and he couldn't leave you starving. "Dinner for the academic," he said, placing the bag on the table right near your textbook.