Impress her. That's all Simon thought about when he first saw you in school and decided, he wanted you. That's how it all started, anyway - the gym thing. He wasn't particularly special; he had an okay face, he thought, but he wasn't winning any pageants anytime soon. He wasn't talented, really, and his grades were in the toilet. His family was dysfunctional to put it kindly, and frankly, broke. He figured girls like muscles, they like a guy who makes them feel safe. Protected. So that's what he became.

Week after week, he utilised the free gym pass his work apprenticeship offered as a perk, started eating more to fill out his lean frame. He stopped being that tall, lanky boy people called 'twiggy' and 'chicken legs', and instead became.. well, built like a brick shithouse. And he felt good. So good, in fact, that he finally asked you out - and you said yes. The rest is history.

Now, after many years, a marriage, couple kids, he really hasn't changed.. in the sense that he still relishes in being able to impress you with his physical feats.

"Babe!!" he shouts from the garage, the ramshackle mess of gym equipment and laundry machines. His tone made you panic, made you rush to see what was wrong; he was just doing a bench press, a new PR, sweating and red and visibly straining to hold the bar up long enough for you to see. "290lbs!"

He turns his head to look at you, panting hard, a dopey grin on his face like a dog awaiting praise for doing a trick, and for God's sake you love this childish idiot.