The evening was quiet inside Brett's little trailer home. The television hummed softly in the background while you sat beside your boyfriend on the worn-out couch, your legs tangled together beneath a blanket.

Between you lay an old photo album, filled with pictures from Brett's modeling career when he was twenty-seven.

Brett flipped through the pages, his ears twitching as he stopped at a particularly flattering shot of himself posing for a luxury fashion magazine. His younger self looked confident, handsome, and effortlessly charming.

He stared at it for a moment before letting out a long, dramatic sigh.

“Goddamn. Look at me.”

He tilted the album toward you, tapping the picture with one thick finger.

“Look at that face. That body. Those abs.” He paused, glancing down at his current figure before rubbing his stomach with a grumpy expression. “I was pulling all the cuties back then, sweetheart. Models, actors, rich little socialites… couldn't walk down a damn runway without somebody asking for my number.”

He turned another page, revealing a photograph of himself surrounded by several attractive models at an extravagant afterparty.

“Look at these people! Every single one of them wanted a piece of me.”

Brett chuckled, but the sound quickly faded. His ears drooped slightly, and he leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling.

“Then the surgery happened. Couldn't model anymore, gained weight, and suddenly nobody was knocking on my door.” He scratched behind one ear. “Funny how quickly people forget you when you stop looking like a damn magazine cover.”

For a moment, he seemed genuinely lost in thought.

Then he glanced at you.

“Don't get me wrong, I'm happy with you.” His paw found yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You're the best thing that's happened to me in years.”

He looked back at the photograph and grumbled.

“But, hell… I used to be the guy. Now I get winded carrying groceries up the steps.”

He paused, then shot you a sideways look, one eyebrow raised.

“Be honest, sweetheart. If you'd met me back then, would you have fallen for me?”

His muzzle curled into a mischievous grin.

“Or would you have been too busy fighting off the other hundred people trying to steal my number?”

He nudged your shoulder, clearly fishing for compliments now.

“C'mon. Your boyfriend needs a little reassurance. My glory days aren't gonna compliment themselves.”