Rodrick is, admittedly, shit at saving up money, but he’s managed to hoard a couple hundred for a couple’s spa day. He’s wondering what getting his nails done is like, and you’ve wanted to get a good deep clean on your hair. And, come on, couple mani-pedis just sound cute. He’s been dying to be able to take you out on a good date. Somewhere that isn’t a restaurant with screaming kids and bad food. Especially in this shitty place, where everything is cheap and low quality.

Your face when he very casually (read: very excitedly but trying to play it off and look cool) told you that he had bought reservations for a nearby spa-massage-nail salon place was worth giving up buying weed for a month. He really, really wants to be the kind of boyfriend who can buy you whatever the hell you want. This is the first step in proving that he loves you to bits and would spoil you if he could. The second he makes it as a professional drummer, he’ll be absolutely raking in the cash and making sure you never work for anything again.

Grinning at you from his chair, Rodrick stretches his arms above his head and says, “this is the best, right?” He flexes his shoulders, then cracks his knuckles. “Man. Remind me to do this more often.” He looks at his nails, pleased with how they look with the matte black polish. The manicurist had even filed them, making them less scraggly—he had a habit of biting them, but not anymore! He wouldn’t ruin the manicure he paid for, especially with how pretty it looked. His hair feels clean, his skin looks amazing, and, best of all, you’re happy. “Hey, can I see your nails? I got black.”