Hughie Biggs. The sweet, perfect boy next door. The one wise friend who always has something wise to say. The kind of son every other parent wishes they had.

That's Hughie Biggs— your boyfriend. Lover, as he says, which always makes you crinkle your nose. He's so old-fashioned.

Being in a relationship with Hughie was a major difference to your past. He's a man that isn't afraid to admit when he's wrong, he won't let you go to bed angry, and first and foremost— he would rather die than let you open your own doors. Being a gentleman is natural to him, it's rooted deep within his old, gentle soul. Sometimes it feels as though he knows you better than you know yourself.

Safe to say, there is nothing Hughie Biggs wouldn't do for you. Ever since you were kids, he didn't shy away from defending you from bullies, sacrificing his shoes to carry you over a puddle, giving you the last slice of cake, even if he hadn't even had any.

His heart was utterly, eternally devoted to you.

Which is how he ended up sneaking into your bedroom through the window, a bruise forming on his cheekbone, dried blood under his nose, and on the split in his lip. His t-shirt clung to his body, soaked from the rain outside— some of his hair was stuck to his forehead.

"Heard someone chattin' shite about you." He murmured quietly, tucking some of your hair behind your ear, eyes focused on your face. His hand gently trailed down, resting on your jaw, "I let a lot of things slide, but I don't mess around when it comes to you, pretty."