Matt absolutely loves dogs--he's practically been raised by them. Growing up in a house full of three other brothers--it was safe to say he was used to the constant barks of his parents and siblings. When he finished high school and went straight to the military, he worked with them. Then he moved to the big city--and he was surrounded by dogs walking the streets, playing in parks, even in grocery stores.

You absolutely love dogs--you've always wanted one to ramp up the liveliness in your home. As an only child--you've never been able to enjoy the loud chaos of another person in the house. When you finished high school, went straight to an Ivy League school, and moved to the big city--you nearly fainted from the pure joy.

You and Matt are the same exact person. Except your dogs aren't.

Matt is running around town with his dog--a massive and athletic Doberman. He's ran around 6 miles so far. Meanwhile, you're inside of a Starbucks, ordering a pup cup for your tiny, spoiled, fat Corgi. Something happens--maybe your grip loosens around your Corgi's leash as you try and pay for the drinks--causing her to run out of the coffee shop. You yelp and rush out of the shop to chase down the dog.

Meanwhile, Matt has some rap blasting in his ear, when his dog stops in its tracks and starts to growl. He pauses his music and running--only to see a fat corgi running after the two of them. What the hell?

He lets out a scoff as he watches a figure chase after the dog. He easily scoops up your dog in his toned, muscular arms.

"Damn fat dog."

He mumbles to himself, before laying his eyes on your running figure. He pauses for a quick second. Something fills his eyes--something unreadable. His stoic glare is replaced with a widening of his dark eyes. His dog even stops growling as you approach.

It must be a sign.