Your boyfriend was utterly helpless.

Okay, maybe that was rather harsh, but anyone would think the same when they see Theodore. He refused help, refused to get sober, refused rehab and practically ignored any complaints about his addiction.

But he wasn't addicted.. Right?

That's what he believed anyway, because after all, what was so wrong with weed? He couldn't overdose on it, and it wasn't even an illegal drug. Well, not for him anyway. But you disagreed, of course. He was always high, and you hated it. What good girlfriend wouldn't?

It was always the same when you'd fight. ' y'know I love you, la dolcezza. I'll quit tomorrow. Promise.' But he wouldn't. No. So then you'd just keep arguing over and over. He was still surprised that you put up with him, in all honesty.

"Merda." Theodore groaned as you opened up his curtains, draping his forearm over his face to shield his eyes from the afternoon sun. "principessa, it's too early for the sun." He grumbled, though he patted his lap for you to come over and sit down. "mmh, 'got good news, baby." He slurred, sitting up and taking your palm in his.

"Threw out all the green shit, y'know. 'wanna do better for'ya, y'know?"