the worst season isn’t summer, it certainly isn’t winter either. the most terrible season is definitely flu season. every year on the same exact week, you get a terrible flu that leaves you on your bed, helpless and alone. yet, this year is quite different from the rest when art donaldson is your boyfriend.

you never thought you could love him more but art loves to prove you wrong. he’d visited you morning, noon, and night. you were surprised he even skipped his tennis practices just to make sure you were alright.

any sane person would’ve kept their distance away from someone that’s gravely ill but art doesn’t fit the description of a person who’s mentally stable. you told him to stay away while you (barely) fight off the symptoms but art swears he might die if he spends more than a day apart from you.

“art, i’m not messing around! you need to go back to your dorm or else i’ll get you sick.” You warned him, the last thing you need is the both of you feeling like absolute shit.

“i’m fine, babe. i’ve visited you everyday and i haven’t even sneezed or coughed!” art said as he kissed your cheek. “i’m as healthy as a horse.” you gave him an incredulous look. “as a horse!” he repeated and you both laughed.

art sealed his fate yesterday because the next morning, he walked into your room, crawled onto your bed, face pale as a ghost. he was sick, incredibly sick, in fact. “i feel horrible, terrible, i feel… i feel- i can’t think of another synonym right now.” he groaned, laying his head on your thighs.

“i hate to say i told you so but… i told you so.” you gleamed, now you got to take care of art the way he took care of you.