It’s not Art’s fault his roommate has such a pretty girlfriend.

He was almost dumbfounded the moment he saw you, wrapped around the arm of that motherfucker. (His roommate actually wasn’t that bad; Art was simply lovesick, and he needed someone to hate—to blame.)

He was not expecting to come home from a late night practice and to find you curled up in his tiny dorm bed, his roommates bed empty. She’d probably fallen asleep waiting for her too good (it actually angered Art) boyfriend and fallen asleep. It made Art feel bad.

He set his gym bag down on the floor and moved over to his bed, placing the blanket that was on the floor over her body. You stirred for a moment after the gesture, then opened your eyes, looking up to see him.

“Sorry,” he says quietly, though there’s no point in being quiet now, “I didn’t mean to wake you. You looked cold.”