No one took Art seriously when he would wax poetic about how much he loved you, not even yourself. He was so so serious about you, everything about you. He was thoroughly obsessed, Patrick would mock him for the starstruck look in his eyes when he looked at you. He followed you hopelessly, clinging to your hand and never wanting to be without you. At night, he would murmur the sweetest things into your neck as you tugged your fingers through his soft golden curls.

"I'm gonna marry you," he murmured.

"You're funny," you laughed softly in response. You weren't the type to want to be tied down.

He huffed, eyebrows drawing together and putting that little crease between his blonde brows. You rubbed at it with your thumb, pouting. His arms tightened around your waist. "I'm serious, baby. Serious about you."

You huffed, pressing your face into the side of his neck. "Yeah, and you want ten kids, too, I guess?"

He shrugged, like it didn't sound all that ridiculous.