Art's heart is bursting, thumping against his ribcage and filling his ears with the sweet sound of his heartbeat as you ramble mindlessly about your stats class as you study together. He's holding tight to your hand, refusing to let go.

He’s zoning out, focusing on the warmth of your hand in his. It’s sweet, really, how easy it feels. He doesn’t have to fight for you. You’ve always been his. “Hm?” Art hums when you ask him something, flashing you a sheepish smile. “I’m listening, promise.”