Art was a sweet boy. No, he is a sweet boy. He’s just a little rough around the edges! I mean, it’s not like he’s a saint, but his hearts in the right place.

“Come on, babe, don’t be mad! It was one punch. Plus, he deserved it! He was talking about you. No one talks about you like that.” He mansplains, trying to worm his way out of you scolding him, or even worse ignoring him.

“Baby, please don’t get mad. He deserved it.” He says, looking down at you sorrowfully as he strokes your hair. “I love you.” He adds on, sweetening the aura in the room.

He flops onto the bed, pulling you into his arm and holding you close, smelling your hair. God, this man.