The mornings where neither Artie nor I had to leave early for work were my favorite. Cuddled beneath the sheets, I didn't have to fake a cheery and positive attitude – and I certainly didn't have the urge to spit into someone's linguini. Between the drives back and forth to Ohio State, the bills that needed to be paid, and the jobs that provided the money possible to do both, I needed such a morning.

Keeping my eyes closed, I rolled from my usual sleeping position onto my opposite side. I nudged myself across the bed until my cheek touched the surface of Artie's pillow. The tip of my nose searched for his face, however there was nothing but air. I opened my eyes and sleepily looked around the perimeter of our bed, but no Artie. Curling my fingers around the side of the bed, I quickly looked over the edge to make sure he hadn't fallen and knocked himself unconscious. Luckily, the only things to be seen were hardwood flooring and sheep skin slippers.

And so, rolling out of bed, I set off on my quest to find my missing morning cuddle partner. He was a grown man; I wasn't concerned about his whereabouts…but I missed him. Over my silky pink and black cami set, I threw on the bulky blue mens robe that I had adopted into my wardrobe before flattening down my bed hair in the mirror. The left over make up that I had neglected the night before was smeared around my eyes, but I looked decent enough to walk around the apartment.

As I made my way down the hallway, I tightened the robe around my waist and twisted it into a loose knot to keep the two halves closed and the warmth inside. The bathroom door was open, and the lights were off, thus narrowing down Artie's whereabouts. Passing the lifeless kitchen, I made my way into the living room. A table lap dimly lit the area, and a think head of brown hair rested on the arm of the couch.

"I don't remember putting you out here," I lightheartedly commended, coming up behind the couch and piling my forearms on the edge.

From his plaid blanketed side, he rolled onto the back of his shoulders, and looked up at me with a pitiful look. The color was washed from his cheeks and transfused into the whites of his lazily opened eyes.

"Artie?" I called with concern as I pushed myself around to the other side of the couch where he lied.

"I don't feel good," he croaked, holding the blanket around his torso tightly as he shook violently. Tucking the robe under me, I sat down on the edge of the couch, and cleared away his bangs before pressing the back of my hand against his forehead.

"Poor thing," I sympathized after bringing my hand back into my lap from his overheated skin. "Can I get you anything?"

Artie shook his head and folded the blanket down from his neck from his stomach. Continuing to convulse, he reached an arm out to gently tug at my hand.

"What is it, honey?" I asked, bending at the waist to ease myself closer. He took his arm back and shifted to his left side so that his back rested against the wall of the couch.

"You want me to lay with you?"

Closing his blood shot eyes, he faintly nodded. I adjusted halves of the robe around me once again before bending my knees to pull my legs up on the couch next to his. Once I was settled on my right side next to him, he slid down the couch, and pressed his warm forehead against my chest. His whole body shook against me, and his breaths shuttered along with the shaking. Being closer to his face made me realize how red his eyes were…almost as if he was an extra on the set of a horror movie and had to wear colored contacts. It scared me. He was really sick.

By noon, probably on account of shaking all morning, Artie was worn out. Once I was sure he was asleep, I started to follow out my internal plan to take a bathroom break and fix myself something to eat quickly enough so Artie wouldn't wake up and find me gone. I replaced my chest with a pillow under his heavy head before sitting up and swinging my legs over the edge of the couch. Maybe I'd get him a blanket from our bed while I was up…and maybe dig out the thermometer too for good measure.

Suddenly, a warm hand reached out and gripped my forearm. With a jump, a gasp, and a hand to my chest, I looked back at Artie. He sunk into the couch and puffed out his lower lip in apology.

"It's okay…you surprised me, that's all," I said.

"Don't go," he mumbled, tightening his shaky grip.

"I'm not going anywhere," I assured, shaking my head. "Just the bathroom and maybe a few other stops along the way."

After one more squeeze and a nod, he retracted his arm back under the blanket.

"Need anything while I'm up?"

"My prescription?" he softly requested.

"Of course, Art. I'll be right back…I promise."

After emptying my bladder and washing my face, I continued down the hallway to our bedroom. Artie's preparation medication, as I called it, sat on top of the current read on his nightstand. The orange bottle was filled half way with little white pills, and the label around the cylinder stated Artie's medical information and dosing instructions. I held the bottle in front of my face as I gathered the top blanket from our bed under my arm, reading the tiny print. There were side effects noted under his name and address, but none of them matched up to Artie's symptoms. Unlike my original hypothesis, it wasn't the medication that was making him sick.

With my desired items in possession, I returned to the living room. Artie was asleep once again. Being careful not to wake up, I laid the extra blanket over his body, but he had already stopped shaking. In fact…he wasn't moving at all. Quickly putting down the pills, and the glass of water I had picked up for him on the way back, on the coffee table I went to sit back down on the couch.

"Artie?" I called, tapping his shoulder. "Arthur, this isn't funny."

Nothing.

"A-Artie?"