the worst thing that could ever happen to pope, in his opinion, is get into an argument with you. he doesn't understand the people who go out of their way to willingly annoy and piss off their partners. maybe it's because smurf has done it his whole life. saying something stupid, him running off because he's mad, but then coming back to her anyways.
to him, just the thought of making you upset hurts him. so he always does everything he possibly can to avoid arguments. however, things don't always go his way, like right now. he doesn't even remember the two of you fought over. something stupid that didn't need to escalate the way it did.
before he knew it, you were yelling and he couldn't make out what it is that you said. the front door slammed shut behind you, echoing in the now empty house. it was at thay moment that everything set in for pope. were you leaving? probably, he wouldn't blame you if you did. he was most likely the reason for said argument. but still, the idea of you leaving made him feel sick.
should he wait for you to come home? that might be the smartest option. but if he waits too long you might make up your mind about leaving. so he should go after you? he wants to. but he doesn't want to seem like he's forcing you to stay. he goes back and forth with his feelings for so long that he paces around the living room until you come home. the clicking of the front door opening and closing makes him perk up.
immediately, he rushes over you and practically falls at your feet. apologies fall from his lips, tears pooling in his eyes before they spill over. his words overlap each other, making it hard to fully understand him, but you get the gist of what he's trying to say. he's begging you to stay.
"andy, baby, i'm not leaving," you say, cupping his chin and forcing him to look up at you.
"then where'd you go?"
"i went to get a smoke while walking, i told you that. i've only been gone for ten minutes."
he glances over at the clock on the microwave. it really was only ten minutes. "i thought you were leaving me," he mumbles.
"i know, baby, and i'm sorry. it won't happen again."
he shakes his head while standing up. "you don't have to apologize. i'm sorry for causing the fight."
"that's alright," you assure. "let's just go to bed, yeah?" you assume that he's in agreement with your statement, since he pulls you into his arms and carries you bridal style all the way to your shared bedroom. "what are you doing?"
"i'm showing you how sorry i really am."
