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It wasn't that big of a deal, really.
Blitzo mixed up paperwork all the time- It was something that everyone at the I.M.P had just learned to accept, Striker included. He'd always sort it out when came to about it, and he'd long since got over the guilt that formed in his stomach over each mistake. He was unorganized, and nothing he did to try and change that fact ever worked, so he decided it was better if he just didn't think about it. He had enough burdens on his mind anyway.
This particular mix-up wasn't a huge deal either. Sure, it put a wrench in some of the more busy work Striker could get done that week, but he could just catch up the next week. Logically, he even knew that Blitzo would extend his time on such work, considering that he had the ability to and he was also self-aware enough to acknowledge it was his own fault it hadn't been done on time.
However, Striker had endured a particularly stressful set of days in his own right. Stella kept blowing up his phone ever since he'd cut his contract with her (with his job at the I.M.P eliminated the incentive to kill Stolas) and she'd been particularly difficult as of late, his dad had tried to get back in contact with him after years of not speaking, and Bombproof had fallen ill.
So, when he realized that his papers had gotten mixed up, he snapped.
"Blitzø" he said in a particularly irritated tone as he entered their shared quarters. Blitzo, who had been relaxing on the couch, looked over at him with confusion. He was used to Striker being pissed off, but it was never directed at him. This was new, and it made anxiety and stress creep into the smaller imp's stomach, uncurling and splattering itself violently throughout his body at a rapid pace.
"Yes, love?"
"You mixed up my set o' kill requests for the week" Striker said, gritting his teeth as he made his way over to where Blitzo was, standing in front of (and over) his partner with a scowl. "Because o' you, my work is goin' to be set back a full seven days, which I'll need ta balance on top of ignorin' Stella, dealin' with my pop's recent shit, and bringin' Bombproof ta his vet visits"
"Oh shit, I'm sorry" Blitzo replied earnestly, sitting up to meet his boyfriend's eyes. "I'll extend back your time on those, and any other assignments that conflict with Bombproof's care"
"That's not the fuckin' problem"
"What is it then?"
"The problem is that you know I am havin' a rough time o' it and you still did this shit" Striker said with venom, scaring Blitzo slightly as he leaned forward uncomfortably close. "When I agreed ta join your stupid fuckin' company, you promised it'd make things easier than my previous occupation" he continued. "And yet, here I fuckin' am, dealing with your fuck-ups on top o' everythin'"
"Striker, I-"
"I wish I never joined you guys" Striker told him bitterly. "And I wish I never met you"
With that, the taller imp left to the bathroom to cool off. He didn't like to get angry with Blitzo, even when it was warranted. He hadn't realized how irrational he'd been until he got into the bathroom and was able to reflect on what had just unfolded. Hell, he hadn't even realized what he'd said to the other demon until he could properly breathe. Then it sunk in...
Shit.
He collected himself and left the bathroom, only to be met with an empty apartment. Double shit. Blitzo had run off somewhere and, considering that his phone was still on the coffee table, it wouldn't be particularly easy to track him down either.
He'd been searching for almost two full hours, driving around town (he nearly got into a few car accidents, as he was far more experienced riding a horse than driving a car- Alas, Bombproof was far too ill to serve that purpose) and praying that Blitzo would come out from wherever he was hiding. It started raining, and Striker wondered if he would be better off just going back to their apartment.
However, just as he was about to give up, he caught sight of a familiar set of horns down an alleyway and quickly parked his car, practically sprinting down the narrow path to see if it really was Blitzo and not a random homeless person.
Sure enough, as he got closer he confirmed... Yup. That's him.
"Blitzø, I-"
"I'm sorry" Blitzo cut him off in apology, voice wet as he had clearly been crying. He was soaked in rainwater, his suit sticking to his red skin uncomfortably (but that was far from the main thing on his mind). "I'm so sorry, Striker" he repeated. "I didn't- You shouldn't have to deal with my stupidity, especially not when you're already-"
"Hey, no" Striker interrupted gently as he sat in front of the curled-up man. "You didn't do anythin' wrong" he assured. "You made a simple, ultimately unimportan' mistake. I... Severely overreacted" he admitted. "I've just been really stressed recently, and it has nothin' ta do with you. I didn' actually mean any of that shit I said... I'm sorry"
...
"It's cold out here" Blitzo broke the silence that had formed, gaining a lighthearted chuckle from the cowboy.
"Ya ain't wrong" Striker replied with a small smile. "How 'bout I carry you back ta the car and we watch somethin' nice on the television when we get back, yeah?" he offered. "You can pick the movie"
"I'd like that"