Work Text:
Pope watches you from across the pool. He’s sitting at the edge, dipping his feet in while everyone else around him drank, swam, and just enjoyed the vibes.
You were chatting with some women that Craig had invited. You, outwardly, looked fine. You were smiling as you conversed with the women, laughed every few minutes. You weren’t showing any obvious signs of discomfort.
Emphasis on obvious.
Pope’s eyes narrow as your fingers kept fidgeting, rubbing against each other, twiddling.
He knew you did that when you were anxious.
He doesn’t hesitate when he stands up, grabs a towel from a nearby chair and mindlessly dries himself off.
He walks around the pool, to the other side of where you stand.
He takes your hand in his, “I need your help with something.”
You look at him with furrowed brows, “Everything okay.”
“Yeah. C’mon,” he tugs at your hand and you give a wave to the women you were with.
You follow Pope into Smurf’s home. He continues to guide you through the house to his old room, now occupied by his nephew.
“What’s up, Andrew?”
“Just thought you’d want some quiet for a little bit.”
You feel your insides melt from his consideration, “Thank you. I-I didn’t just want to leave. Those girls were nice and I didn’t want to seem rude-“
Pope shakes his head, “You don’t need to explain.”
“How’d you know though?”
He maneuvers his weight from one foot to another, trying to figure out what to say. Does he tell you the truth? Does he say that he’s been watching you for years, taking in your little quirks and mannerisms? Does he confess that he’s taken note of everything about you so he knows when you’re happy, sad, or anxious? Does he explain that for years, he’s collected these little things and he stores them in his mind because he loves you?
He shrugs, “Just got the vibe you needed a break.”
You give him a shy, yet grateful smile, “Thank you, Andrew.”
“No problem,” he replies nonchalantly and heads for the door.
Your hand catches your wrist, “Can you stay?”
Abso-fucking-lutely.
He shrugs again, “Sure.”
Inside, his heart is doing somersaults.
You sit on the floor, back against J’s bed, legs bent, and elbows resting on your knees.
Pope mimics your position, but sits two feet away from you.
You scoot closer so your shoulders are touching and you lean your head against him.
You two sit in silence, the echoes of the pool party outside filling the quiet room.
Good thing too.
Because Pope was sure you’d be able to hear his pounding heart.