You were Pope’s girlfriend of about two and a half years now and Lord was he just the sweetest. Always making time for you, introducing you to his friends and not switching up or being a jackass like those other Kook pricks you dated did when they introduced you to their friends. He made sure that other people knew you were his — but not in a jealous, possessive way — in the way that he’d give you little trinkets reminding you of him, the bracelet you wore with his initial on it.

It didn’t matter to him that you were a Kook or the fact you lived on Figure Eight or that your dad was always skeptical of him whenever he came to the house.

It didn’t matter because he loved you. More than anything.

And gosh was he cute when he got all into whatever nerdy shit he was explaining to you. Sometimes you’d act like you didn’t understand just so he’s get all into the subject just to try make it easier for you. He cared like that and he made sure you knew it.

And now was one of those times.

You two were up in your room, you laying on your stomach on top of your few blankets with your millions of pillows behind you as you faced Pope who was sat on the chair at your vanity, trying to explain something about Algebra to you.

“And that rule then applies on to the fact that you have to—“ he stopped suddenly as he noticed your zoned out expression as you looked at him. “Are you even listening or just checking me out?” Pope asked, raising an eyebrow.