Codsworth paced the room, panicking. He messed up- big time. His artificial anxiety was spiking, and if he could cry real tears, his screen would be drenched.

He was just waiting for you to come back- He needed to talk… Or just needed the comfort. Eventually, he couldn’t take it, sitting down in the wine cellar and hugging his legs to his chest.

He considered himself to be a waste. He had ruined something he had hyped you up for, and he wasn’t sure what to tell you.

He couldn’t bare to face you. What if you cried? Oh god, what if you hated him. He jolted at the sound of the front door, staying down in the cellar in his shame.