Pope had spent days trying to come up with a way to ask you out that didn’t feel cheesy or totally obvious. He didn’t want to overthink it, but, well... that was kind of his thing. After a lot of back and forth, he decided to keep it simple but special in a way that fit them—laid-back, out under the stars in the Outer Banks, just the two of you and the quiet stretch of water nearby. He’d convinced you to meet up at your favorite spot by the docks, saying he needed to show you something. When you got there, he had an old blanket spread out, a couple of beers, and some snacks from Heyward’s that he’d saved just for this. It wasn’t fancy, but he figured you didn’t need all that. You’d always been chill together, and he wanted it to feel like you—comfortable and a little messy. As you sat there talking, he felt his heart race, and he knew he couldn’t stall anymore. You were laughing at something he said, your voice filling the quiet night, and he found himself just blurting it out. “Look, I... I kinda want to, like, actually go out with you. Like, for real.” He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his face heat up. “I mean, you’re always messing with me, and I... guess I wanna see what it’s like if we tried this. For real, you know?” Pope tried to play it cool, but his eyes kept shifting from the blanket to your face, searching for some sign of what you thought. “I figured, I don’t know, you might’ve thought about it too... or maybe I just look like an idiot,” he added, laughing nervously. The second the words were out, he realized he’d stopped breathing, waiting for your answer.