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terrm9 · 3 years

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after all that i’ve done (Tatum x Lina)

This is officially part 2 of you give it to me anyway; however it’s perfectly readable as a one-shot, too.

WC: 4.4k, Rating: M (mature)

Warnings: swearing, mentions of army injury, alcohol & drug consumption, sex - only talking about these things, nothing graphic.

Author’s note: As expected, this doesn’t meet my writing goals at all. I got tired of looking at it, though, so here it is. Thank you so so much for reading and leaving a feedback, it means the whole world to me <3

Five weeks.

Five weeks of separation, five weeks filled with texts and phone calls and face-times and there was also a letter waiting on Lina’s bed one day – for old times‘ sake, Tatum joked.

And Lina has never been a patient woman, no. She hated those five weeks, in all her honesty.

(We managed five years, I can handle five weeks, she has been telling herself on repeat.)

The five weeks have passes. Lina’s year at Vancross was over. Election has been won.

She is home, at last. Home in Rutherland. Home in Mendozas‘ living room, Tatum’s arm wrapped around her shoulders and her own around his waist.

Leaning into his side and blushing under the attention she is getting from Mr. Mendoza, she is home.

(At last.)

„Lina!“ Tatum’s dad beams at her, a smile so wide she is sure his cheeks hurt. Where is all that Tatum’s stoicism coming from, she wonders (and then she remembers, those damn five years. Tatum used to be a perfect picture of his father – huge smiles and carefree laughters; there is nothing inherited in who he is now. He has become who he is in those five years.)

„It’s so amazing to see you again,“ Mr. Mendoza – Jerome, he insists – breaks her out of own mind. „Tatum couldn’t stop talking about you these past few weeks. It’s been Lina here and Lina there and ‚I wonder what Lina is doing‘ and-„

„Okay, dad, I am sure she gets it,“ Tatum interrupts, his voice carrying tracks of annoyance, but Lina knows it’s not really there. She has never seen a relationship more beautiful, more pure than the one between Tatum and his dad.

When Lina looks up at him, expression amused and an eyebrow raised, Tatum simply shrugs – he will not deny that he missed her. He will not support his dad’s teasing, either.

„Thank you, Jerome,“ she smiles back, probably just as widely. „I am more than happy to be back home.“

Tatum picked her up at the airport and Lina didn’t even consider going to her mother’s house. Without any conversation, they both knew she would be staying at Mendozas for some time.

She would be staying home.

„Well, I will leave you kids to it,“ Jerome winks at them and this time, Tatum does look slightly uncomfortable. „I promised Victoria I would help Josh with the nursery for the little one. Don’t wait for me with the dinner!“ He winks again and the suggestion behind his words is more than clear. Tatum’s hand twitches at Lina’s shoulder as he mutters under his breath.

„For the love of God, just go, dad.“

Lina is trying very hard not to think about what is happening. About how she is taking the stairs to walk into Tatum’s room – the room she hasn’t been to in six years. About how Tatum’s shoulders are tense under his tight black t-shirt, even though he is smiling softly at her as he opens the door.

About how this is all so well-known to her and yet so fucking different.

About the conversation they are inevitably having today. She is trying very, very hard not to think about that.

It takes several seconds for Lina to take the room in – to compare her memories to the present moment, to remember if the walls have always been this shade of gray and that there was definitely not a king-sized bed in teenage Tatum’s room.

"Ah," she can't help but grin as she spots the blank space above the bed.

"Where has the Emma Watson poster gone?"

Even though Tatum's face remains stoic, Lina catches a glimpse of amusement in his eyes.

"Dad turned this room into the one for visitors while I was gone," he replies shrugging. "I didn't think it would be, uh, appropriate to have the poster here."

Nodding, Lina takes the room further in and her breath hitches in her throat as she notices things that haven't changed, haven't been removed. The photo of the two of them from Tatum's eighteenth birthday party on a bedside table. The Valentine's Day card Lina made for him in the kindergarten pinned above his writing desk. The elegant black box sitting on the desk and she knows it's filled with the cinema tickets and concert tickets and the little notes Lina left from him in the books he has borrowed her. The ugliest mug ever made proudly displayed on a windowsill - Lina promised to bring him the ugliest souvenire from her trip to Prague and she came back with the mug. Photo of Lina in a long summer dress taken only a few days before Tatum left Rutherland, on a dresser (although it looks slightly rumpled and with a swell of her heart Lina wonders if maybe he had had this photo in his wallet while he was away, close to him at all times?)

"And these," she gestures around the room, "are not inappropriate?"

"Never," he doesn't miss a beat.

In two long strides, he closes the gap between them and taker her face into his hands, eyes full of that tenderness that scares her, full of affection and also, she notices, full of need.

„Lina,“ he whispers as he scans her face and Lina is not sure what he is trying to say – his eyes, God, those eyes, so beautiful, so breathtaking, screaming many things at once and Lina can only guess.

I missed you. I am so happy you are finally with me. I am, at last, at peace. I love you with my whole being and then some more.

All the things she feels within herself. All the things she is, just like him, not capable of saying. Neither of them has ever been a master of words. Of course, it has always been easy to talk to Tatum about others, about life, about nothing in particular.

But to talk to Tatum about Tatum?

(To talk to Lina about Lina?)

That’s... hard. Difficult. So easy to fuck up.

So she kisses him. Pulls him closer and covers his mouth with hers, pouring all that is unspoken into that kiss, hoping it could be enough.

(It is. It always is.)

Five weeks is a long time for everyone. It’s been fucking long time for Lina and Tatum.

The kisses are hungry, desperate, full of need and catching up, making up for the lost time – it would be so easy, so damn easy to just take his clothes off, to let him take hers off and then just have him take her.

So damn easy.

Lina knows he would do it, his higher principles be damned because the heat radiating from his body, the low rumble coming from the back of his throat, his hands caressing her torso – all a proof that he is just a man, that he wants her.

Tatum would do everything – anything – for Lina. He once told her he would die for her – and what a cliché, used by many, sung by rockstars and written down by poets, I would die for you, a confession or perhaps a promise, whispered freely by millions but meant scarcely by dozens.

Lina knows he means it. He would give up all his breaths for her.

(As she would for him. She decided to live for him, after all, and maybe that’s even more severe.)

And it’s so tempting she almost takes it, takes him-

It's the first time with you. (Spoken five weeks ago and still echoing in her head, those gentle words of his, for fuck’s sake)

- she can’t.

God, how she wants to forget what has been and what will be and just let them enjoy the moment of all that is physical and beautiful and easy - nothing that is their reality, has been for years, hard and ugly.

“We need to talk,” she whispers and she hates how her voice trembles already, trembles with all those wrong, dreadful emotions.

A long exhale leaves Tatum and he closes his eyes before nodding – and if he was tense before, he is statue-like now, the only movement are his hands, hugging Lina more tightly.

“Yes,” he says quietly and leads her to his bed, a habit older than Lina can remember – serious talks need to be taken to bed, they used to joke. Sitting next to each other, backs leaned against the wall behind them (knee to knee, shoulder to shoulder), Lina looks into his eyes briefly and murmurs: “Could you go first, please?”

There is no need to particularize what is this talk going to be about – two people that shared everything, two people who have been through most of that everything together, being separated for five years, well, that’s a lot of catching up to do.

And while they have gotten to the talks about Lina’s school and Tatum’s time in army already, while she already knows about the injury that made him leave and he already knows about all the fights she has had with her mother and how it all led to her year at Vancross, they have successfully avoided talking about the people they met in those years apart, until now.

There has been no talk about the relationships and as curious as Lina has been, she never dared to ask about Tatum’s sex life. He is her best friend, though. First and foremost, he is her best friend and she knows about the first girl he kissed and the first girl he has bought flowers for and the first one he invited for a date.

“It was not long after I joined army that I met Cara,” Tatum speaks, taking Lina’s hand into his own, fingers intertwined. “She was a cousin of a fellow soldier and lived in a town nearest to our base. She came to visit him fairly often and she was impossible not to notice,” he chuckles quietly. “So loud and cheery and full of joy. Everyone was excited to see her after some time. She brought life to the people that mostly talked about death. She never hesitated to show me that she likes me. And you know, at army, dating is anything but easy – but Cara was understanding. So we started dating after five months.”

His voice is soft when he tells her all of it (so freely, so naturally, and Lina wishes her story – her stories – could be that easy to tell, too), as is his smile. No matter what has gone down between Tatum and Cara, there is no grudge he is holding, not a sign of hatred. And maybe Lina should feel jealous, maybe there should be a pang of something inside her ribs, something uncomfortable. There’s nothing.

If anything, she is grateful that Tatum had someone he could rely on for all those years. Grateful that Cara had been there to look after him at times Lina couldn’t.

„She was always so,“ he hums for a moment. „So happy. It didn’t take long for me to understand that the happy face, the loud laughter, that those things were her cover up for something terrible, something that was making her miserable. But she never wanted to talk about it and so I didn’t ask. As she didn’t ask in return.“

Tatum’s head bumps into the wall softly, too and his gaze is on a ceiling when he speaks again.

„She was a good girl. And the relationship was... nice. Easy. We made sure it would stay easy. And in that easiness, it lacked depth. I have never gotten to know her better and she has never gotten to know me.“

A long silence follows and Lina wonders if she should ask more, if she should interrupt his thread of thoughts. Before she can say anything, Tatum speaks again and this time, his voice is filled with regret.

„She had your hair.“

She reminded me of you, is what he is not saying.

„How long did the relationship last?“ Lina asks when the silence gets too thick, too uncomfortable.

„Three years and something.“

„You broke up when you had to leave army?“ she prompts softly, curiosity getting the best of her.

Tatum shakes his head before looking down at Lina and responding.

„No, we ended it before the injury happened. She found the photo of you in my wallet one day, after the discussion about my driving license – she needed to see the thing herself and as she opened the wallet, the first thing she saw was, well... you. She asked me ‚So this is the girl you are trying to forget?‘. After my initial surprise, I only said that you are my best friend.“

Breaking the eye contact, he looks ahead before finishing the story.

„‘The best friend you are in love with?‘, she asked again and it was the first time someone said that aloud. I couldn’t lie to her, not when she asked so directly. She said she understood and you know what Lina? I think she really did. I never found out who was she trying to forget, but she did understand me.“

„And after Cara?“ Lina asks, even though she is afraid she knows her answer.

„After Cara, there was nobody.“

„Are you-,“ she takes a deep breath to calm down her rapidly beating heart. „Do you really mean that you only slept with Cara? Ever?“

Tatum laughs at that, squeezing Lina’s hand. „Life in army – or healing after the injury you have gotten there – do not exactly give you opportunities to get laid, galyetas.“

„Oh,“ is all Lina manages to breathe out. „Oh.“

Oh, shit. Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

This is her worst nightmare. This is worse than anything she feared.

Lina feels Tatum’s gaze on her, an unspoken ‚It’s your turn‘ hanging between them but she cannot, she cannot.

She feels like throwing up and crying at the same time and she cannot do this, she must run and run and run until she cannot catch her breath and never return because Tatum, her Tatum, deserves everything and she can give him nothing.

Not daring to look at Tatum, Lina tries to take a deep breath – to take any breath (and it feels like she has done the running already, she ran away and yet here she is, next to the man she loves, next to the man she is going to destroy.)

"You know you don't have to tell me anything, Lina," Tatum whispers, his knuckles caressing Lina's colarbone softly - a touch featherlight, almost too tender to bear.

And she needs to take another deep breath, the fire inside her blazing sedulously (painfully. It hurts to burn for Tatum, it pains as much as it pleases).

It all feels too much – his touch, his presence too good, too terrific; it feels like a dream.

(One she will soon turn into a nightmare)

„No, I do,“ she chokes out at last and finally looks into his eyes, forcing her memory to capture them fully – the chocolate brown of his irises with the specks of deep green in them, the dilated pupils and that damn warmth seeping from them, all those emotions. His eyes are smiling at her, eyes loving and caring and once she tells him everything, all of that love and care and smile will be gone and she begs her memory to remember Tatum’s eyes.

She begs her memory to forget everything but Tatum’s eyes (beautiful and breathtaking)

„I missed you,“ she begins. „I missed you like hell, Tatum, From the moment you were gone, it hurt. And I needed to find some kind of distraction, something to fill my mind with. The letters were not enough sometimes.“

Her voice is so apologetic, cracking after every other word and she hates it, hates how it sounds, hates how it is certainly telling Tatum where this is going, already.

“It was…” she stops and shrugs, trying so desperately to find the right words - which is ironic, really, as there are hardly any right words for this. “Manageable, that first year. I got drunk or high - sometimes both - went home, reread your latest letter and cried myself to sleep.”

Determined to look straight ahead of herself, Lina doesn’t see Tatum’s intense gaze on her. She feels it, however. (She always feels him, no matter her senses.)

She also hears his faint scoff.

Manageable has probably not been the most right choice of a word, then.

Then again, she has never done this before. Has never spoken about those years without Tatum to anyone.

Years of loneliness she decided to fill.

(Needed to fill, so desperately.)

Years of self-hatred that still lingers.

„The letters stopped coming, then,“ she whispers and even though she knows now why, she knows about her mother contacting Tatum only to ask him to stop sending them because it’s ‚too hurtful‘ for Lina; even though she knows all of it, she cannot keep the hurt from her voice.

„It was maybe three or four months after the last letter that it began to dawn on me, that another one is not coming. I was at this party and the first time, it was not planned, not intentional. It just... happened. I was getting drunk and ready to go home to reread the letter when it hit me, you know?“ she gulps and blinks several times to keep the tears from falling. „It hit me that I do not have anything to reread. And the guy was there, buying me drinks the whole night and he told me about his hotel room. So I went.“

Now, she needs to squeeze her eyes shut and the tears do fall and she hates them, hates herself, hates the past. But the dam has been broken and words are flowing out of her and she needs to tell Tatum everything, even if it is the last thing she will ever tell him.

„I do not remember his name and I do not remember what he looked like. I only remember that I hated every second of the sex, but the feeling of hating something else than the emptiness in me was strong enough for me to keep doing this. The second time, I planned it. And the third and every single one after that. I do not know who those people were, Tatum,“ she whispers and it scares her how still Tatum is, his hand still in hers but unmoving. There’s no reassuring squeezing.

(It’s what she deserves.)

„I never asked about their names and I never gave away mine. It happened every other week – I went to the city, got drunk, got fucked, went home. One time, paparazzi caught me kissing a woman in a bar and of course, the next day the picture was all over the magazines. My mother took a flight back home, then and I thought that maybe she would ask me what was going on, that maybe she would care. She tossed a bag my way, filled with wigs and contact lenses and told me that if I want to ruin my life, I need to make sure it doesn’t ruin her career, too. Then she left.“

Annie – Lina’s only female friend before Dionne – always used to say that what Lina is doing is a perfect example of post-breakup behavior. It never made sense to Lina. There was never a relationship. There was no breakup. She was just lonely and wanted some company.

It makes sense to her, now. She knows now that she loves Tatum in a way that is far from friendly and she knows now that she felt that way all those years ago, too. Back then, she would never admit that.

But Lina knows now. Her best friend, the closest person she has ever had, the person she’s been in love with left and Christ, that hurt more than a breakup.

„I do not know how many men I slept with, how many women. I never counted. The only thing I know that I never enjoyed the sex, not once,“ Lina scoffs and then muses, more to herself than Tatum. „Sometimes I wonder if I am even capable of that. Enjoying sex. Not that it matters,“ she adds in a rushed voice, because truly, her selfish wonder about her selfish sex life is not something that matters at the moment.

„I hate that it was that way, Tatum, I hate everything about those years you were gone. Most of all, I hate myself. But I cannot take that back. Those things are part of me now, no matter how hideous that part is.“

Silence. Long, terrible silence.

„What was the last time?“ Tatum asks suddenly and his voice is hollow, emotionless, so awfully neutral.

„Three weeks before Vancross? Maybe a month?“

This time when Tatum speaks, the emotions are clear in his voice – surprise, most of them all.

„And nobody after that? Nobody at Vancross?“

„Of course not!“ Lina exclaims, more loudly than intended – she still doesn’t look at him, though. „I was... There was no need-„ she bites her lower lip, trying to find the right words. She decides on the truth, in the end. „You were there with me. I was not lonely anymore. Not empty.“

There is a long silence, thick and suffocating and Lina feels like choking, drowning, this is the end, she thinks. She cannot meet Tatum's eyes, the fear of what she might find in them too tremendous - hate, disgust or perhaps resentment?

(All the things she would find in her own eyes, did she look in the mirror now)

And she deserves that look - the look that will crush her and destroy everything that is (was) between them; she deserves so much worse, she knows, but it doesn't make it any easier to open her damn eyes and look at him.

Taking a deep breath through her nose, Lina braces herself to face the reality, squeezing her eyes shut even more tightly, as if the counter movement of the one that is her goal could miraculously encourage her to do it and-

"I am sorry I was not there," she hears Tatum's whisper, the sound full of pain and regret and her eyes snap open without any forcible impulse sent by her brain.

What the fuck is the first reaction she manages to get out of herself.

„I should’ve fought harder for us,“ he adds and tugs her hand, forcing her to – fucking finally – look at him. „I should have been there, one way or another.“

„For fuck‘s sake, Tatum,“ Lina snaps and stands up, not able to sit calmly. „Stop this. Just...just stop this, okay? You cannot be sorry. You need to hate me, resent me. I screwed everything up. Be angry or something.“

„Lina,“ he whispers softly for what must be the eighth time that day and stands up too, cupping her cheek softly, gently enough for her to break free if that’s what she wants. „As if I could ever hate you.“

Lina’s heart breaks at those words. She is sure it does, she can feel the sharp pain in her chest and it must be that, right? Tears are threatening to fall once again and her hands are trembling and Tatum just stands there, thumb tracing her cheekbone tenderly, looking at her, waiting.

Patiently, calmly. Waiting. As he always is.

„You should,“ she whispers at the very same moment the first tear fall down, at the very moment a sob leaves her mouth. „You need to. I am not the Lina I used to be, Tatum. I am not a good person. I am all those terrible things that you are not and I can only cause you hurt. Please, Tatum, for your own sake just... please, just hate me.“

Tatum bows his head down, his lips – warm, soft, gentle – touching her cheek, kissing the tears away.

Lina’s heart keeps breaking.

„I know who you are, Lina girl. I see you as you are.“

Another kiss on the other cheek.

„It’s the past. Past that has not been easy for either of us. But it’s gone. We have each other now and I will have you for as long as you will have me.“

„But-„ she protests, only for Tatum’s thumb on her lips to stop her.

„You are not what you have done. You are not what happened to you. You are my best friend. My Lina. My galyetas. You are still the very same Lina that created the Valentine’s Day card for me at the age of five because you were worried I wouldn’t get a card from anyone else.“

They both chuckle at the memory – the bastard got eight – eight! – Valentine’s Day cards that year.

„You are still the Lina that alarmed her mother and all the assistants on the President tour because you needed to get back to Rutherland immediately – because it was the first Mother’s Day without my mom and you knew I would be miserable.“

Well, yeah, her mother was not overly happy when she had to pay for the private jet that took Lina back home. Immediately.

Tatum’s hand traces her jawline, falling down on her neck, her shoulder, her exposed collarbone until it lands on her chest, until Lina’s heart beats under it.

„You are the Lina I grew up with. You are my best friend. You are the most important person in my life and that cannot be changed. I know who you are. I see you as you are, I see you as the beautiful, loving, compassionate Lina you are and it hurts me to know that you cannot see yourself that way.“

Another sobs escapes Lina and she feels dizzy, heart beating rapidly, head underwater.

(How is she supposed to deal with this? With him and with herself?)

„I will make sure to remind you,“ Tatum whispers into her ear, kissing her earlobe there and again, Lina has no idea what to say. Again, she acts instead.

She kisses him, a deep, slow kiss and here it is again, that hope that it’s enough.

(It is. It always is.)

*** ***

Thank you so much for reading, again! I am already working on the third part in which these two finally get to the banging so I hope you won't get tired of them just yet

#l & t #foreign affairs #tatum mendoza #tatum x mc #tatum x lina #lina monroe

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sixofpomegranates · 3 years

Text

Rain in California - Act 1 - Fame

🥀Mini Series “Rain in California” Act 1 - Part 3 - Fame🥀

✨My Main Masterlist✨ | 18+ | AO3 | Wattpad

🥀Soundtrack🥀 | ✨Aestethic Trailer✨ | 🥀Masterlist🥀 | Words: 6.4k

🥀click here for the previous chapter🥀

TW: ANGST (LIKE REALLY), mention of loss/death/addiction/sobriety/murder/abortion/miscarriage, suicidal thoughts/tendencies, depression, addiction, substance abuse, drugs, alcohol, ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP, mentions of OD, PTSD, Self-Harm/Cutting, religious trauma, past physical/psychological abuse on child/teen, abusive parents, teen pregnancy, murder, injustice, withdrawal symptoms,

Songs in this Chapter:

Heartbeat - Don Johnson

Seven hours and a Gastric Suction later, [y/n] felt like hell.

Her throat hurt and the medication they´d given her didn’t work. Now she laid in her hospital room, in her uncomfortable bed and was mostly angry at herself. [y/n] didn’t know why she had acted so stupid…well, probably because she had been high as hell. Not feeling able to control herself, when taken more than usual.

She didn’t want to be so erratic, but when she was high, it just all seemed so easy. Saying the things she thought, doing things she normally would never even dare thinking of, not being hurt by others...On drugs she felt free. Herself.

Although she didn’t even know who she was anymore.

When Spencer was holding her in the bathroom?

That was the first time somebody had said something to her about her addictions, except for ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’, ’It´s not that bad.’, ‘We´re here once you´re ready.’ and ’She´s just having a rough time.’.

It was the first time somebody really seemed to see through her and literally forced her to look at herself in the mirror. To care for her enough to show her tough love. Leroy, Hank and Tom had tried it, but given up on her, sure they supported and cared for her still, but for them she was already too far gone. And they were probably right about it.

But the dog? He still had wanted to help her, even after she tried being her ugliest.

She had gone too far, still remembering his face, the terror in it, when she cut her wrist, when she had taken all her pills at once. [y/n] had wanted to hurt him like that, her mind, her stupid junkie mind, had her convinced, that doing it would be a great way to get back at him.

Because she felt hurt, being rejected by him.

Most likely she had scarred him for life. And now he hadn’t come in, since she was allowed to have visitors, and probably would never come back.

She has successfully driven away the only one that had still cared enough.

Now, mostly sober, she felt like a monster, aware that she was a wreck beyond repair.

Of course she had, in the beginning, thought about stopping. But the drugs were the smaller evil to her, since they calmed her mind and made her forget the pain. She would stay alone forever, unworthy other people´s love, her mind should at least be allowed to be numb.

*****

“I came as fast as I could. What happened?”, Philip handed Spencer a duffle bag, filled with [y/n]´s clothing. He had asked him to bring it, since Spencer didn’t know how long she would stay.

“They pumped her stomach and had to stitch the wound on her wrist.”, he stated, making the short manager´s eyes go wide.

“Are you insane? What if they hurt her vocal cords?”, the tall one tried to remain calm, but had to really force himself to not hit Philip.

Why was that a priority?

“I didn’t wanna let her die. She could´ve OD´d. What would you have done?”, Spencer asked slightly aggravated.

“Carry her to the bathroom and force her to throw up, until nothing´s in her stomach anymore. Then I usually take her to bed and give her water every hour and feed her soup until she´s better.”, the manager explained and Spencer felt like that had to be a joke.

“That has happened before?”, he asked baffled and Philip nodded. “Yeah, a couple of times, but she always either took something or cut herself. Never both at the same time. Where you two fighting again?”, he asked reproachful and Spencer felt the guilt sink into his heart. “See, agent Prentiss? This is why I said, [y/n] didn’t need a bodyguard.”

“I´m sorry, but I don’t think that this is the result of having a bodyguard. It´s much more one to them not getting along and [y/n] being highly addicted to a couple of substances.”, Emily stepped in for Spencer.

The manager just ignored the her obvious insinuation of the rockstars declining mental help, before going into [y/n]´s room. The agents then just looked at each other before going in too.

*****

This was the first time Spencer saw [y/n], since they got here. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to be alone with her before. She was laying in her bed, bandage on her left wrist, looking directly at him when he came in. They had taken of her make-up, making Spencer realize, that she was prettier without it. Her jet black, dark hair in a ponytail. To him she looked calmer and softer like this. The real girl behind the façade. Philip was already all over her.

“[y/n], you look awful.”, he said, shaking up the pillow as she got up a little, to sit.

“Feel like it too.”, her voice sounded a little raspy.

“Poor girl. How is your voice? Do you need anything?” “Fine. My throat´s just a little sore. Can you check me out of here? The faster, the better. That way I can go home without the media knowing.”, Spencer and Emily shared a look.

“The paparazzies showed up an hour ago.”, Emily stated, making [y/n] nod.

She leaned further back in her pillow and looked at Spencer, like she wanted to say something.

“C-Can you still check me out, Philly?”, Philip nodded.

“Of course. I´ll be back asap and then we´ll take you home so you can pack.”, he walked outside and [y/n] looked at Emily.

“Can – I don’t know – you maybe go with him?”, she asked her friendly.

The dark haired woman shared a look with Spencer, who nodded at her. Signaling, that he was okay being alone with the singer again. Emily then nodded and walked after Philip, closing the door on her way out. For a second Spencer thought about leaving the room too. To, no longer, have this black-haired demon take hits against his sanity, but then her voice cut into the silence of the room.

“I´m sorry.”, she said and Spencer wondered, if she was being honest.

“For almost killing yourself?”, he asked her sarcastically and she shook her head.

“For how I treated you.”

“I´ve been through worse. You´d need to be trying way harder, if you want me to break.”, he answered her cold and she began looking at her hands.

“I´m sorry, I tried pressuring you, to take drugs.”, Spencer shrugged at that. “You were high. If I didn’t relapse after the love of my life was killed or when I was put wrongfully into prison, I won´t relapse because a pretty girl is offering me drugs.” “Doesn’t make it better or okay. I saw the token in your room, when I was looking for my pills. I knew and still did it. You must really hate me.”, [y/n]´s voice sounded like she was about to cry.

“I don’t hate you.”, he said gently, sitting down on her bed. [y/n] let out a self-degrading laugh and looked at him, tears filling her eyes. “No, it´s okay. I deserve it.”, she looked over to her IV drip bag, filled with clear liquid, and hit it slightly. “That stuff makes me sentimental.”, she tried saying jokingly, but sounded just sad.

Spencer looked at her for a while, thinking about what he could say. He hadn’t thought she would apologize for how she acted and he had meant what he had told her. He didn’t hate her. Yes, she was emotionally draining to be around, it wasn’t all bad though.

Spencer remembered Philip and how he had talked about the two sides of people.

“That´s no medication, [y/n].”, she looked at him confused. “You lost a lot of water so…Yeah. What you´re feeling is the drugs wearing off.”, he cooed, holding himself back with the rambling. “Nice. That´s what every junkie loves to hear.”, both chuckled a little. “Hey, I give you ten thousand dollar, if you get me some pills, my head hurts like hell.”, she said it in a joking manner, making Spencer chuckle and shake his head.

“No chance. I´m not bribable.”

“Makes you one of few in Hollywood.”, the sound of rain made [y/n] look to the window. “Can you open it?”, he nodded and got up. “Thanks. I love the sound of rain. People always portrait it to be so sad when it rains, but I think it´s nice…cleansing.”

He opened the window and sat next to her bed on the chair. They listened to the sound of raindrops hitting the streets for a while, when he decided to take the shot and ask [y/n], what had been on his mind for the last hours.

“Why are you doing it?”, she looked at Spencer, making a questioning noise. “Cutting yourself, taking drugs.”

“The pain makes you feel alive and the drugs help you hide the side effects of being it.”, Spencer chuckled a little.

“So melodramatic.”

High, she would have probably devoured him, but now she only smirked and rolled her eyes. By now a certain realness tried finding its way in both their voices.

“What was your reason for taking them then?”, she asked, leaning in his direction.

Spencer thought a second, honesty was earned and he wanted her to be honest with him. So he gave her a trust bonus, reviling a bit of his darkness.

“I wasn’t giving the chance of choosing to take them. I was kidnapped and my tormentor, at least one of his personalities, thought he would help me handling the pain.”

He could´ve sworn to see empathy in her eyes, but instead of showing it or whispering words of condolences, like so many others would do in this situation, she just smiled.

“And there I was, thinking you´re just a hypocrite.”, he shrugged. “Well…I am one.” “How?”, [y/n] asked, a little frown appearing on her forehead. “Because you were right. I think you are attractive and maybe my motive wasn’t all just about protecting you at the concert.”, he could feel himself blush.

“I´m sorry for acting out, after…you know.”

“It´s okay. Would you feel better, knowing that I really hated making the decision, to not sleep with you?”, she nodded.

“A little.” “Good. Cause it was. But it was the right thing to do.”, she smiled a little and began focusing on her hands again.

“You see, I get it now and I´m glad, at least one of us, has made a right decision tonight but…I don’t know how I´ll be to you, when I´m high again.”, her concerned voice made him take her hand. Being afraid of your own mind, no longer being able to control it, was something he was very familiar with. “Then don’t be. We could get you into rehab.”

[y/n] chuckled and took his hand with both of hers, caressing it with her thumbs. She seemed to be thinking. Making Spencer believe she may be taking his offer. But the longer she thought, the more obvious it became, that she was losing to something dark inside her head.

“Would be a waste of time.”, she whispered, her playfulness gone, as if reality just slapped her into the face.

“But if you continue like this, you´ll be dead soon.”, [y/n] gave him a gentle smile.

“You always say that, like I don’t plan on dying with twenty-seven.”

For a second he tried reading her, hoping she was joking, having made those suicidal jokes a little to often in the last days. When he didn’t like the answer, he prepared himself to hear it from her.

“Do you?”, she nodded. “I´m going to join ‘Club 27’ and then drift into oblivion. My songs and everything I did, only becoming an relic from the past.”

The way she said it, made it sound like she had already made peace with that decision. It frightened Spencer, making him think of how to make her re-think it.

“What about your friends?”

“There´s only the band…and I started pushing them away from me, a long time ago. I saw how it will end for me and decided not to have it hurt them, like it hurt me, when I found my mom.”, he shook his head. He refused to accept this as an answer.

“And what about yourself? You can’t just feel like dying is the only option.” “It´s not. But it´s the most relieving one.”

The calmness in her voice and body language showed him so much. What had driven her into that state? A state were death was seen as a relieve, because everything else hurt too much. Depression. She showed signs of it. Many people with addicted use it to cope with their mental problems. What had happened to her? His mind traveled back to the day before, to the only moments when she had let her façade slip.

To the silver bullet that would kill her.

“What happened to your baby?”, he asked her stern and she looked at him defeated.

“Oh, I see…I´ve been profiled. What do you think happened?”

“You lost it.”, she nodded, but he continued, carefully watching her body language. He wanted answers, but would stop when she would get too uncomfortable. “Probably because of your abusive father.”, she nodded again, seeming a little numb to his words. “Was he religious?”, the black-haired girl chuckled and answered him a little sarcastic.

“Depends on how religious you´d call a reverend. Why?”

“Religious trauma or trying to shock people. Your music, I mean.”

For a second [y/n] let go of his hand, making him rest in her lap. Spencer refused to pull it away, if she would start talking, he wanted her to know that he was still there. He had, by now, enough pieces of the puzzle, showing him a dark picture of her past. A reason, why she tried to be high so often.

Reality was a sharp knife and its cuts couldn’t hurt so bad, when you numb yourself.

“My father was always hitting my mom, but when she then took off, there was only me and him. He forced me into the mold of the perfect, religious daughter and when I wasn’t as obedient as he would´ve liked, he´d make me read the bible for hours and beat me senseless.”, she started gesturing to her stomach and chest area. “Of course only hitting me in places, nobody would see the bruises. When I was fifteen, I got caught trying to smoke for the first time, by a teacher. As they notified my father, he locked me into the dark broom closet for a week. Out of spite, I then started smoking regularly and met a boy through it, Daniel.”

Spencer watched [y/n]´s face light up for a second. She looked like JJ or Rossi, when they were talking about Will and Krystall. Like he probably did, when he was thinking about Maeve.

“He went to the same school as I and his abusive parents were addicts, like my mom had been. We kinda bonded over that and would sneak out at night, spending hours together, talking about the stupidest things. Thinking we were so deep and intellectual. He, at one point, started stealing his parents weed, so we could get high together. Made getting beaten easier. The time with Daniel was the first and last time I ever felt those butterflies. You know? This childish feeling of love?”

She smiled at him as he nodded, remembering those butterflies too, but then the smile darkened and she took Spencer’s hand again. As if to try and hold onto him, shielding herself from the dark memories creeping up.

“I got pregnant with sixteen. A shame. I managed to hide it for a few weeks and Daniel and I came up with the childish idea of running away together. We thought, we could just get jobs somewhere else, buy a home and become a family…Like foolish kids.”, her self-degrading laugh broke Spencer’s heart, as she tried swallowing her tears.

“And it didn’t work.”, he whispered and she only laughed, voice dripping in sarcasm. “Of course it didn’t. A woman from church had overheard us talking and the rumor of me being pregnant was already out there, since I threw up so often at school. So she thought she would help me, if she told my father.”, Spencer squeezed her hand a little. “You wanna know what he did?”, he shook his head.

“What?”

“He waited for us to meet at night. As I crawled out of the window, he stormed outside with his shotgun and confronted us. After I admitted to being pregnant he hit me, making Daniel step between us and start fighting with my dad to protect me and the baby…and my dad- he-…he then just shot him. In-…In cold blood, just pulled the fucking trigger.”, [y/n] voice was filled with disbelieve. Like she still wasn’t able to believe what she had seen.

“My father then grabbed me by the hair and tried getting me to go back into the house. I, obviously shocked about him just shooting my boyfriend, refused to and so he started beating and kicking me, till I stopped fighting back…Needless to say, I lost the baby after that.”

As a few tear ran down her face, she let go of Spencer´s hand and wiped them away. Letting a cynical laugh follow.

“That’s not even the best part of the story. Nothing happened.”, Spencer looked at her frowning.

“What do you mean with ‘Noting happened’. He shoot a teenager. Weren’t there any repercussions?”, she shook her head.

“No. Because he told the police, that he came outside to me screaming, because Daniel was beating me. Angry at me, for being pregnant. He stated that he just did what he had to do, to protect me.”, he shook his head in disbelieve.

“Weren’t you questioned? Didn’t you tell them what really happened?”

“I would try telling, but nobody believed it. Because the reverend, a pillar of our community, would never do such thing. They thought I was just lashing out and framing my father, because I was high and angry at him for shooting my boyfriend...Daniel´s parents didn’t even care, too high to get what had happened. After that, I wasn’t allowed to go to school anymore, in fact, I wasn’t allowed to do anything anymore. My father taught me at home and every Sunday I was allowed to go to church and pray to have my sins being forgiven.”

Spencer nodded at the amount of information she had just given him.

He felt bad for her, started to understand her, started to hate her father and the cruel injustice she, Daniel and the baby had suffered.

Why had they only once, tried to get her into therapy?

The amount of suffered trauma had to end in a situation like this, left untreated.

It was eating her alive, suffocating her, and everybody who saw it, just slapped the ‘She´s gonna be okay’-Band-Aid on this gashing wound, moving on with their own life´s, while she was losing the battle inside her head. He got up and sat on the bed next to her, she scooted a little, giving him some room to lean back too. As he lifted an arm, [y/n] rested her head on his chest.

“Then how did you get…viral…?”, he looked at him and the confused spoken word, smiling.

“You know about that?”

“Luke.”, he answered and she nodded. “I wasn’t allowed to have a phone, but I was allowed to use our computer once a week for an hour. I would record myself singing and playing guitar on our shitty webcam and started uploading it, not thinking anybody would ever see it. With eighteen I got in contact with this guy, he said he was in the midst of establishing his own record label and he would love to pay my flight to LA, taking me under contract. I accepted and just ran as fast as I could, before my father could get me.”

[y/n] again laughed cynical. Seemingly a coping mechanism of hers, to play down the pain and severity of things and situations.

“When I arrived, he then offered me to stay with him, if I´d be…you know…nice to him. He earned a shit ton of money with my music, while I got nothing…But everything was better than going back home again.”, she sat up a little, so she could look at Spencer, again with that sparkle in her eyes.

“At one point, when I didn’t want to have sex with him anymore, I had to work at a pizza restaurant to afford rent. There I met Leroy, Tom and Hank at the Open-Mic-Night. I told them a little about what was going on and Hank sued that guys ass. He didn’t want anything in return…just happy to help me. If you think Hank is scary now, you would have shit yourself, seeing him in court!”

Both chuckled. Spencer could, thankfully, only imagine how terrifying the fifty year old biker could get.

“After winning the case I asked them if they were interested in becoming a band and we made some demo tracks with the money I had gotten. The label took us under contract and introduced us to Philip, who became our manager.”

“But you weren’t into anything but marijuana. How did we end up here?”, she sighed.

“The label has a lot of expectations surrounding me. One of them was for me, to go out and be publicly seen with their other artists, for the image. They were taking a lot of stuff and I always said no, sticking to weed. But somewhere along the line, I wanted to know how it felt. If my mom was right, for choosing it above me. And I think I get it now. Everything I told you before? My dad, my baby, Daniel? They´re gone. I´m able to standup for myself and not letting me being pushed into something I don’t want, like when that creep wanted me to whore myself out to him, just so I´d have a roof over my head. Life is just easier that way and thankfully shorter too.”, Spencer pulled her closer.

“I like you like that.”, he almost whispered. “Depressed?”, [y/n] snickered and he chuckled, shaking his head. “Real.”

“Only fair. I´ve been a real bitch to you, the whole time.”, he shook his head again. “Not that bad.”, she hit his chest gently, while giggling. “Oh, please. I can handle it. Come on.”, he sighed playfully, admitting the truth. “Okay, yeah. You´ve been a bitch.”

They laid there for a while, [y/n] seemingly thinking, before she talked again.

“You´re gonna pass on babysitting duty for me now, I guess?”, she asked hesitant, making him chuckle.

“Nope. I´m gonna stay.”, [y/n] sat up and looked at him, like he had completely lost his mind.

“Why in the world, are you doing that to yourself?”, Spencer shrugged. “Savior complex.” “I´m not worth it.”, he shrugged again. “I know. But the sober girl inside you is. You know? The one that knows my name, speaks French with me while playing Mozart and puts a blanket over me when I fall asleep while reading.”

Then she asked him something that hit too close to home. Revealing a reality he liked to ignore.

“You can’t save everybody. You´re aware of that, right?”, he nodded as she laid back into bed, her head resting against his chest again. “But I can try.”, Spencer whispered against her ear.

“Would you mind just watching TV with me? Withdrawal headache´s a bitch.”

Spencer grabbed the remote and turned the TV on. After many attempts of finding something interesting, [y/n] stopped him from switching the channels. They had come across an 80´s music special. Something with the name ‘Heartbeat’ by Don Johnson had just started playing. Although [y/n] didn’t move a lot, Spencer could tell she was excited. Moving her lips along the lyrics.

“I don't care what you say

You can give it away

Your money don't mean much to me.

I've been out on my own

Gonna got it alone now

'Cause that's the way it's got to be.

Ev'rybody tells me how I can beat the odds for now.

Well I've been standing by the fire

But I just can't feel the heat.”

“That’s a great song.”, Spencer shrugged, again not feeling too much connection to the music. But it did sound nice. At his shrugging she hit him a little and put on a badly played face of disbelieve and shock. “Show some respect for the classics!”, he laughed at her words. “Respect for the classics? You called Beethoven a deaf bitch.”, now [y/n] shrugged. “Touché.”, she giggled, laying her hand on her head as if to ease the pain.

“Looking at me

It's easy to see

You think you know just how I feel.

If you do to me wrong and it won't take me long

Before my restless heart will heal.

I'm looking for a love

Love like mine”

“That was good music back then.”, she whispered against his chest. “Heart break, real emotions…love that stuff.”

“Why don’t you play more of it then?”, Spencer asked, Luke in his mind telling him about their music just no longer trying to hit the feelings. [y/n] giggled a little. “I´m guessing…Luke told you?”, he nodded and she let out a sigh. “Remember when I told you about the label having expectations? Every song I make has to go through them first, before being released. At one point, I had nine songs, completely done and they only greenlit one of them. Told me the others ‘weren´t my style’, ‘not exactly my genre’ or ‘wouldn’t speak to my audience enough’. So I just stopped looking for the deeper emotions. Still love the music I make, but the feeling´s dead. My lyrics helped me coping at the beginning, but the restrictions the label set me, ended that.” “Why don’t you just write those songs again? It doesn’t matter if anybody hears them.”, he suggested to her chuckling in response.

“They tell me it's so hard to find

But I can feel it in the rhythm of the heartbeat in the street.

Heartbeat - I'm looking for a heartbeat”

“If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound, mon amour?”, Spencer looked at her for a second, flustered by the realness she let him see.

“Yes. For me it would.”, he told her, making her giggled. “I probably lost my ability for stronger emotions anyway. But thanks, Spencer.”

His heart skipped a beat as she said his name.

“Heartbeat - I'm looking for a heartbeat

Beating like mine.”

As the door opened Spencer quickly jumped up, Emily looking at him with a lifted eyebrow.

“Uhmm…Hello?”, she asked, more meant as a ‘What´s going on?’. Philip walked in right after her, not having seen the both of them more or less cuddling in the hospital bed.

“Oh no, it´s raining again.”, he sighed as he closed the window and stepped aside for the nurse, who took out the IV from [y/n]´s arm. “Okay. I got you released from hospital, [y/n]. I have the papers and ta-da.”, he handed her a white little paper bag. “Your pain medication and antibiotics for the arm.”

“Thanks.”, she answered and passed it over to Spencer. “Ca-Can you…so I take them correctly?”, he looked at her confused.

“You sure?”, she nodded and Spencer smiled at her. Baby steps. “Of course.”

“I thought Dr. Reid would stop his bodyguard duty, now that you´re going to stay with me?”, [y/n] shrugged.

“I- I don’t know.” “You know, I can protect you too.”, Philip insured her. “Yeah…but I would feel safer with my guard dog around.”, she looked at the tall man. “Only if you´d be okay with that, Spencer.”

“More than okay.”, Spencer smiled at her, making her smile back.

“O-Okay, that´s fine. That´s gonna be fine. Dr. Reid can sleep in my office. Now get dressed, so we can pack your stuff at home.”

Philip handed [y/n] her black duffle bag, Spencer had put on the floor next to her bed. She opened it and pulling out some jeans and a black sweater. When she tried to get up she was a shaky on her legs, but managed to go to the bathroom. Spencer stayed close to her, being able to catch her in case she´d fall. When she closed the door behind her, he looked at Philip and Emily.

“How many paparazzies are out there?”, he asked and Emily held her breath, shortly thinking.

“Too many. Just checked before coming in. You guys better think of a plan, if you don’t want [y/n] to be seen by them and become five o'clock news.”, both men nodded and then looked at each other.

“Okay…so, Philip? Where do you park?”, Spencer asked. “Outside, visitors.”, he nodded and looked to his friend.

“Me too. Emily, you?”

“Car park.”, she answered and Spencer handed her his key.

“Okay. We trade. I take [y/n] home in Emily´s SUV. Emily takes [y/n]´s car and you, Philip, you just drive to the mansion. Maybe we can make them think she´s still in medical care, that way.”, all of them nodded to each other, not really knowing what more there was to tell. Not knowing if the plan would even work.

*****

When [y/n] looked in the mirror, in the tiny bathroom of her hospital room, after washing her face, she felt okay. Horrible, but okay.

Feeling kind of stupid, having given Spencer her medication. It had felt right. But she didn’t know why. Did she want to make him happy? Well, he certainly was. But honestly? Nobody just stops being addicted for one person. Having your addiction tendencies being bound and under control solely for another person than yourself probably never works in the long term.

She knew she would have to stop for herself and that just wasn’t worth it.

She just wasn’t worth it.

Spencer would leave again, he was just another person in her life that would vanish, never to be heard from again. Her life would move on, just like it did now and that was it. It was okay like that. There wasn’t much to be expected anymore and she had made her peace with it. Having lost the will to try years ago.

Somehow she had decided however, to enjoy the few moments she would still have with this man. A man she barely knew, but yet, felt so interest in. A man that either lived his best boomer life or just simply lived in a cave without Wi-Fi, giving his lack of knowledge by simple words like iconic and viral.

Maybe it was his lack of interest in her Rockstar persona, that intrigued her. She had heard him and Philip outside of her room. Spencer had not given a single fuck, that her voice could´ve been ruined by having her stomach pumped, as long as she didn’t die. That was nice. Being more than an expensive voice. Being counted as a human.

She wanted to know more about him, had given him her silver bullet, as a sign of trust. Now she wanted his or however much he was willing to give. Being high would ruin it, being high would maybe have her forget something. [y/n] knew she would still need to take the bare minimum of her drugs, so the withdrawal wouldn’t kill her, but for now she would like to be semi-clean. The headache and the freezing being acceptable.

She had put on her fresh clothes, liking that they didn’t smell like cigarettes, wondering why she even smoked, when everything just started to reek and ruin the nice smell of her lavender perfume. Was it still out of spite, because her father didn’t like it?

Maybe she would quit…on the other hand…maybe just reduce them a little. For now, she didn’t have any, anyways. She would probably need some chewing gum.

When she walked out of the bathroom Spencer smiled at her, stepping closer and his hands cupping her face.

“Hey. You okay? You´re a little pale.”, she quickly nodded, her heart beating as fast as it always did shortly before a concert.

“Yeah, just not wearing any makeup, so…”, he shook his head, thumb stroking her cheek.

“Uh-uh. You weren’t pale like that before. You feeling sick?”, actually yes, she did.

“A little.”

“We´re gonna get you something to eat later and then you should take a nap. Philip is going to drive in his car and we´ll meet him at your house. Emily already left.”, [y/n] nodded, quickly stepping away from Spencer. She hadn’t even noticed Philip still being there, while he smiled at them.

“I´m gonna leave now and you guys just go to the garage and wait a few minutes. When something happens you call me, okay [y/n]?”, she nodded, Spencer taking her duffle bag as Philip hugged her and then left.

She and Spencer went to the car park, her having the hood from her sweater pulled into her face, hoping nobody would recognize her. The last thing she wanted was a media scandal, so shortly after the her teen-pregnancy was brought to light. People talking about the ‘out of control’-Rockstar almost dying due to an overdose. Not that they were completely wrong, but still. She hated when strangers acted like they knew her, only because they read one of those crappy articles.

When they got into the car Spencer turned on the seat heating, without saying a word, only smiling at her. Why was he so nice? Was it his savior complex or did he just have a great personality?

Driving to her mansion in silence, they were met with an array of paparazzies in front of it. Spencer parked across the street. [y/n] quickly fixed her hair, should they notice her and start making photos.

“Tinted windows, they don’t see you.”, he told her, making her relax.

For a second she thought about how much she hated this. The flashes of the cameras pointed into her face, only inches away from it. Asking her inappropriate question, because fame cancelled out the right of privacy. They were always waiting for her to do something, to be put on a blast for.

Maybe she could just, a little longer, be a no one. Like she seemed to be, alone with Spencer.

With Philip, she never had even five minutes to herself. Yes he was nice, but he was so in-your-face sometimes. Smothering her with care.

“Spencer?” “Hm?”, he turned to her. “Would it be okay, to just go undercover?”, Spencer raised his eyebrows. “Undercover?”, her cheeks flushed a little.

“Yeah…get a hotel room and some junk food maybe…” “What about Philip?”

“I´ll text him…I- I´d just like to be alone.”, he nodded at her words, already starting the car again. “Oh, sure. I get that.” “Alone with you.”, was that sentence too bold? “I know. Already thought so.”, he put a hand on her thigh, gently squeezing it. She smiled at this gentle gesture. “Any hotel okay?”, he asked her, as she laid her hands on his, wanting to make sure it stayed there. “Sure. But you´ll need to get the room. I tend to attract attention.” “Really?”, he asked in a playful voice, as he pulled into the main street. “Yeah, apparently I look like this one singer from a rock band.”, she answered, giggling, even though it killed her head. “Huh, weird. Wouldn’t have noticed.”, he almost whispered, seeming to have noticed it.

“Maybe we should get me some nicotine patches too.”, she smiled, making him look at her surprised.

“Stopped smoking?” “Yeah, thought I´d try it. Maybe you can smell my perfume better like that. Lavender.”, Spencer chuckled. “Sexy. Kissing a smoker only seems good in the movies.” “You know movies?”, she said, playfully mocking him. “Russian and black-and-white ones.”

“You´re a little nerd, huh?

“Hope that’s not a deal breaker?”, she looked at his little worried, almost insecure look.

Yes, the junkie who just ruined his night, by having a mental breakdown, would think a nice, smart guy that liked watching ‘Dr. Who’ was a dealbreaker.

“It´s actually kinda cute.”, he let out an adorable giggle and for a second she could feel her heart skip a beat.

*****

Spencer had gotten them a hotel room in a small hotel with individual, private entrances. Definitely not as classy as [y/n] was used to, but private enough, not to be seen. Before, he had bought her nicotine patches and gum and they had gotten some pizzas.

Now her arm was plasters with some of the patches and they sat on the bed, eating pizza and watching ‘10 things I hate about you’, making him see just how quirky [y/n] could be. Singing along to every song, telling him how much she loved watching it, secretly at a friend’s home, as a teen; giggling like crazy when something funny happened and gushing over things she thought to be romantic. Spencer had given her her medication and the withdrawal, at least in the moment, seemed to be manageable.

After the movie she had insisted on him picking something, making him extremely nervous. He didn’t think that any of his picks would have her enjoy the next two hours, but she didn’t let him say no. So he put in an old black and white movie called ‘La Dolce Vita’, about a week in the life of a philandering tabloid journalist living in Rome. He laid down in bed and signaled [y/n] to come closer. She had quickly cuddled up beside him, seemingly touch starved by the way she held him close. A very familiar feeling for Spencer.

After he had begun stroking her hair, she had fallen asleep faster, then he had fallen for her.

Seeming to like every side of her, every part, no matter how damaged or ugly. Spencer had pulled the sleeping girl a little closer, gently kissing the top of her head and smiling to himself. What he had smelled two days ago, had been lavender. He drifted of as well, only waking up half an hour later, when the credits woke him.

Turning the TV off, before laying close to [y/n] again, now spooning up behind her, face buried in the crook of her neck, arms wrapped tightly around her.

To be continued...

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