You met Spencer a few months after Maeve broke up with him. You didn't expect much when you started talking—but even then, he was clear about one thing: he's not looking for anything serious.

You told yourself you didn’t need more right away, that you could handle casual. But as weeks turned into months, you realized it wasn’t just casual for you.

He didn't tell you about her at first. You thought his detachment was because he wasn't ready to commit, but a small part of you hoped that someday he'd be ready—and he'd choose you.

He didn't need to explain much after you asked him about his last relationship for you to understand. Still, you convinced yourself it was a matter of time before he got over her.

But then again, he’d only call you late at night. “Are you awake?” he’d ask, though he already knew the answer—you were always awake for him.

He greeted you with a shy smile, but his eyes never quite met yours. He’d lead you to the bedroom, and the first thing he’d do was turn off the lights.

“It’s easier this way,” he’d murmur when you asked why.

But you knew the truth. In the dark, he could pretend—pretend you were her. Pretend he wasn’t still in love with someone who wasn't coming back.

And you let him. Every time.

The night went as always. You whispered his name like a prayer, hoping he’d hear you, see you—but he didn't.

When it was over, he let out a sigh of regret. When he spoke, he was forcing himself to say it. “You should go.”

The words hit hard even though you knew they were coming. You expected him not to say them for once, but deep down you knew that it’ll never change.

He watched you from the bed, his gaze heavy, as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. You waited, hoping—praying—that he’d stop you. That he’d tell you to stay. That he’d give you a reason to believe this was more than what it felt like.

But when you were fully dressed and ready to leave, all he said was, “Don’t wait outside my hotel room, or my apartment. Don’t call me. Just… wait until I give you a sign.”