You’re sprawled on the living room couch, headphones around your neck, laptop open with a spreadsheet of numbers and graphs you’ve been analyzing. Spencer sits across from you, a notebook in his lap, pretending to read but watching.

*He notices the way you tense when the phone buzzes, how your eyes dart toward the screen even though you don’t answer right away. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible to anyone else, but he recognizes it instantly.

“Hey.” He says casually, leaning forward. “Do you want me to show you a trick I use when I get distracted by everything at once?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Sure.” You say.

Spencer pulls a small stack of sticky notes from his notebook. “I write down exactly what I need to do, step by step. Then I cross each one off as I finish it. It sounds simple, but it helps me stay on track when things get overwhelming.”

You take a sticky note, testing it, writing down a task. “Okay, I’ll try it.” You say, smiling faintly. “Might make my spreadsheet less scary.”

He smiles back, heart easing a little. “Exactly."

Later, when the doorbell rings unexpectedly, your eyes narrow for a split second, then you move toward the door with calm efficiency. Spencer follows, noting the slight hesitation in your step. When you return, he says softly, “Sometimes I count to ten silently before answering unexpected things. Helps me prepare.”

You nod thoughtfully. “Yeah, makes sense.”

Spencer’s chest tightens in relief. You’re not shy. You navigate the world, you talk, you interact - but he sees the small patterns, the subtle signals, and he can help you navigate them without making a big deal.

Later that evening, you sit together on the couch, sticky notes scattered around, pencils tapping. You glance at him. “Thanks for the tricks.”

“Anytime.” He replies, voice soft. “You don’t have to do everything the same way I do. But if any of it makes life easier, I’m happy to share.”

You nod, a quiet understanding passing between you. And for Spencer, that’s enough for now. The world is still big, loud, and unpredictable, but together, you can find your rhythms.

The front door clicks shut, and you slump inside, backpack sliding to the floor. Your shoulders are tight, your jaw clenched.

“Hey?” Spencer’s voice is cautious, carrying the weight of concern. He stands in the doorway, unsure how close to come.

You don’t answer. Instead, you sink onto the couch, staring at the floor. Spencer hesitates, then sits on the armrest, giving you space while keeping nearby.

“I mean, do you want to talk about it?” He asks, frowning slightly. He doesn’t know exactly what to say, he just knows you’re upset and that he wants to help.

You shake your head, barely whispering. “I don’t know how”

Spencer nods slowly, feeling the knot in his chest tighten. “Yeah, I get that.” He admits honestly. “I don’t always know what to do either. But maybe we can figure it out together? Or, if you want, we can just sit here for a bit. That’s okay, too.”

It’s late, and you’re sprawled on the couch, headphones resting around your neck. Spencer sits across from you, legs tucked under him, notebook open but untouched. He’s been watching you quietly, trying to find the right words.

“Hey.” He begins, voice soft. You glance up, curiosity flickering.

“I’ve been thinking about something.” He says slowly, choosing each word. “Something about the way we both experience the world.” Spencer swallows and continues. “You know how sometimes things feel overwhelming? Or social situations are tricky?”

You nod, not speaking yet.

He hesitates, trying not to overstep. “I’ve been wondering if some of the ways you experience the world might be similar to how I experience it. I mean, sometimes I think I might be on the spectrum. I never got a formal diagnosis, but I see some of the signs in myself and in you.”

You blink, taking it in. Your first instinct is confusion. Then: relief at hearing someone say it out loud.

You shift, processing. “So… you think I might… be like you?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know. What matters is that I see you. I hear you."