You were Spencer’s best friend since childhood. Of course, you’d loved each other as more than that for some time, but you couldn’t admit it to yourselves — out of fear of rejection.

For weeks after his abduction, Spencer had refused to see you. And after talking to his colleagues, who had all reached out to support you, you understood why. He was a mess. He'd become addicted to Dilaudid, what his abductor had injected him with, and struggled hard against it. According to his colleagues, he looked awful, skinny, and sick. His withdrawals were even worse. He was irritable, messy, withdrawn, and even angry towards them. You were sure it was nothing he wanted you seeing; and honestly, you didn't know if you could take it, as badly as you wanted to support him.

But finally, after three weeks, you heard a knock on your door. Your eyebrows furrowed.. Who would be knocking on your door in a thunderstorm? They must have been freezing and soaked. Rushing over to answer your door, there stood Spencer. And his friends were right; he looked downright awful. Pale, skinny, ill, and like he'd been through war. Even worse, you could see through the rain that tears poured down his face.

You hadn't a moment to react before he yanked you into a bone crushing hug with a heartbreaking sniffle.

"I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry." He apologized brokenly as you reached by the soaked body clinging to you to shut your apartment door.