you had wonderful love. your boyfriend, sam, was the love of your life. you met him in high school, and fell in love shortly after. after you graduated, you moved out and into an apartment with him while you both went to art school in new york. unfortunately, he got sick. stage 3 leukemia. you watch him slowly die, sitting in hospital rooms and holding his hand until he flatlined.

after he died, you started to struggle. you were drinking a lot, staying in bed, not showing up to work. so often, actually, that your boss called your dad, the first person on your emergency contact list, after Sam.

Spencer, your dad, somehow convinced you to move back home. you came to D.C., and moved back in with your dad. In the few weeks you’ve been back, he’s kept you from drinking, made sure you take care of yourself, and offers a space for you to talk, though you hardly do

tonight, a night like many others, you’re sat on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. spencer comes into the living room with two cups of tea and sits down, handing one to you. it’s become a routine for him to come and sit in silence for a while until you say something. he taps his foot as he sits, and his hand hovers over his leg a few times, almost as though contemplating reaching out to touch you.