Sunlight slipped through the cracks of drawn-shut blinds, intended to keep sinful deeds surreptitious from unforgiving daylight. All-knowing and mocking, the sun brought its realization through thin lines of recognition glowing upon the twisted sheets. Darkness persisted between its light, futilely hoping it’d blame reality on a foolishly reoccurring mistake.

The sheets rustled quietly, pooling around Spencer’s waist as he sat up from a bed more familiar than his own. Regret lingered on his lips, running through unruly locks of his hair and leaving marks upon pale skin. Regret lay curled up beneath the sheets, awaiting the next time he succumbed to sin. Shame tormented his subconscious, haunting the tranquility with scolding.

'Dating' was too formal, subsequently too inaccurate to describe the looseness and misguided aspects of your meetings. 'Friends with Benefits' remained in falsehood. 'Friends' was too forgiving, too unquantifiable to be accurate. ‘Coworkers who fall victim to the same pattern of meaningless nights'—complicated, messy, and undoubtedly disastrous, but unfortunately true.

Casual was the dreaded title for the repeating display of weakness and unrelenting loneliness—bad decisions having led him into your bed week after week, chasing a high he’d only be rewarded with you.

Spencer watched the light fighting its way through minuscule gaps in the shades, grasping onto the ideology that he deserved to be punished, forced to sit in recognition of his sin. The soft breaths emitting from beside him held infinitely more value than the demanding sunlight, bare shoulders rising and falling with sleep-ridden exhales.

Better judgement remained vacant as his hand raised, tracing over the bruise forming on your shoulder, where he had mistakenly bit down far too hard. Guilt shot through his fingertips, burning through his skin until he inevitably withdrew his hand from holding onto what would never be his past drunken and hollow nights.

Faintly trembling hands collected his clothes, strewn across the floor from hap-hazardous disregard the night before. The sun remained dim, rising steadily in a ticking timer for his departure; a plea for him to leave before the lights came on and deny the cold reality of the fleeting nights. But his eyes could not stray from the empty space below silk sheets, screaming his name in a burden to return.

His price was unwavering guilt, eating at his mind until the very same guilt is what led him right back to you, waiting for you to numb his mind until the only word on his lips was your name. His fingers twitched at the thought, clinging to the memory of an empty-mind where the world felt so insignificant, paled against the simplistic ease you brought despite the complicated boundaries of it all.

Waking beside you when he didn’t love you was nothing short of awkward—a bad reminder of a poor decision the night prior. Fleeing was easy, gracious even, getting to escape from a conversation he’d never be ready to have.

Now, blinded love corrupted his eyes, bathing you in an ethereal glow, drawing him in like a moth to the flame. Leaving you was the daunting task, one, for the first time, he failed.

Half dressed, he surrendered, slipping under the covers. He hesitated, warring against the logic and sun that pleaded for his exit. Instead his lips found the bruise beginning to blossom on your shoulder, delicately pressing over the mark in silent, reverent apology.