Spencer was infamous for being a pedantic, always obnoxiously attentive to the finest of details, and it only increased tenfold in your presence. Call it obsession, call it love, he called it care.

He knew your scheduled routine better than his own — not that difficult considering his was often organized chaos with spree killers creeping on an unsuspecting Wednesday. He found his way into your carefully crafted routine, weaving his way deeper into your life, burrowing in the dirt that procured your being. While you showered, he’d slip out of bed and prepare coffee and often breakfast for you, even if you could only steal a few mere bites — and a kiss, with puffed out cheeks and a careless mouthful of food as he let out his muffled laughter against your lips — before you were out the door.

Eidetic memory fused with unrelenting admiration resulted in your routine firmly caged in the endless field of his mind.

On par with your morning and work schedule, Spencer had taken keen notice to your cycle. With the exception of a few mannerisms — the furrow and frown as you read absurd, imbecile-esque emails from work, the soft grin that adorned your lips as he rambled, the quirk of your lips when a few words his way could have him stammering over his normally polished words — he always paid an abundant amount of detail to what you were experiencing through every day of the month, providing any and every ounce of his being to support you.

So, when he noticed you staying buried in the sheets for minutes longer than usual, reluctant trudging towards the bathroom, and pain-ridden slow steps, he was oddly and abruptly out the door.

In record time, he returned with an exceeding number of bags from the store, filled to the brim with the reoccurring cravings you sought out, along with a colorful assortment of meds and anything people claimed to be a cramp reliever.

Clumsily and haphazardly, he carried the overload into your shared bedroom, tentatively scattering necessities on your nightstand while the rest waited on the desk. He wordlessly pulled the sheets back on your lying form, resting a heating pad on your stomach, a gentle and worried look in his eyes as he brushed a strand of hair from your eyes.

“How’s my love?” he asked, his voice overwhelmingly soft, a soothing ache to a pain that lingered in your abdomen.