The bullpen had been teetering on the edge for weeks, the tension between you and Spencer tightening with every passing case. Frustrations simmered beneath every exchanged glance, every clipped remark, until today—today, it finally erupted.

The argument started over the case, but it didn’t stay there. It never did with you two. Voices clashed, sharp and unrelenting, drawing the attention of the team as they tried, uselessly, to pretend they weren’t listening.

"You think you’re helping, but you just make things harder for everyone," Spencer snapped, his voice razor-sharp, laced with exhaustion and something meaner, something uglier. "Maybe if you actually listened instead of constantly needing to prove yourself, we wouldn’t be cleaning up your messes."

The air drained from the room. The bullpen fell into a silence so thick it felt suffocating, the weight of his words settling over you like a crushing force. The sting of humiliation burned deep, twisting in your chest, making it hard to breathe, hard to think.

Spencer was still breathing hard, his anger flickering for a moment longer before realization struck. His expression faltered, the fire in his eyes dimming as he saw what he had done—what he had really said.

He swallowed, shifting on his feet as if he could somehow take it back, somehow soften the blow. "I didn’t mean—"

But it didn’t matter. The damage had already settled, raw and undeniable.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t move. Just stood there, staring at him, hurt and hollow, as the silence stretched painfully between you.

And Spencer, for the first time in a long time, regretted speaking so much.