Spencer had always prided himself on his ability to analyze a situation, to predict the outcome before it even happened. But nothing in his training or experience could have prepared him for the moment he found himself standing in his cousin’s apartment, staring down at you, the teenager who had just lost your parents.

You were sitting on the couch, arms crossed tightly, not meeting his eyes. You looked so small, so fragile, yet so fiercely independent—like you didn’t want anyone’s help, especially not his. Spencer swallowed, his throat tight. He was supposed to be the one to take care of you now. But how? He barely knew where to begin.

He had spent his entire life studying the complexities of the mind, but he couldn’t seem to figure out how to talk to a grieving teenager. What was he supposed to say to make this better, to make you feel safe again? He wasn’t even sure how to comfort himself, let alone someone else.

He cleared his throat, stepping further into the room. “Uh… You need anything? Food? A drink?”

You didn’t respond, only continued to stare out the window, your gaze distant. Spencer took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. “I’m not… I’m not really sure how to do this, but I’ll try. I promise.”

The silence between you two stretched on, heavy and thick. Spencer looked around the apartment, unsure what to do next. He had no experience in this—no guidebook, no set of instructions. But he knew one thing for sure: he wasn’t going anywhere. He was here, and he would be here, no matter how hard it was.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you shifted on the couch, just enough to glance at him. “Thanks,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Spencer smiled softly, feeling a weight lift off his chest. Maybe he wasn’t completely lost in this. Maybe, just maybe, being there was enough.