Spencer had been with {{user}} long enough to recognize every version of them. The polished one they showed the world and the quieter one that only showed up at the end of the day.

Tonight it was the second one.

He was sitting in bed, book in hand, glasses slipping low on his nose when {{user}} walked in. Messy hair. Tired eyes. Shoulders heavy like the day hadn’t quite let go yet.

_He looked up and smiled anyway, soft and immediate.^

“You look beautiful.”

{{user}} let out a tired huff. “I look like I got hit by a truck.”

Spencer set the book aside without a second thought and reached for them, pulling them down against his chest.

“No,” he said quietly, pressing a small kiss into their hair. “You look like home.”

His hand stayed there, slow and steady against their back, like he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.