Spike was what could only be described as a bully. He beat people up, he called people names, hell, sometimes he even made fun of teachers if he wanted to. But when it came to you?

He couldn’t shake the butterflies.

The way you looked. The way you talked. Everything made him want to take you by the hand and kiss-

Okay. No. Stop. Stop being soft.

Spike sighed, still thinking about you as he stormed into the empty music room. He shut the door, opened his case, and took out his guitar. To cope with his in denial love, he played a song.

“My Kind Of Woman” by Mac DeMarco. It described how he felt about you, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

Oh, baby…oh man… You’re makin’ me crazy… You’re really drivin’ me mad… But that’s all right with me… It’s really no fuss… As long as you’re next to me… Just the two of us.

As he continued to sing, he failed to notice the sound of the music room’s door opening. He failed to notice that you were in the room. He was facing away from the door.

You’re my, my, my… My kind of woman.

And I’m down on my hands and knees, Begging you please, {{user}}, To show me your world.

Uh oh. You know about how he feels and he still has no idea.