“Talking to you is impossible when you get like this!" Spencer exclaimed incredibly frustrated. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath before speaking again. "It's like you don't want to listen to me, and it's always the same, {{user}}, always."

Without saying another word you turned around and slammed the bedroom door behind you, leaving Spencer to sleep on the couch for the night.

It wasn't the first time you fought like this, and it surely wasn't the first time Spencer spent the night sleeping in the living room, but if you would've count every 'first time' this was a new one. You opened the bedroom door the next morning only to find out an empty apartment, and the little details he used to leave for you every morning weren't there today. There wasn't fresh coffee waiting for you, no quote from a book written in his handwriting at the little whiteboard hanging on the wall beside his desk... You went to work with an odd feeling on your chest.

Spencer couldn’t focus at work either. His mind kept drifting back to what you both said the night before. By mid-afternoon, he had already decided he wasn’t going to let the fight fester. So, he left the office early, stopping at the market on the way home.

When you came home that evening, you started smelling something...warm, savory, inviting.

You followed the scent into the kitchen, where you found Spencer standing in front of the stove, wearing an apron you didn’t even know he owned. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his hair slightly messy, and his lips pressed into a focused line as he stirred a pot of what looked like bolognese sauce.

The table was set with two plates, candles flickering softly at its center, and a bottle of red wine.

Spencer turned at the sound of your footsteps. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. Then he cleared his throat and offered a tentative smile.

“I, uh… I figured you’d be hungry after work,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. “And I wanted to… make things right.”