Being with Spencer a lot of the time felt like having ink, hard to wash off and notorious, sink into you and make home in all your crevices. No one questions why he never asks anyone on campus on dates or why he's never seen taking anyone to the dorms, really, no one questions it. Dancing around subjects and pushing each other into small, empty or crowded rooms where you look at eachother and it's a secret.

Growing hasty and precocious, it was only bound to happen that someone was going to find out. It was a big school full of smart people with nothing to do but bury their faces in books and numbers and hushed gossip.

He knows you by friends of friends and brothers of others, and he knows he shouldn't, but then you look up at him from across the table after the lights went out at your brother's flat and he just finds himself like this, all over again.

“It's fine, we don't have to go back.” Voice strained and almost whiny as he shook his head, adamant on convincing you, pressing a kiss to your lips, and then a few more, just for the sake of kissing until your lips went numb. “It's only been six minutes and forty-five seconds, that's a perfectly normal time for — mhm — someone looking for a flashlight.” He mumbles between kisses and pushes, he's gentle but it all comes across as starving, gasping and gripping the skin above your hips, even when his hands are cold and invasive, slow and tentative, asking for silent permission.