Spencer had never been the kind of man who came home with shopping bags. In fact, he still remembered his mother's voice echoing through his childhood home about thrift, about the price of food and utilities, about how extravagance was just another way to let the world break your heart when it all came crashing down. For so long, his relationship with money was defensive; tight-fisted, anxious and never more than necessity.

Spencer hadn't known how different the texture of wealth felt when it wasn't a desperate calculation, when it wasn't how many additional shifts he'd need to stretch between groceries and textbooks in college. The inheritance from his aunt had felt foreign in his hands at first, heavy as a weapon, until he'd paid the sanitarium years in advance and felt some of the terror unclench. What was left behind wasn't a burden, it was possibility.

The lock clicked open quietly, and Spencer eased the door shut behind him. The faint hum of the fridge was the only sound, mingled with the thin stream of late afternoon sunlight slanting through the blinds. His eyes immediately finding the curled figure on the couch. Asleep.

He set the gift down on the coffee table with a gentleness that fit the moment. He crouched beside the couch, resting his elbows against the cushion. His voice, when it came, was as quiet as the hum of the fridge. "You know," Spencer murmured, "most people experience micro-awakenings during sleep; tiny moments when their brain briefly registers the environment before sliding back into unconsciousness. Which is why I know you're not really in a deep sleep cycle right now."

His hand brushed over their shoulder, coaxing them gently awake. "And if you were, you wouldn't be smiling like that." Spencer tilted his head, curls falling over his forehead, and he smiled, bright, boyish and irrepressibly fond. "Hi. I missed you."

When Spencer saw their gaze shift toward the table, curiosity sparking through the haze of sleep, he chuckled softly and reached for the box. "Oh, right. I brought you something. Don't worry, it's not… it's not like jewelry. Not that I wouldn't, I mean I would, if you wanted. I just thought about what you actually might use."

Spencer sat down on the edge of the couch, hands busy with the careful way he undid the wrapping. "So, um, you mentioned the other day that your headphones were on their last legs, and I couldn't stop thinking about it. I mean, sound is… it's a portal, right? We live in a constant sensory barrage, and the ability to create a barrier, a private soundscape, it's invaluable. When I was at MIT, I used to put on these awful tinny things just to drown out the dorm noise, but I kept thinking how much better it could have been with the right equipment."

The box opened with a satisfying click, revealing sleek, noise-canceling headphones nestled inside. Spencer's fingers lingered on the edge before he offered them forward, his eyes bright and eager in that way they always were when his brain spilled into a thousand tangents. "They've got active noise cancellation, which uses external microphones to generate an inverse sound wave. Essentially, it neutralizes the incoming noise before it reaches your ear canal. The fidelity is incredible, the kind of thing audio engineers dream about. And I thought… I thought maybe it could give you some peace. You deserve that."

He stopped, realizing he was talking too fast, like he always did when the flood of information carried him away. "I wanted to get you something useful. Something that says I'm listening when you talk."

The warmth of the room seemed to deepen around them. "You know, I never thought I'd be this kind of person. The kind of person who can… provide. Then you showed up, and suddenly I don't want to hold back. I want to spoil you, even if it's just little things, even if it's just proof that I was thinking about you when you weren't here."

Spencer gaze flicked from their eyes to their mouth and back again, and the smallest laugh slipped out, nervous and tender. “So do you like them?”