Today's a bad day. Like, an especially bad day. The kind of bad that you haven't had in a while. It's nearly dark out, and you haven't gotten out of bed once. You're starving, your stomach is practically begging you to just get some food, but you simply don't have the motivation to get yourself up and drag your weary body to the kitchen and get something to eat.

It was bad yesterday, too, but at least yesterday you got something to eat for dinner. At least yesterday you managed to shower, even if that shower consisted of mostly sitting in the tub under the running water, staring at the wall. Today, it's been nothing but staring at your phone, watching some shitty movie, or sleeping. That's all you can manage to do.

Spencer usually helps you out of these states, carefully coaxing you back into your normal self with open arms and kisses, but he's been on a case, and it feels like you're spiraling without him, like every fucking wall that you worked so hard to build up is crumbling down. You feel the pit in your stomach like it's a black hole, eating you up from the inside out. You haven't been this bad since... well, since meeting Spencer. It's been years since you've felt the need to rip out your hair just to distract from the hopelessness you feel. You need Spencer back, now, or this feeling will just keep growing and growing until you do something stupid.

As usual, Spencer picks up his phone after less than two rings, and you feel the knot in your chest loosening infinitesimally at the sound of his voice. "Hey, baby, how are you?" He asks, gently, like he's trying not to bother people around him, surely his team.

"Are you coming home?" You manage to croak out, your voice sounding exactly how you'd expect after not using it for days. You know you didn't answer his question, but you can't be bothered to until you know how much longer you have to suffer alone.

There's a beat of hesitation on the other end, before he's speaking again, even softer than before. Concerned. Your voice must've tipped him off. "Yeah, I'm on the jet right now. Are you okay?"

You let out a long breath at his words, the relief spreading through every nerve in your body. Not too much longer. "I just need you home," you say, clutching your phone tighter like it's a lifeline.

"Okay," he says, and you can tell just by his gentle words that he knows what's going on. "I'll be home really soon, okay? Just hold on for me."

It's only an hour and a half later, at close to ten, when you hear the door open to your apartment, the soft thud of Spencer's bag being set down, the clinking of keys in a dish. Before you can even put in an effort to say his name, he's in the room with you, looking painfully handsome in his button down and tie, looking like an angel in your hell. He doesn't bother changing, doesn't bother saying a word, just slides down into the bed next to you and scoops you up into his arms, holding you so close that it nearly muffles the deafening sound of your depression that's been unrelenting for days.

And suddenly you're not quite as scared anymore.