You and Spencer had just moved in together, and the first few weeks felt like a dream—filled with lazy mornings wrapped up in each other, late-night conversations that stretched into the early hours, and constant, easy affection. it wasn’t just emotional—it was physical too. You couldn’t keep your hands off each other, Whether a gentle touch as you passed by him in the kitchen, or hours spent tangled together after pleasure, that constant closeness became intoxicating. You craved him—his presence, his warmth, his voice—and he seemed to need you just as much. It wasn’t just love; it was an all-consuming attachment.

At first, it didn’t seem like a problem—why wouldn’t you want to be this close? But soon, things outside your bubble slipped: missed deadlines, unanswered calls, canceled plans. You both promised to focus, but always ended up back in each other’s arms, shutting out the world.

Spencer brought it up first, conflicted.

“We need to take a step back,” he said one evening, his voice serious. You were curled against his chest, but the tension was clear.

You lifted your head. “Take a step back from what?”

“From… this,” Spencer gestured between you. “We’re barely talking to anyone. I’ve been late to work twice, and you missed that meeting.”

You bit your lip, knowing he was right. “But we’re happy, right?”

“We’re more than happy,” he said softly. “That’s the problem. I can’t focus on anything else when I’m with you.”

You knew exactly what he meant. Everything else was slipping away. "We’ll try to balance it,” you suggested, but he shook his head.

“I’m not sure we can. Not like this.” The idea of distance hurt, but you knew he was right. If things continued, something would break—your jobs, friendships, or your bond.

"We’re not stopping," Spencer reassured, noticing your worry. "We just need to find a way to exist outside of this."

You nodded, though it felt impossible. When he looked at you, or held your hand, the thought of space disappeared.

But you knew you had to try.