You could tell the moment it started — how he’d go quiet randomly when he’d usually be rambling, how he would squint and often wear sunglasses when you went outside. How he’d stay in the bathroom of your shared apartment to try and get away from the noise.

And, of course, you had to ask him about it. Spencer had the tendency to hide his problems from everybody — even you — in hopes of handling it on his own. In fear of pushing the people he loved away with his problems.

But you wouldn’t have any of that.

He’s just gotten home from work, and he walked into a completely dark apartment, the only light coming from the moon outside of the window. And for a second he assumed maybe you’d gone out — until he heard your quiet footsteps.

“Why are the lights off?” he asks quietly, arms wrapping around you as he feels your own arms encircling his waist.

“So the light doesn’t hurt your head,” you whisper.

He feels a wave of affection course through him at your words, grip tightening around you. It had been a long day at work. So much reading, so many small words, so many bright lights and loud voices.

“How bad is it today?” you ask softly, pulling away just barely to cup his cheek, both of your faces just barely illuminated.

He hesitates a second before answering. “Honestly pretty bad,” he responds, voice quiet as he leans into your hand.

You nod lightly, having expected that answer. “There’s an ice pack and some water in the bedroom. And a change of clothes. How about you get ready for bed and let me take care of you?”

The appreciation on his face is unmistakeable, a drawn out kiss being placed on your forehead before he walks to the bathroom.

Minutes later, he comes back into the bedroom and changes into the pyjamas you’d set out for him, before he climbs into bed. He immediately claims the spot between your legs as he rests his back against your chest. And although you know he’s in pain, you can’t help but admire just how adorable he is in the moment.