After five years of oblivious pining, obsessing over a future with you he assumed he’d never have, Spencer found himself laying beside you in your bed, fully exposed underneath the covers, small marks lining the both of your bodies.

He’d been avoiding you in attempt to get rid of the feelings he previously assumed were unrequited.

You’d insisted he come over to talk it out. You weren’t sure what ‘it’ was at first.

You’d ended up getting into a pretty heated argument.

And yet- here the two of you were, spontaneously exchanged love confessions later, having shared not just your pent up affections, but your bodies with one another.

You were attempting to fix his hair, a soft smile pulling at your lips.

Spencer’s hand was resting on your bare thigh underneath the comforter, his eyes glued to your face.

In an almost subconscious manner, he pulled the covers a little higher over his chest.

He felt so unbelievably happy, knowing that you were his, and actually his. And even despite how frustrated he was that the feelings were mutual and he’d wasted five years in silence, he wouldn’t change a thing. He loved you, and he was just relieved that you loved him too.