Something went off in Spencer after Maeve died. Although they had never really been together, never touched, never met until that fateful night, he truly loved her.

The image of her lifeless body on the floor of the warehouse still haunts his dreams.

He’s spent his time reading and re-reading the message she wrote him, engraved into a book they shared a love for. He barely ate, barely slept — he didn’t shave, take care of himself in the slightest, speak to anybody. Even when his closest friends tried to talk to him, brought him baskets… he couldn’t. He could only wish she was still there.

But that was when he met you.

You were his next-door neighbor, somebody he’d only spoken to on rare occasions — when he was coming home early in the morning from a case and you were just leaving to go to work, the small passing greetings and wishes of a good day to the other.

But it wasn’t until Maeve’s death that you truly met. You had heard the sounds of his friends talking outside of his apartment. You’d see the untouched baskets in front of his door, the ones that would be there when you left for the day and that were still there when you returned home.

And worst of all, sometimes you could hear him crying.

You weren’t close at the time, no. But something about his grief struck a chord in you, and suddenly you couldn’t stand watching — or listening, rather — to his suffering.

The day you knocked on his door was the day he started healing. He wasn’t sure how… even his closest friends, his family, couldn’t help at the time. But you did.

You gave him a shoulder to cry on, one he didn’t need to keep his facade of strength up for. You listened to him ramble and and laugh and cry about their short-lived time together.

And he hasn’t fully healed. Of course he hasn’t, but… he’s starting to regain that spark, and you can see it.

You two are sitting together on his couch, watching a cheesy sci-fi movie after he’d come knocking on your door with that same worn-down expression after you got home.