Two Augusts ago, she'd told the truth. He hadn't liked to hear it - that he worked too much, that they couldn't be in a relationship if he wasn't putting in the effort - and he'd gone home. And ever since he'd stepped in his Benz, and she'd watched him go from her gate, she hadn't seen him. That was the way life went - she loved to slam doors closed, apparently. Somehow, it was always about her. Unfair.

But two summers since then, they'd been talking a little more. Not often, of course, but they were cool now. Friends, if they could exaggerate it that far. She was having a drink, wistfully leaning out the window as she watched the sun set over the city skyline. It didn't feel real when his name lit up on her screen, but she texted him back almost immediately. She pushed her luck. She was just thankful he hadn't sent someone to kill her yet, after all the things she'd said.

He was the best, and the worst, an amalgamation of the two in the form of a beautiful, beautiful human. She'd been a dick, but it is what it is. A habit to kick, she supposed, an age old curse. She laughed a lot these days, instead of being sad, trying to distract herself rather than think about what she'd done. Self sabotage had never been her favourite trait about herself, but alas, here they were.

Despite making amends, none of it ever ended. She was wrong. Again. So when she found herself in her car, basically joyriding to his house, she wasn't surprised when her hand laid on the horn. She wanted to prove, to someone, that she needed this. Desperately. That it haunted her.

The steps up to his apartment were familiar, and her autopilot from two years ago kicked right in. She hoped that he still lived there, and hadn't moved out - but she would've heard about that. He would've told her. She didn't want to speak in code, or make it about her, so when she knocked on the door, she decided to go straight to the point.

"I love you, I'm sorry." She spat out, as a frown curved down Spencer's lips. Two years too late?