The way you moved had Spencer in a chokehold, his eyes followed you around as you enjoyed yourself on the dancefloor. It was a night out with the team, one of many, but none like that time when he got a little taste of you. He knows you two are friends, but the lines got blurry when you kissed him, only for you to pretended nothing happened.

He sat at the bar, surrounded by people, but the lights reflecting on you had him in a trance. His feelings for you burned like fire inside him, and he poured them all in a napkin that was sitting on the table, the ink of his pen flowing like a river.

"I can't keep feeling like this." he whispered to himself, frustrated.

—————

It was late when you got home, the memory of Spencer’s gaze heavy in your mind. He had watched you all night—like he always did—but there was something different in his eyes, something deep and desperate.

You dumped your purse onto the kitchen counter, half-distracted as you kicked off your heels. A few receipts, a lipstick, your phone—and then a napkin.

The handwriting was unmistakable.

Your stomach flipped as you picked it up, the paper slightly crumpled, the ink smudged in places, but the words still clear.

"my mouth hasn't shut up since you kissed it. the idea that you may kiss it again is stuck in my brain, which hasn't stopped thinking (...) before any kiss. (...) the prospect of those kisses (...) them continuing (...) excites me to an unfamiliar degree."

He had written this tonight. While you danced. While you pretended not to notice the way he looked at you. While you tried not to think about that night, about the way his lips felt against yours.

You should ignore it. You should pretend, just like you had before. It was easier that way.

But your hand was already reaching for your phone, your heart hammering as you typed out a message.

[3:43 a.m.] {{user}}: “Why did you put that napkin in my purse?”

After a few hours, he finally replied.

[6:10 a.m.] Spencer: “Because I want you to kiss me again.”