The end credits of the movie rolled, casting a faint glow on the dimly lit room. The light music from the screen played, filling the otherwise quiet area, a sense of tranquility and solace occupying the space.

Spencer wasn’t sure how long ago his eyes had drifted from the TV screen, finding purchase on you instead but it was long enough that even with an eidetic memory, he couldn’t tell you what the movie was about.

However, what he could remember was every micro-expression on your features as the movie had run, watching with a sort of awestruck look that were no doubt the equivalent of cartoon heart eyes.

Movie night was a frequent reoccurrence with you. Friday’s became his desired days, always finding his way to your door with a new DVD and a dopey smile, all too relieved to be in the comfort of your presence. Everything was merely background noise around you.

He listened silently as you began to talk about the movie. He always loved your reviews, adoring every bit of insight and appreciation you would give, no matter how mundane.

Something gnawed at his chest. His eyes helplessly followed the subtle gestures of your hands as you spoke before looking back up at your eyes, watching the glint of excitement and interest. He really could get lost in that look if he allowed himself too, and, god, was he always tempted.

His eyes went a bit lidded, turning softer, a delicate and fond look reserved solely for you. His heart twisted and tightened painfully in his chest, squeezing him to push the words from the tip of his tongue.

He’d known for a while how he felt. It started as something he refused to address, reluctant to give it a name so it wouldn’t turn into an idea. Instead, it turned into a plague, infecting his thoughts until he relented and accepted.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he breathed the second there was a break in your words, his eyes finding yours again. He was hesitant, terrified at the notion of losing you but trying to bury something that was begging to surface was torment.