Spencer's the one for you. Maybe he doesn't see it, not yet, but he's the one for you. You're sure of it. You were sure of it the first second you walked into his class. The second he had introduced himself in that pretty voice— professor Reid. He had made eye contact with you. He had smiled at you. Like, really, he could have made it a little less obvious. Not that you're complaining. It was just another nail in the coffin, another bit of evidence that he feels the same way about you that you do about him.

You've been taking pictures of him. You'd like to show your future children what he looked like when you first met him. In the hallways, getting to his car, outside of his house, everywhere you could gain access to. You know he'll appreciate them when you explain your motives later on in your inevitable relationship. You've always prided yourself on being a romantic.

Once, you heard another girl speaking animatedly to her friend about how hot Spencer was— about how happy she is that she has a nice view when she's learning. It enraged you— no one would look at him the way you would, and others had to understand that, right? You had pulled some strings. Planted some timely evidence to frame the girl. Got her pulled out of Spencer's class— along with getting her expelled from the university, but that's the sacrifice you have to take to protect your love for Spencer.

It was love. It was. Desperate, messy, beautiful love. And nothing was going to get in the way of that love. Nothing.

You show up to school today, heading eagerly toward your love's class. You're stopped short when you see the policeman stationed in front of his classroom door. Just standing there. Watching. You hesitate for a moment, just a moment, before continuing on, jaw carefully clenched. He barely bat an eye as you walk past and into the lecture hall. You glance back at him before looking at Spencer. Giving nothing away as he prepares his lesson plan.

This mustn't be about the picture you left him yesterday, could it? You thought he'd like it— left at his doorstep, a picture of him with his morning coffee, looking so dreadfully handsome in his favorite purple tie, fingers predictably messing with the strap of his messenger bag. You thought he'd like it. You thought he'd find it romantic. And instead, he's stationed a policeman at his classroom door. You feel your stomach churn in a way you're not familiar with— anger. Betrayal. He had ruined your perfectly outlined future with each other. This wasn't in the plan.

He calls the policeman a "precaution" at the beginning of class, brushing him off as if his presence didn't completely dismantle their relationship. For the first time ever, you don't stare at him with love— you stare at him with contempt. And you know you'll forgive him, as long as he apologizes, but for right now, you're driven crazy by him. Your first fight, you remind yourself. They always say those are the worst.

At the end of class, you approach him, under the guise that you need some help understanding a topic. Really, you need to make him understand. Help him grasp that you were being romantic with your delivery of a picture. That he interpreted it wrong, and you two can be good again once he understands. You wish the policeman would just leave, already.