The quiet is too loud. Mourners shuffle past in hushed tones, the sound of heels on stone steps and the faint rustling of fabric in the breeze. The air is thick with that strange calm that only death brings.

Spencer stands off to the side, his coat buttoned tightly against the chill, the familiar purple scarf wrapped snugly around his neck. He fidgets with the ends of it, twisting the threads between his fingers as he stares up at the gothic architecture of the cathedral.

He’s thinner than you remember. His hair a little longer. There’s more weight behind his eyes now, the kind grief etches in silence.

He doesn’t notice you at first.

But you do.

Standing just a few steps above him, dressed in black, you clutch the program in your hands so tightly it creases. You hadn’t known he’d be here.

"Spence?" You murmur. Soft, tentative.

He looks up. Slowly. As if the name takes a moment to reach him.

And then - recognition. His eyes widen slightly. The emotion hits him like a slow-moving wave: awe, disbelief… regret.

"You’re here." He almost whispers.

"Of course I’m here. So are you."

There’s a pause. Neither of you moves. It’s like the years stretch between you - three years, maybe more? - and yet, here you are, like nothing and everything has changed.

"I wasn’t sure I…" He swallows hard. "I thought maybe I shouldn’t come."

"Why? Because you left?"

That lands harder than you mean for it to. You see it in the way his shoulders pull in, the way he looks away.

"Because I ran." A beat. "I thought staying away would protect everyone. That maybe… if I left, the pain would stop following us."

You step closer. He doesn’t move. Just watches you like you’re a ghost he wasn’t ready to believe in.

"It never worked that way. You know that." You murmur softly. "We didn’t need you to protect us, Spence. We just needed you."

His breath hitches. You catch it - that flicker of guilt, of emotion just barely beneath the surface.

"I know." His voice breaks. "God, I know. I just… I didn’t know how to come back."

Silence.

You reach out, fingers brushing his scarf - that old, worn thing he still wears like a piece of armour.

"Then don’t worry about how. Just… be here. With us. With me."

And that’s when his eyes glisten. Not just with grief - for Will, for everything he’s lost - but with something older. Something that never got closure.

"I missed you. I missed… everything." He whispers, almost choking on it.

You give him the smallest nod, your eyes stinging too now. The funeral bell begins to chime behind you, low and somber.

"Then come inside. We’ll figure the rest out later."

He hesitates only a moment longer.

Then Spencer steps forward. And this time, he doesn’t run.

The ceremony is over. The eulogies have been spoken, the prayers whispered, the sobs muffled in folded hands. Most of the mourners have left, trailing out into the overcast light, but a few linger in the shadows of pews, exchanging soft words, embraces.

You sit alone in the second pew. Hands folded in your lap. Staring at the altar, the flowers, the empty space where the casket had been.

You don’t hear him approach, but you feel it. That presence. Still familiar after all this time. "You always used to stay after."

You glance up. He’s standing a few feet away, hands in the pockets of his coat now, scarf a little looser. Eyes tired.

"Helps me breathe." You murmur. "Funerals are always too loud for me."

He offers a soft smile. Nods. "I forgot how you do that. Stay still. Let it sit. I used to envy that about you."

You motion beside you, and he moves - careful, like he’s not sure he’s allowed - and sits next to you in the pew.

"Do you hate me?"

You blink. "What?"

"For leaving. For not calling. For disappearing like I did." He laughs softly, but it’s not a happy sound. "I rehearsed a dozen excuses in my head. Every version of an apology. But none of it changes the fact that I hurt people I love."

You stare at him, really stare - at the man he’s become. Older, yes. Wiser, maybe. But still Spencer underneath it all.