notes: mentions of past injuries/trauma, fighting, insomnia, mild angst, fluff, no use of y/n
There was a drip in the bathroom sink. And despite how many times Spencer crawled under the sink to tighten everything or how many times he left a rag in the sink to muffle the sound, it still kept him awake every night. And you, his beautiful, intelligent, loving girlfriend slept right through it every night, like it was white noise.
"Relax, baby, I put in a ticket with the landlord, he said he'll be by sometime this week to look at it," you'd said, scratching your fingers against his scalp in an attempt to help him relax.
Spencer only frowned and reminded you that you'd put the ticket in two weeks ago. "I know you love the 'quirky charm' this place has, but I still think you're paying way too much in rent for how many electrical and plumbing issues you've had here," he grumbled, annoyed by his lack of sleep, but leaning into your soft touch anyways.
"You know, I bet you wouldn't even hear it if you let me sleep with the TV on," you teased, sliding out of bed to close the bathroom door, then the bedroom door in an attempt to muffle the persistent dripping sound.
He didn't even grace your teasing with a response, just rolled over in bed and tugged the blankets up over his shoulders with a small pout on his lips. It eased slightly once you were back in bed, finding your spot against his chest and kissing his pout away. "I'll call him again in the morning," you promised and pecked his lips again before taking less than 5 minutes to fall asleep like you did every night.
And like he did every night for the past two weeks, Spencer laid awake. His eyes closed only for his brain to focus even harder on the drip, drip, drip. And the closer he got to sleep, the harder it was to remind himself the noise was coming from the bathroom across the hall.
This time, when he opens his eyes, he's looking down at his hands and the dripping is the sound of his blood against the wooden barn floor. He can't move his body, his head only lolls from side to side.
He can hear footsteps echoing around him, but he doesn't need to look to know who it is. He sees track marks on his right arm and realizes the blood is dripping from his head. Panic floods his system and he can almost feel the physical pain before he realizes he's dreaming.
He forces his eyes to snap open and he's in bed again. The room is dark so he can't see much, but he can smell your shampoo under his nose and can feel your legs tangled with his under the sheets. The dripping is just the bathroom faucet.
The next time he drifts off, he hears it again. This time, it's not blood, it's water. Dripping from the ends of your hair onto the kitchen tile. You're fresh out of the shower and he's straight home from work. You're yelling back and forth and he doesn't even recognize the words coming out of his own mouth, but he hears it when you say, "I can't do this anymore."
You stare at each other in silence and all he hears is the drip on the tile and your unsteady breathing as you try not to cry in front of him. He remembers fixing it the next day, but that's a different memory.
This time, when he opens his eyes and realizes you're there, he tightens his hold on you. You stir slightly, but don't wake up. His lips find the top of your head in the dark and he breaths in your almond scented shampoo. You're safe in your home and the drip is only the bathroom faucet.
The next morning, you wake to find the bed empty. After finding the kitchen empty too, you frown and wander through the apartment. "Spence?" your voice echoes out.
"In here!" he calls back and you follow his voice until you find him under the bathroom sink with a youtube video playing next to him. You stand in the doorway and watch fondly as he reassembles the entire plumbing system under the sink after having taken everything apart. When he sits up, the drip has stopped and he's grinning up at you. "I fixed the sink," he announces proudly.
