#homoose

“That’s really incredible. It’s so small.” He said, amazement in his voice. 

“Thank you.” You almost whispered, hoping the blush you could feel on your cheeks wasn’t as visible as it felt. 

You thought that would be the end of it. You showed the whole team all of their nails, and everyone complimented you and really enjoyed the little personalized designs you had done. The three fingers that weren’t dedicated to team members each had small little hearts on them. (One of them was the pinky next to Spencer’s finger. Penelope wouldn’t stop teasing you for that when you had done it.) In the break room, you were stirring milk into your coffee when someone cleared their throat behind you. You turned to see Spencer standing there, playing with his fingers and clearly nervous about something. 

“Hey! What’s up?” You asked, continuing to stir your tea. He took a few steps closer to you, looking over his shoulder as if he was nervous someone would overhear. 

“Do you think-uhm. Would you want to-” He cut himself off and took a deep breath with his eyes closed, clearly gathering himself. Your heart hammered in your chest. He wasn’t going to....no. He wouldn’t. You shook the thought out of your head as soon as it came. Either way, whatever he was trying to ask you was obviously not coming easily. You took a step towards him and tilted your head. 

“Whatever it is, you can ask me Spencer.” You reassure him. 

What he said next was so rushed and jumbled that if you hadn’t been well versed in Spencer-speak, you would’ve never understood what he said. “I was thinking that maybe you could paint my nails? Because yours look really pretty and I’ve thought about it before but I always thought it was weird but you’re so good at it and-” 

“Whoa! Slow down.” You said, you reached out slowly, giving him plenty of time to pull away, and when he didn’t you grabbed his hand and his gaze snapped from the floor to you. “It’s not weird. I would love to paint your nails. You can come over tonight.” 

You rode back to your apartment together, talking about everything and nothing in the way you only could with Spencer. When you finally arrived, you let him settle on the couch while you went and got all the polishes you had. While you laid them out on your coffee table, Spencer rambled about the history of nail varnish. You couldn’t help but smile the entire time. 

You prompted him to pick a color, and he settled on a sky blue. Sitting cross-legged across from him on the couch, you pulled his hand into your lap. It was shaking slightly, and his gaze stayed on where your hands were touching. “There’s no need to be nervous, Spence.” You said, placing your other hand on top of his to try and settle the shaking. 

He scoffed. “That’s what you think.” He looked like he regretted it as soon as he said it, but you just chuckled. 

“It’s what I know. No one is going to care if your nails are blue. I promise.” You tilted you head down to catch his eye. “I never break a promise.” He smiled a little and nodded. 

“Okay. Go ahead.” He said, wiggling his fingers in your palm. You worked quickly and neatly, answering all of Spencer’s questions about how you did it so steadily, and listening to him tell you about the different chemicals that made nail polish smell like nail polish. You had forgotten how intimate painting someone else’s nails could be, your hands touching the entire time. The delicacy of holding his finger steady in between your own. If you had a crush before tonight, you were well on your way to infatuated now. His long slender fingers just did something to you, and you had never gotten the chance to study them so up close. 

When you put on the final coat on his left pinky, you were almost disappointed that it was over. Spencer had gone quiet, simply watching you work. Your tongue was sticking out of the corner of your mouth in concentration. “All done.” You said quietly, but made no moves to let go of his hand. You looked up and found his gaze was already on your face. “What do you think?” 

He didn’t even look down at his nails. “Beautiful.” You giggled, and shook your head. 

“You didn’t even look.” 

“I wasn’t talking about the nails,” he whispered. Your jaw dropped and a flush rose from your neck to your cheeks. His face froze, and he started scrambling to get off the couch, mumbling apologies. You pulled him back by the grip on his hand, and when his head turned to you he was closer than before, having shifted in his effort to get away. 

You didn’t even say anything, his face too close to resist. You moved forward and pressed your lips against his, the hand not holding his threading into his hair and holding him close to you. His soft lips molded into your own and you sighed into it. He pulled his hand from your grasp only to move both of his hands to your cheeks, holding you in place as your lips brushed over and over. When you both pulled back, you pressed your forehead against his. He let out a small laugh and brought a hand up to brush your hair out of your face. His wet fingernails got caught a bit in your hair. 

“Oh no,” He whined, pulling back to look at his hand. “I smudged it.”