#rosiewrites

A sudden brake jolts Spencer from his alcohol-induced snooze. He stretches his long legs and lanky arms in the cramped cab. The seat cushions are ripped, patched together with duct tape, and the heat doesn’t work and it seems like the driver is hitting every single red light. And yet it’s probably the most romantic place you’ve ever been. Spencer’s hand rests on your knee and you move close to him, hoping that if he questions your uncharacteristic affection, you can use the excuse of being cold in the taxi cab.

“Do you think it’s weird that we’re still roommates,” Spencer asks, the lingering worry filling the silence. The question catches you off guard; in the 5 years you’ve been living with Spencer neither one of you ever mentioned the strangeness of the situation.

“No, do you?” you ask, suddenly wondering if your arrangement with Spencer is weird. It’s not like you can’t afford to live on your own, even though it started that way all those years ago. Now it’s more companionship, but somewhere along the lines the companionship morphed into love.

You can’t exactly pinpoint the moment you knew you loved Spencer. Loving him is as natural as breathing. You can’t remember a time before you loved him and you sure won’t know a time when you don’t love him.

“I mean we both hate change so us not being roommates would mean that we’d have to move. And moving makes me anxious and when I’m anxious it makes you anxious. So it’s like a big pile of anxiety that neither of us handle well,” you say, your nervous rambling uncharacteristic when you’re around Spencer.

“I guess so,” Spencer says, “It’s just, I’ve been thinking about it a lot. And I really can’t imagine a future without you there with me,”

“So what does that mean?” you ask, daring to put your heart out there. It might get fractured into a million little pieces, but it doesn’t matter. Your heart was always his to break.

“What do you mean what does it mean?,” Spencer says, his head still heavy on your shoulder as the taxi takes you home to Cornelia Street, “I’m so drunk that your metaphors are really confusing, Y/N,”

You chuckle, seeing Spencer let loose is always a good thing to see. From the first time you’ve met him, he was nothing but a tall wall of bricks. Yet, slowly he allowed you to peel away the heavy bricks. One by one till all that remained was the real Spencer, the very same Spencer with the messy brown hair and sad eyes. The Spencer that you loved and the Spencer that’s been through too much.

“It means, Spencer,” you say, darting your eyes towards him as the cab stops at the red light, “that you can’t say things like that,”

“Like what?” Spencer asks, clearly so drunk that even though he’s the smartest person in all of this city, he’s the dumbest in this cab, “Come on, Y/N. You know what I mean. You always know what I mean,”

“Just forget it, Spence. We’re both drunk and tired. And I just really want to go to bed,” you say, turning to face the window. He doesn’t reply after that, getting the message that you want to be left alone with your thoughts. He does, however, reach down for your hand, squeezing it as he brings it to his lips. Spencer leaves the tiniest kiss on the back of your hand. His lips barely touch your skin, so you’re not sure if you can even consider it a kiss. You don’t pull back. You love him too much to pull away from his kiss, even if his kiss will be the death of you.

You watch as the cab rushes by the people on the street. Hopeful couples that linger on street corners just because they can’t take another second without holding hands or being close in some way or another. Elderly people, with decades of experience, still holding hands. You crave that familiarity, the way they love without hesitation, without pause. And you just might be brave enough to think that one day you can find it with Spencer, even if today you can hardly look him in the eyes.

The first thing you noticed about him was the way he ended his sentences like it was a question. It was a clear sign of lack of self confidence. Why someone who looked like him didn’t lack confidence was lost on you. From his perfectly pink lips that had a perpetual purse to his soulful brown eyes that flickered to a charming green in the sunlight, the man who sat across from you was nothing short of beautiful.

“Besides, the odd hours will mean you’ll hardly see me,” he chuckles wryly, “And I’m clean, my Aunt Ethel said that makes me husband material. Not that you’re looking for a husband. I mean, I’m not going to be making messes,” Spencer says, flushing crimson as he attempts to save himself from embarrassment.

“That’s good to know,” you say, looking down at the table between you. Spencer fiddles with his fingers, clearly unsure if you’re going to approve of him becoming your roommate. In the split second that you look at him, you know it’s truly impossible to take him in for all he’s worth. You aren’t sure if you’ve ever met someone so attractive, not just physically but emotionally as well. He has an almost vintage quality about him. From the powder blue Volvo that he showed up in to the clearly homemade sweater vests he wears, you look at him and know that he’s going to be the death of you.

“I bake. I mean, I like baking. It’s relaxing and I’m pretty good at it. Well, it’s actually pretty much just chemistry. You know, knowing the temperatures to bake cakes at or how much baking soda is needed for cookies,” Spencer says, his voice trailing as he rambles, “But yeah, I like baking,”

“That’s neat,” you say, forcing a smile as you look at him from across the table. Gesturing to you half eaten chocolate doughnut, you tell Spencer, “You know if your chocolate doughnuts as half as good as these, then I’ll let you be my roommate,”

You break the chocolate doughnut in half again, handing it to Spencer. He smiles, the layer of awkwardness and insecurity still there. You sit together, finishing the doughnuts and coffee and it’s like an outer body experience. Soulmates, the one, the love of your life. The idea that there was an individual out there in this universe that is perfectly suited to you and you are perfectly suited for them hurts your brain. Love, you always assumed, was never in the cards for you. Yet, sitting there eating stale chocolate doughnuts and drinking overly sweet coffee, you have a sneaking suspicion that the tables may have turned.

In hindsight, you should have known that living with Spencer would only end in heartbreak. You weave your arms through his, holding each other up as you climb the stairs to your apartment. You can feel his side flush against your body and you can’t help but revel in. He feels so solid and strong next to you, familiarity warms your entire body. It’s the kind of safe feeling that you know you’d love to get used to.

“You smell like lavender soap,” Spencer whispers, his nose grazing your cheek as he smells your hair. You hold your breath, not daring to breathe when you feel him so close, “Sometimes I steal your shampoo,” he confesses, his face so close to your face you swear you can feel his lips move against your cheeks.

“Is that right?” you ask, attempting to come off coy when in reality you’re dying inside. You arrive at the door to your apartment. Spencer leans against the door as you rummage through your purse for your keys. Unable to find them, you look up at Spencer in frustration, only to find him smiling like a Cheshire Cat.

“Looking for these,” he says, his voice dropping low as he smiles. He looks so beautiful in the awful hallway light. He must be really beautiful to look like he does while bathed in ghastly fluorescent light. You grab the keys from his hands, noticing how perfectly your hand slips into his. Letting go quicker than you want, you take the keys from his hand to unlock the door. It’s quiet in the hallway, way past the bedtime of your neighbors.

“Did you steal those from my back pocket?” you ask, watching Spencer with a narrowed gaze. You’re not sure if it’s him that’s swaying or if it’s you that’s moving. Whoever it is, the alcohol at the bar is to blame.

“Yup,” he says, his mischievous smile making your cheeks hurt from returning the smile. Your thoughts darken at the very idea of Spencer’s hands slipping into your pocket to swipe your keys. As you unlock the door, you can’t help but wonder what his hands would feel like against your skin without the barrier of your jeans.

Silently, you walk into the shared apartment. Spencer shuffles in, clearly more drunk than you are, on account for the difficulty it is for him to take off his shoes. He hops around, one arm searching for stability while the other flails around ready to brace his fall. Spencer, in all his endearing qualities, was never graceful in the five or so years you’ve known him.

“Spence,” you whine, giggling through a smile as you rush over to catch him, “It’s a good thing you didn’t bring that bartender home. One of you would have probably broken a leg or something,” you tease, even though it hurts your heart to joke about Spencer bringing someone else home.

It stings your soul to imagine a day when it’s not you Spencer rushes home to talk to when his days are hard and long. It’s a fatal wound to realize that one day these apartment walls will be painted over and you’ll only have the memories of Spencer to occupy your dreary heart. It breaks you to know that he’ll never be yours and it breaks you all over to know he can never be the one to glue you back together.

It’s like the room is spinning because all of the sudden you feel your head grow dizzy. All you can smell is the sweet strawberry daiquiris on Spencer’s breath and all can see is his brown eyes in the moonlight. For now you’ll live with stolen glances and innocent touches and familiar teasing.

For five years now, you and Spencer have been a team. You’ve filled in the blanks as you went; through all the wrong ones and all while still hoping to fall into the right arms. And Spencer may not love you back, but you’ll settle for loving him in secret if it means you’ll never lose him. It’s a cyclical torment; being petrified of watching him walk away when you’ve never had him in your arms in the first place. You’re too scared to lose him to have him. Because you’ll never walk Cornelia Street ever again.

“Y/N, I’m too drunk for cryptic puzzles,” Spencer laments, sitting on the edge of the armchair. You stand in front of him, eyelevel. The moonlight casts a halo around his head, reminding that he's an angel heaven sent.

You never believed in angels. Or a heaven. Because life was hell if it was a life where Spencer couldn’t love you back.

“The woman at the bar,” you repeat, staring at his shiny eyes, “You know Mandy. Or Brenda. Whatever her name was. She was really into you,” you tell him, scoffing internally at his look of confusion.

“The one that kept asking to see my badge?” Spencer asks, the double meaning totally lost on him, “What makes you think she wanted to come home with me?”

“She was fawning all over you!” you shout, the booze in your system making you forget civility, “Spencer, open your eyes. She wanted you to take her home…and,” you can feel your face heat as the conversation nears that forbidden territory you never wanted to cross for fear of reality setting in.

Giving you a quizzical look, Spencer’s bemused expression usually amuses you, but now, drunk off something stronger than what’s at the bar, it’s like looking into his eyes in a mirror image of a life that you never could live. After spending five years in a dark night, you think to yourself what’s another year or two or even another five? As long as you don’t have him in the way you dream of, you can’t lose him in the way you fear.

“And what?” Spencer repeats, his voice sounding like he’s swimming deep under blue waters. In the mysterious moonlight, he’s painted an ocean blue, but the kind that’s treacherous and reckless. But then again, you don’t want another shade of blue but him, “Was she like, flirting with me?” Spencer asks, spitting out the word flirt like it’s a disease that he’s immune to.

“You had to notice, Spencer. I mean she wasn’t exactly subtle about it,” you tell him, being subtle about the woman’s lack of subtlety when flirting with Spencer. You’re used to people flirting with him when you go out, in stereotypically beautiful women wanting him has increased ever since he traded in his long curls for something a bit shorter and conventionally handsome.

You’d be kidding yourself if you didn’t admit you loved his new haircut. But you’ve loved him in all his forms and you’ll love him in all the ones that fall like a shadow. You always loved Peter Pan, the boy that never grew up, never lost his dreams. And sometimes you think you’ll be haunted by those dreams that never could. Peter lost Wendy, like you’ll lose Spencer. And you’ll forever wonder if he’ll search for his shadow in grocery lines.

“No, Y/N,” Spencer says, your name sounding like the sweetest thing on his lips. You wonder the countless ways he could say your name; some more sinful and some sweet and some nestled into the happy medium you long to know, “I didn’t notice,” he finishes, something in the tone of his voice making your words catch in your throat.

“Because you probably had too many strawberry daiquiris,” you tease, smiling as you thread your arm around Spencer’s neck, holding him loosely and lovingly. You hope that he can hear it in the silence, the secret message that you’re desperate to reveal.

“No,” Spencer says, shaking his head as his eyes twinkle with the reflection of the Christmas lights.

“Then was it Emily and Shannon’s antics? I mean those two are so ridiculously in love it’s sickening,” you say, the pain of watching Spencer’s close friend and her wife love each other without pause hitting you in the very place Spencer owns, your heart.

“No, even though Emily does turn into a girl with a crush when Shannon is around,” Spencer admits, his voice playful in contrast to your strained one.

“Then why didn’t you notice her flirting with you, Spencer? I mean she was pretty and seemed nice enough, I suppose,” you reason, even though you’re lying through your teeth to the only man you swear you love, “And she was really into you,”

“I didn’t notice, Y/N,” Spencer starts, slowly wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling closer to him so you’re wedged between his legs. Somehow, your bodies fit together like a perfect mold. You want to close your eyes so you can pretend that you’re dreaming, because if this is all a dream then it will be real.

“I think we covered that much, Spencer,” you laugh, wrestling with your emotions as you try to quell the thumping in your heart. You close your eyes and you smell Spencer’s cologne. You close your eyes and you still see the Christmas lights that will stay up till well past January. You close your eyes and you can almost imagine what it would be like to kiss him till you’re tired of kissing him.

But then. But then you open your eyes and you can see the imaginary life you’ve built crumble into dust. You open your eyes and you can see yourself stuffing your things you’ve collected over the years into boxes too small to fit your heart and your pain. You open your eyes and it’s all gone, nothing but a heartbreak that will never mend. You’d never walk Cornelia Street again.

“Do you want to know why, Y/N?” Spencer asks, the playfulness in his voice gone and all that remains is a curious timbre that leaves you desperately wanting to figure the unknown parts of him out.

“Yes,” you whisper back, hoping that you’re sealing your fate, hoping that he’ll be the one that whispers the sweet everythings in your ear at night, “Please tell me, Spencer,” you say, hoping that like you, his name is the sweetness thing on your lips.

“It was you,” Spencer confesses, those three little words having more impact than another set of three little words, “It’s always been you, Y/N. From that day at the diner with the chocolate doughnuts to all the nights that we’ve spent on the roof, just you and me. Right now, where are you holding me up because I’m too drunk to think straight. God, Y/N, it’s always been you. I don’t know how you haven’t seen it,”

Red. Yellow. Green.

You used to ask the traffic lights if you’d be alright. If it was green then yes. If red then no. But that fickle yellow light always would say to you ‘I don’t know,’. In the moments that you stare at him, it’s like you’re driving past millions of greenlights, the road ahead screaming in color the loudest yes you’ve seen.

“It was me?” you ask, terrified of his answer and hating the pause in your voice, “You were…”

“Distracted by you,” Spencer says, finishing the one sentence you’ve always wanted him to complete. His hands on your waist burn like a promise of something more. Spencer shifts forward so he can rest his forehead against yours. Your noses brush, sending electric shocks throughout your body. You always thought that couples would be silly and a tab bit gross for thinking that touching their lover could do things like that to them, “I love you, Y/N. I’ve loved you since I’ve known you, sweetheart,”

“Spence,” you whisper, feeling your heart soar into the sky as those little words process in your mind. It flies high above the sky on angel’s wings. And you don’t care if it falls and shatters, because you’ll have someone to stitch it back together, “It’s a little hard for me to wrap my head around you loving me,” you reply, “But even if it’s hard to understand, it’s the easiest thing I’ll ever do,”

“Let me show you,” Spencer says, his beautifully haunted face mysterious and elegant in the blue moonlit shadows, “Let me love you like you deserve,”

Standing there, with Spencer’s arms around your waist and your arms hooked around his neck you feel as if you could fly. You nod, the iota of doubt that courses through your system dissipating as Spencer’s hand comes up to cup your cheek. His thumb brushes against your skin, treating you as if you’re made of glass. The world disappears when he finally kisses you. You let him set the pace for the kiss, wanting to memorize the way his soft hands and even softer lips feel against you.

Slowly, Spencer breaks the kiss and his eyes come into view again. For a second they look scared. You’re at an impasse. The forbidden bridge crosses and burns in one simple touch. The words shared and hearts swapped could never be undone. It’s natural to be hesitant, to question, to wonder.

“Kiss me again,” you command, smiling as Spencer chuckles darkly as you tug the hair at the nape of his neck, “Kiss me again and again till all the other kisses are washed away. Because they mean nothing compared to you, love,”

“Love,” Spencer whispers, a teasing smile and a playful tone breaking across his face, “I think I like the way that sounds,”

He kisses you again, letting himself get lost in the motions. His lips slip past yours, stealing your breath and heart in a single move. Part of you wants to curse your past self for not having the courage to do this sooner, but the more romantic part of you wants to enjoy him for all he’s worth. Spencer, still kissing you, stands to his full height. His hands move down your body, slowly guiding you to the worn out couch.

You’re not sure where this will lead tonight, with both your hearts and souls bare to the elements. But what you are sure of is that Cornelia Street is home.

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