#sonnets

Of course you’re wearing the damn flower shirt. His eyes keep drifting to the swirl of gold, blue, pink and red flora that thread your chest; particularly the blush petals that sit right over your nipples. Your perfume turns the room into a garden, clean like iris, dark like cherries and warm like chocolate. Even simply sitting crossed legged in your bed, you’re regal.

You shove a small white box wrapped with expensive ribbon in his hands. He’s never seen such a look of pride on your face until he pulls the ribbon and opens the lid to find another box, this time in black leather with a gold trim.

“A box within a box? How did you know!”

“C-orny,” you blow a raspberry at him. “It’s in the box, dummy.”

“Will wonders never cease,” he teases back, flipping open the clasp. You scoot forward in anticipation. Your excitement can’t mask the anxiety in your eyes. Takes a breath, mentally preparing himself for whatever lays inside. You’re not the kind of woman to waste her time. Whatever’s in the box, he’s deserving of. At least, he is in your eyes - but that counts for a lot.  

Nestled in plush cream satin is a round silver rendition of di Vinci’s Vitruvian Man on a thin curb chain.

“You have the same glower,” you simper with a full set of teeth.

Jason scoffs in amusement. You really aren’t wrong, he thinks to himself as he traces over the meticulous detail, trying to be as feather light as his heavy touch can be. He’s just not sure if that’s a good thing. 

“Flip it over,” you urge him, your voice shrinking ever so slightly. He does so, holding the coin sized pendant to his eye to read the engraving.

For My Hero.

Jason’s chest swells with something that must be joy. A amygdaloid chorus of ‘She loves me! She loves me! She loves me!’ drowns out every other noise in his brain. For a moment, a red filter colors his vision and he’s certain the only explanation can be that his pupils have morphed into comically large cartoon hearts.

But when he looks back at you, you’re about to combust. Your eyelids have receded into your eyebrows, which in return have receded half way up your forehead. You’re keeping your rosy fingernails from fidgeting by digging them into your heated cheeks. The corner of your lip is twitching and he can tell that you’re resisting the urge to chew on it. The smudge of lipstick on your front teeth tells him you’ve already given in at least once.

“Geez, dude, take a breath,” he snorts.

“If you don’t like it, we can always return it and exchange it for something else,” you squawk nervously. “Or we can find a different chain if you want it longer or-or a different style or, y’know, like whatever…”

Jason grins a dopy, lopsided grin. It’s such a rare treat to see you so goosey. He knows he should probably feel bad about much he’s savoring the nervous look on your gorgeous face. However, his usually so ceaseless voice of guilt cannot be heard as the ‘She loves me! She loves me! She loves me!’ chorus begins to belt.

“It’s beautiful, baby,” he says, lifting it out of the box and clasping it around his neck. He can feel the weight of it on his sternum; not too heavy, just enough to remind him it’s there. He glances over at your full length mirror and admires the way the metal gleams from across the room, proudly shining against his charcoal t-shirt. His face contorts into the same glower as the design, turning back when it makes you giggle sweetly.

“So, you like it?”

He leans forward and kisses you softly, running the pendant through his fingers.

“I’m never taking it off,” he swears on your lips. He means it too. 

You laugh again and when you pull away, Jason catches the heavenly scent of your skin. The rustle of newspaper on literature yanks him back down to earth.

“My turn?” You ask, the trademark coy smile returning to your lips. You tap the poorly wrapped package in his lap. The chorus in his head reverts back to the tick of the bomb strapped to his arteries, drumming in time with your fingers.

Fuck, he got you such a bad fucking gift.

“Uh, yeah, yeah, sure,” he says, the words rolling out of his mouth before he can grasp them.

You snatch the package with a bounce and your mattress creaks like a disappointed groan.

“The comic section? How’d you know!” You tease, poking the tip of your tongue between your teeth.

“Just open it, princess,” he chuckles, despite how badly he does not want you to open it. He threads the ribbon from the necklace box between his fingers, painfully aware of how fine the velvety material is as he watches you tear back the coffee stained Garfield and Charlie Brown he used as wrapping paper.

Your eyes narrow in what he hopes is concentration, following the flowers and vines to the title. “Shakespeare’s Complete Sonnets and Poems,” you read aloud in a tone too flat for his liking.

“I know it’s not…You said you wanted to get more into reading, so I just…thought…It’s…” he trails off dumbly, rubbing the back of his overheated neck. “Poet..try?”

You don’t seem to be paying his bumbling much mind, however. You flip open the front cover and recite, “To my Sonnet Twenty-Nine. With all my love and respect, J.T.”

Oh God, he forgot he'd written that.

Jason thinks he maybe makes another attempt at speaking that comes out as little more than a sad gust of air. You waste no time rifling through the book until you find the poem in question. Every swish of a turning page clangs like the beat of a death march.

He sucks in a breath when you land on the right page. You read the poem in dead silence, your lips moving soundlessly in tandem with your eyes flying along the words.

‘When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, and trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope, With what I enjoy most contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Like to the lark at the break of day arising From sullen earth sings hymns at Heaven’s gate; For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings That I scorn to change my state with kings.’

He recites in his head. He’d read it over and over and over again up until he wrapped it up this morning. It was as if Shakespeare had reached into the storm of Jason’s brain and pulled out the eye of the hurricane. How many times has he sulked over all the ways his life could be different and resented those who represented the things he could no longer have- only to look beside him and remember he had something they didn’t. You.

Despite everything he’s seen, Jason is a skeptic. He’s not a non-believer, in fact, he’s pretty sure he believes in God. But he’s apprehensive about the forces of the universe. If they’re out there, they aren’t looking out for anybody…except for when Aphrodite or Jesus or Shakespeare created you.

Ol’ Will must’ve had a vision of you; the lark with the sharp mouth and the soft lips. He must’ve foreseen you sitting in your floral shirt with the petals over your nipples and the blue jeans that hug your ass, the ones that make you feel good about yourself. He must’ve dreamt about the way you make a saggy dollar bin paperback look like it cost a million dollars. It's the only way the poem makes sense.

Ever since Jason started seeing you, the whites of his eyes shine brighter and gold flecks have begun to twinkle in his hazel irises. His skin is clearer, his hair is softer, his posture straighter. Even the tension in the crease of his scowl has been alleviated. His laughter has become more frequent, much to the amusement of his friends. His fashion has become more deliberate. Maybe he's dressing for your approval, but it's made him feel more confident, attractive even. He doesn’t feel so in pain all the time. 

And his scars…those ugly faults that become medals of honor when blessed by your holy caress. God only knows how you manage to soothe the discolored purple of his bruises into a dark cherry. And he had never noticed how the pale pink of his autopsy scar complimented his cool undertones under you had given him a wine-fueled verbal dissertation on why he looked so good in red.

You reach the end of the poem and Jason’s chest constricts with dreadful anticipation for you to say something. However, your gaze goes back to the start. Of course it is, of course you’re reading this stupid sonnet with care and attention. For someone who throws caution to the wind with her own words, you’re painstakingly analytical about everyone else’s. Jason adores that about you until it’s him pinned under your microscope.

He's predicted the next movement of masked criminals based on the quiver of a nerve without breaking a sweat. For whatever reason, his skills mean nothing when it comes to you. He tries to analyze your face, but it’s so furrowed in concentration. Your eyes are flitting back and forth between verses, breaking everything down.

Fuck, he’s an idiot. You have an allergy to compliments and he’s just given you a damn book oversaturated with them. You must be uncomfortable, you look uncomfortable. This is too intense for you. It's too much all at once. It's suffocating. Embarrassing. Needy.

Why can't he just be normal? He's scared you off. This is why he can't be in relationships. He can't not fuck it up. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

“It's like the most basic one after the one about a summer's day," he mumbles. At this point he's kneading a sore in the nape of his neck. "I know, it's-"

"It's beautiful," you correct whatever he was about to say. You finally raise your head and your eyes are misty. He straightens his spine as he realizes he’s made you cry. "It's really beautiful, Jaybird. It's..."

You draw your arms into your side. You're getting shy on him.

"What is it?"

But he's not much braver.

"Is this...Why did you pick this one?"

“I…What do you mean?” he asks dumbly.

You shift, looking down at the sonnet, “It’s just that you said in the inscription, ‘to my Sonnet 29.’ What’s special about this one?”

HIs cheeks burn something fierce. He has no good answer. Well, he does, but you’re going to think it’s stupid, "It just...it, y'know, it stuck out to me."

You peer back at him with that laser sharp precision, “Why?” 

“Why?” he repeats, leaning forward like he hadn’t heard you correctly. You nod, cocking an eyebrow like you’re suspicious of his intentions. He trips over his tongue as he tries to come up with some nonchalant answer, “it’s just…it’s, like, really iconic, y’know-”

“Do you like me?” you ask suddenly. There’s an insecure waver in your voice. 

Jason blinks. 

“Do I like you?” It’s a stupid question. He’s shocked you even have to ask. No shit he likes you. He adores you. He loves you. “Of course, I like you. You’re my Valentine, of course, I like you.” 

“I’m…yours?”

His heart races. It’s been so long since he actually did this.

“Would you like to be?”

You immediately open your mouth, but your answer hesitates on your honeyed lips.

Cruel cold doom spreads through Jason’s chest, icing over all the joy he just felt. You’re going to tell him no. You’re going to tell him no and he’s going to have to live with that.

But instead you say, “Are you being serious?”

You’re scared. He’s scared you. He doesn’t dare speak, doesn’t risk a tone. He nods slowly, holding your gaze.

“Because I do want to be yours. I want you. I-I…I really like you,” you continue with a slight shake. “But I just have to make sure that you’re one hundred percent sure that you want me. Like really want me. Like in this poem.”

You’ve never been this vulnerable without the influence of substances. He has to take a moment to admire your bravery. When it first became clear that this relationship warranted more than sex, you would’ve rather died than be this open. If you’re being this honest with him, then he owes it to you to do the same. 

After all, he’s already let you this far into his life. He’s already told you he’s the Red Hood. He’s already shown you every inch of his body. He’s already given a book of sonnets. 

“If I didn’t want you, I wouldn’t have given you that poem. Fuck, baby, I wouldn’t even be here with you right now,” he swears. He gently takes the book from you and wraps his hands around yours. His palms cover the backs of your hands completely, calluses on lotioned knuckles. Just touching you made him softer. If only you could see yourself the way he sees you. 

When you drop your eyes to your lap, he keeps going, “Look, I know I’m not Shakespeare and I’m not…great at being romantic. But I don’t get close to people very often. I definitely don’t get this close to anyone ever. I don’t even do hook-ups, but from that first night in that bar, I knew there was something special about you. I…” 

“But why? I mean,” you shift uncomfortably. “I’m mean. I’m not even nice to you when all you do is tell me I’m beautiful and give me fucking sonnets. So why-” your voice catches in your throat and you blink rapidly, as if to hold back tears. “I just…I’m not worth more than the sex, Jay.” 

For a fleeting moment, Jason congratulates himself on picking the right Valentine’s present. You really do get each other. However, the horror that you aren’t feeling the same relief keeps him from preening. 

“No, no, no, baby,” he shakes his head vigorously. “You-” he lets go of your hands. “Are-” he grips your hips. “The light-” he pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Of my life.” 

You sniffle as you roll your eyes, “Don’t be cheesy.” 

Jason snorts, hugging you close to his chest, “I’ll be as cheesy as I want.” 

He kisses your cheek and when it makes you smile, he kisses your nose, then all the way down both sides of your jawline. He catches either corner of your lips before leaning you back to shower your neck, basking in the way your throat vibrates with laughter. 

“‘Cause,” he continues, cupping the back of your head. “It’s Valentine’s and the most beautiful girl in the world is crying ‘cause she doesn’t know how beautiful she is. Or how she’s made an amateur romantic out of scraggly old miser.” 

He grazes his teeth along the crook of your neck, groaning as his crooked nose brushes against where you sprayed your perfume this morning. “I think about you every second of the day. I count down the minutes until I get to see you again. There are days where the thought of coming home to you keeps me going through the worst kind of bullshit. Because when I’m with you, life is worth living - just like the sonnet said. You make everything worth it because you are worth everything.” 

You let out a tiny gasp when Jason rolls you onto your back. His biceps flex as he hoists himself on top of you and bends his elbows to trail his reddening lips down the v plunge of your shirt. The medallion sits heavy on your bra line. You can feel its coolness seep through your shirt, if only because it’s such a stark difference from his body heat.

“Haply I think on thee, and then my state,” he recites between the kisses he’s leaving on your collarbone. “Like to the lark at the break of day arising.”

You give him a full belly laugh and it’s the most lovely sound he’s ever heard. Now he lets himself preen, rubbing his cheek along the green stitches dotting your neckline. 

“I like who I am when I’m with you,” he hums along your sternum. He can’t believe how easy these words are coming to him. “I like having something to feel happy about all the time. I like you.”

“Even when I’m mean to you?” You whisper cautiously.

He repositions himself to rest his forehead against yours, “You’re not mean.” 

“Yes, I am-” you protest, but Jason’s having none of it. 

“No, you’re not. You’re a little snarky, but it’s sexy as hell,” he says. “But yes, I like you even when you’re snarky. Especially when you’re snarky.”

He kisses you again, deeper this time. He lavishes your favored lip, setting a comfortable rhythm. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull his body flush against yours. Manicured nails comb through the base of his hair, the way only you know he likes it. A large hand cups your cheek, a thick thumb stroking your cheekbone because only he knows how it makes you purr. 

“Like to the lark at the break of day arising,” he croons when he comes up for air, pink mouth newly adorned with gloss. “From sullen earth sings hymns at Heaven’s gate.”

“For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings,” you pick up, taking a moment to admire the silver pendant hanging in your face before tangling your fingers in the chain and tugging your man back to you. 

You sink into each other with ease. Your touch exchanges a thousand sonnets without speaking a single word. Maybe he didn’t buy the book for the flowers or the drawing or your desire to read. Maybe he bought it because the universe saw a chance for him to tell you the things he can’t quite say himself.

You were no longer in shambles next to him; your hands were not shaking, your body was not stiff any more and the cold sweat from before was gone. The only thing that was left was the beating of your heart and the little butterflies that showed up every time he made you laugh.

On Spencer's side the feeling was the same. He had no idea where the jokes were coming from or how on earth he seemed so relaxed with three cups of coffee in and you next to him. But, it was worth it, because the sound of your laugh made his heart race like never before. 

“I never thought philosophy could be funny” you smiled and sipped the last drop of tea from your mug.

The front door opened and Savannah and Derek stepped inside holding hands, with a big smile on their faces. 

“Sorry, we're a bit later than expected” Savannah said, walking and throwing herself on the couch in between you “Derek wanted us to dance to all of the freaking songs at the restaurant” she kicked her high heels off. 

“They were amazing songs” Derek responded sitting on the couch in front of you. 

“Anyway, how was your babysitting night?” Savannah asked, looking side to side at both of you. 

“It was great” you smiled at her 

“I agree,” Spencer said. “We watched a very interesting movie about a lion that was basically Hamlet for kids, oh and we made a fort with pillows and blankets.” 

“It was Hank's idea. I put him to bed a few hours ago” you told your sister.

“Okay, I'll go check on him” Savannah stood up grabbing her heels and patting your knee softly. 

As soon as she disappeared upstairs Derek cleared his throat with a loud sound and looked at both of you. 

“So, did you guys have fun?” you gave Derek a death stare as his eyebrows went up.

“We were having a very interesting conversation, yes” you looked at Spencer as soon as he opened his mouth.

Derek laughed at the obliviousness of his friend and the embarrassment on your face. Your brother in law's mind was constantly in the gutter, you knew that well enough. Every Christmas, New Year's Eve party, Thanksgiving or any special occasion celebrated in your small family a suggestive joke or story would always pop up whenever kids weren't around. And he knew exactly what he was suggesting at that moment.

“It’s getting really late. I should leave before the rain gets worse” you blurted out, quickly standing up and leaving your empty mug on the coffee table.

Spencer stood almost as quickly as you did, his long limbs nearly knocking his cup of coffee onto the white carpet. His hands found his pants pockets again and his unbelievable hazel eyes looked at you. 

“It's theoretically impossible to find a taxi in the middle of a storm of this magnitude and this late.” he stated “I brought my car—I, um—I could drive you to your house if you want”

The blush on your cheeks must've made itself even more evident because you saw the laugh Derek was trying to hold in, enjoying the situation way too much. 

“Thank you, but I—I don't want to be a bother” you responded, grabbing your coat from the rack close to the entrance. 

“It’s no bother really” he smiled. 

You were about to say another excuse when Derek stood up, yawning and stretching his limbs. 

“Well, thanks, pretty boy. I'm too tired to drive her myself” he patted his back and then looked at you “Who says chivalry is dead?” with a wink of his eye.

You waited for Spencer to grab his messenger bag and his coat. Savannah had come downstairs wearing her pajamas and hugged you both goodbye — even though Spencer wasn't much of a hugger — and waited until you were both in the car, safe from the rain. Derek waved goodbye and whispered something to Savannah that made her chuckle. 

The car was painted in a light blue color, the interior had black leather seats. It was a vintage model of some car, classic— not that you were really worried about that right now. The smell inside was a mix of cedar wood with something minty that you couldn't quite decipher yet.

Spencer turned the car on and engaged the windshield wipers. You sat still on the passenger seat, legs pushed together, hands on your lap and breathing to the rhythm of their steady sweep.

“Is it okay if I turn the air conditioner on?” he suddenly asked, breaking the silence. 

“Um, yeah, sure, go ahead,” you answered, eyes locked on the road ahead where the light from the street lamps merged with the wet pavement.

He leaned over a tiny bit to the panel, close to your legs, and pushed a button. Even though it was a second of closeness, you could feel the heat of his body radiating from his arm and onto your legs, through your jeans. 

“So” he went back to the seat and cleared his throat with a soft sound “Where exactly am I taking you?”

“Right, sorry” you chuckled looking at him. 

After giving him your address and confirming he knew where the street was located, he started driving. The grip of his calloused fingers around the wheel revealed how flustered he was with the fact that you were in his car, just a few inches away from him.

Once you came to a red light and the car stopped softly, his gaze settled on you as the street lights were hitting your face with a gentle glow. You noticed his eyes on you but stayed still and looked at the unusually fascinating red light. 

“I was thinking about what you said before,” his voice dropped an octave, “you mentioned you love Shakespeare, yet you’ve only seen a single one of his plays performed live, can I ask why?”

The question fell out of nowhere, making your brain do a turn. It was a way to cut the awkward silence that the car — and closeness — had caused between you two.

“Well, as much as I would love to read and see all of his works,” you started “I have a very tight schedule and can't really do much besides work” 

The green light gave Spencer the signal to keep driving, but he hesitated a few seconds before hitting the pedal, starstruck with your face. 

“You haven't read all of his work?” he asked, eyes concentrated on the road but with a smile on his lips. 

“No, not really. Just a few and the most popular ones” you answered “I would love to read his sonnets” 

“I have a few books on his complete works,” he said softly “there’s probably one about his sonnets, I could lend it to you if you'd like. Sonnets are actually meant to be read slowly. They’re less about the plot and more about the—the feeling of being completely consumed by someone.”

Suddenly, the car fell smaller and the air thickened as you both realized the words that just had come out of his mouth. Even though nobody spoke about it, you both knew how consumed you were with the presence of one another. Spencer’s fingers wrapped even more tightly around the wheel and your hands formed a white knuckle fist on your lap. 

“I would like that” you smiled at him. 

His eyes went to your face for a few moments, smiling back at you, and then back at the road ahead. Spencer gave one last turn and finally arrived at your apartment building. He stopped the engine, letting the rain be the only background sound surrounding you. He shifted in his seat to finally put his full attention on you. 

“I could drop it by your apartment whenever you like–” he stopped, wiping his sweaty hands on his pants “or we– we could meet at a café to analyze them together, or to give you the historical context of England at that time, or about his life for a better understanding–or to simply read them and have a coffee together.”

Had he just asked you out?

“I would love to have a coffee with you, Spencer,” you whispered. 

His heart jumped violently as you whispered his name out of your sweet lips. He let out a silent sigh on the inside and blushed. 

“Great–amazing,” he started “would–would Saturday at 10 am be okay?” He asked.

“Yeah, it sounds good,” you nodded. 

“Okay” he smiled 

“Okay” you smiled back “I–Thanks for the drive”

“No problem” 

Without a single reasonable thought inside of your brain you leaned over to his face and left a warm and soft kiss on his cheek. 

“Goodnight, Spencer”

“Goodnight” he said, dumbfounded by the sudden show of affection. 

You made a little run to your apartment, trying to avoid the rain as much as possible by covering your head with your coat. You waved goodbye again to Spencer, he waved back and stayed until he made sure you were safe and sound inside the building. His hand went up to his cheek, just where your soft lips had been seconds ago and smiled like a teenager. 

𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ

The week had felt interminable. Meetings, calls, planning, writing drafts, organizing photoshoots, and waiting for your boss to like your work. Your friends made it somehow easy at the office and the view of the city that you had through the tall windows in front of your desk. But one thing was certain, working at a magazine was very stressful. 

That Friday night was the clear example of it. You had to finish editing an article and arrange a photoshoot with the official photographer of the company, so you stayed until late at the office alongside one of your friends. Even though it was 7 pm – and you usually left at 5 – the calls from the boss's assistant came every few minutes, making sure that the deadline was fully tattooed on your brain, and that you were capable of fulfilling all of her requests to publish the piece. 

That’s why when your phone vibrated on your desk again, you didn’t even pay attention to the screen and clicked on the button to pick it up.

“Mia, you know how much we appreciate you but I have three drafts open on my laptop, I already arranged the session with the photographer, and I haven’t had a meal the whole day. Please tell me this is the last call.” you said with your phone wedged between your ear and your shoulder, as you closed your eyes and held the bridge of your nose. 

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. You opened your eyes again thinking that you maybe had been way too truthful to her and only made your situation worse. You straightened on your chair, waiting for a response.

“I–I’m not Mia, even though it is one of the most popular names in the country” Spencer’s voice came through the earpiece, the one that had been stuck with you  “You haven’t had food the whole day?” He asked worriedly. 

“Oh, Spencer–Hi” you smiled and stood up from your chair, making your friend look confused. “I just had a fruit salad. But, don’t worry, I'll be fine. How are you?”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m stuck at the office too” he chuckled, and somehow that made you feel that he was closer than he actually was in between the traffic and miles that separated you “I asked Derek for your phone number, but if you’re busy right now I could call you later”

“I–no!” You blurted, your irritated tone quickly vanishing into a relaxed one “no, no, it’s fine. I could use a little distraction” 

You opened the door of the balcony and mouthed to your friend that you’d be right back with her. The cold air hits your face with a sudden motion, taking you out of the ‘focused in work’ state. The lights of the city covered your face with a lovely gleam as your heart started to beat a little bit faster.

“I’d like to be a distraction” you could hear his smile on his soft voice “But I was actually calling because things got a bit complicated here. We got a call from Seattle for a case, the jet is ready to go in a few minutes so I–I’m probably going to be in the air by the time we were supposed to be having coffee tomorrow.” The tone of his voice shifted and went down to one of slight guilt. 

“Oh” you leaned on the rail of the balcony.

“So, maybe we could take that coffee once I'm back?” He asked “Or lunch or whatever you like, really”

“I’ll call you for ‘whatever I like’ once I know you’re back” you smiled “Just–make sure you come back in one piece?”

An overwhelming sensation of warmth surrounded Spencer’s chest, creating a brief pause on the line. He had never experienced the statistical impossibility of a single sentence taking the air out of his lungs, or, in other words; he had never experienced the gravity of someone who turned his social capacities into nothing, waiting specifically for him to return.

“I will,” his voice steadied as he grabbed his bag, watching his teammates hold the elevator for him “I have a very strong incentive”

“I’ll see you soon” you managed to get words out of your mouth “Be careful” 

“See you soon, and don't overwork yourself so much” he spoke quietly as he was getting into the elevator. 

“Bye” you whispered 

“Bye” 

You hung up the phone and stood right there, while the vast city witnessed as your heart started falling again. You were scared, terrified, at the fact that falling for Spencer was starting to become a possibility. You didn't like vulnerability, because every time you gave a little piece of yourself to someone, things ended up worse than they were before. 

“Do it” your friends voice startled you 

“What?” you asked turning to look at her, she was leaning on the door frame

“Whatever that man just told you“ she smiled sweetly “Do it” 

“Were you listening?” 

“No, of course not” she said quickly “I just needed to see your smile to understand everything” 

As if you couldn't control your expressions, the same stupidly cute smile made your face shine. 

“Yeah, exactly that” she chuckled 

𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ𖹭.ᐟ

You spent three full days checking your phone for any kind of text that announced Spencer was back in town safe and sound. Your friends had noticed it straight away since you barely used your phone, only to listen to music and sometimes read, but now you were checking it at every opportunity you had. 

Spencer's teammates also noticed the fact that he carried a Shakespeare book of his complete works on his bag — the book was so massive it practically dominated the small space of his satchel, making him uncontrollably lean to one side. On the jet or any place where he could get a second apart from the case he would annotate stuff on it with a concentrated frown on his eyebrows. 

Finally, he texted you on Monday afternoon 

Hey, it's Spencer. Just finished the case. Heading back now. 

Your grin alerted your coworkers at lunch break when the notification showed on your phone. You got up from your chair and headed to a far away corner to text him back, as the teasing of your friends slowly died down in your head. 

Hey! Let me know when you land :)

The team arrived at Quantico at around 7pm, exhausted and demolished by the successful work they had made at Seattle. But amidst the soreness of their bodies and minds, they all gathered up on the elevator once again to go get drinks at the bar that was close by.

“Hey, Spence. Are you coming?” JJ asked

“I–no, I already have plans” he informed shyly “But, have fun” 

JJ looked at him with a confused grin and nodded saying goodbye. Spencer grabbed his coat from the chair and another pen from his desk. He grabbed his phone and dialed your number. 

“Hi, I just landed” he said softly

“Spencer, hi” you smiled and left your bag, the one you had just picked up to leave the office, back on your desk “I’m glad you arrived safely.”

“Yeah–I–I managed to annotate a few things on the Shakespeare book we talked about” he said 

“You did?” You asked chuckling “But I thought you were working” 

“Well, I can multitask” he chuckled too. “But–um, I was calling you to know if you wanted to rearrange our coffee meeting”

“Actually, I was just leaving the office and I haven't had dinner” you started softly “There’s a diner a few blocks down. Would– would you like to have dinner with me right now?” you chuckled nervously. 

“I–yeah, that–that sounds great” he smiled

The walk down the blocks felt as if you were moving in slow motion. The crisp air was hitting your face and anticipating the blush that was soon to be replaced with the cold. You clutched the strap of your bag to somehow ground you on the fact that it was just two people meeting to discuss something you both were interested in, not a date. 

As soon as you entered the diner, Chloe, the owner of the place that was used to seeing your face on late nights waved hello to you with a smile and then went back to what she was doing. You looked at the booths and on the far left corner was Spencer standing up and smiling at you.

You smiled at him and told your feet to work properly as they were approaching him, falling in front of him would not be ideal. 

He looked different from the last time you saw him. He was wearing a grey suit, a pink buttoned up shirt and a red tie. His shoulders seemed to be tense, as if he were expecting for something to happen and get out of there in a second, if needed to. Slight dark circles around his eyes were the main thing you noticed and hoped that you weren't keeping him from having a good night sleep. But still, a tiny gleaming spark of happiness seemed to be radiating from him.

“Hi,” he said as soon as you stopped in front of him. 

“Hi,” you answered with anxiety coming out of your pores “How– how was your flight?” 

“It was fine,” he explained as you two sat down in front of each other, separated by the red table “a bit of turbulence, but nothing out of the ordinary. What about your day at the office?” 

You let out a sigh and a chuckle as you slipped your bag off your shoulder to leave it next to you on the seat. 

“Stressful as always” you smiled, sympathetically “so I don't really wanna talk about it” 

“That’s understandable, don't worry” he smiled and took the book out of his bag “I took the liberty to annotate my favorite sonnets so we could share our thoughts” he said, pushing the book carefully to your side of the table.

“That’s really sweet, Spencer, thanks” you smiled at him and carefully opened the book, flipping the pages as if they were susceptible to break with the wind.

His cheeks turned red in an instant and suddenly the napkin holder became a bit more interesting than your beautiful freckled face. One of the waiters came to your table and you both ordered food and drinks. 

As the time passed by and your conversation kept going, the noise of the cars passing by and the murmur of the few people that were sitting on the diner, slowly died down to leave just the sound of Spencer’s chuckles and the ruffling of his suit jacket against the seat whenever he accommodated his posture on the chair. The conversation of the first sonnets had been one of the most interesting you’ve ever had in a long time, and the passion and enthusiasm with which Spencer spoke, kept you on the edge of your seat for most of the night.

He paid the check– even though you insisted on doing so – and the cold air of the city hit you on the face as soon as you two walked outside of the diner, with your coat covering most of your body and Spencer’s book giving you a newfound warmth, as if everything that you guys had talked about, stuck to the delicate pages of it, along with the clumsy nervousness that both of you clearly showed.

You were willing to wait for a taxi or maybe take the metro, but once again, Spencer denied it completely and drove you back to your apartment. Somehow, the ambiance inside the car was not the same as the first time; the cedar wood and minty smell seemed to relieve any kind of stress from your mind and body; now you were seated comfortably on the black leather passenger seat with your legs inclined a bit to the side. You watched the city lights pass fast as he navigated the streets, until he finally pulled up outside of your apartment building. 

“Thanks,” you said softly, looking at him still relaxed on the seat “for the dinner and the book.”

He shook his head with a smile and turned the engine of the car off. 

“I should be thanking you,” he said, his voice dropping to a calm murmur “For getting my mind out of the horrible things I saw these past couple days.” 

Your heart did that familiar, but terrifying drop, but the fear of vulnerability was overridden by a wave of tenderness that surrounded your body. You shifted slightly on the black leather seat, looking at the dark circles around his eyes and the wrinkles. 

“You can always talk to me, Spencer,” Your voice came out steady amidst the flutter on your chest “If it gets too heavy or if you’re feeling bad. You–you don’t have to carry it all by yourself. I’m no expert, but I'm here.” 

Spencer looked at you as he swallowed hard, letting a thick silence surround the both of you. A silence full of the realization that things were shifting between you, undeniably and irresistibly. His long fingers reached to you and tapped the hard cover of the Shakespeare volume that was resting on your legs.

“If–if you have time before you go to bed,” he started “read the sonnet eighteen. I left a note for you.” 

“Okay, I will” you whispered, with a smile 

He leaned his over a few inches closer to you and kissed you on the cheek slowly, savouring the seconds and letting your perfume stick to his brain for the night. 

“Good night” He whispered

“Good night” 

As soon as you were inside your apartment you brushed your teeth, cleaned your face and took off your work clothes and changed into your purple nightgown. You turned the warm bedside lamp on and sat on the bed as the sheets covered your legs. You grabbed the book gently and looked for sonnet eighteen, just like he said, excited with what new knowledge about Shakespeare you’d go to sleep, but instead, the note in the margin made you hold your breath and bite your lips with a smile.

This reminded me of Hank’s birthday party and you on that yellow dress. It was like you made the entire garden shine. You make every room shine.