#thundcrbird

At first, Chef had only meant to let Spencer know they were there but, well...content in their affections and still waking up, keeping their hands to themself would have been a minor miracle. He seldom ever complains, though, it’s not as if he would need to; Chef can see how tense and overworked he is. Laying together, with full access to him, they’ve considered doing this many times before but decided against it. Sensuality doesn’t come naturally for them - they’ve never been confident they could do it right.

Now that they’ve found the nerve to try? Seeing him truly unwound and relaxed is more than its own reward. Chef can’t help but want to do more. “----i know. m’savin’ my gettin’ all marilyn monroe on you for then.” They shift downward some, working between his shoulder blades for a few moments before stopping, leaning down to press a tender kiss to the back of his neck.

Overwhelmed and overcome, his words only further the blurring of Chef’s vision. They don’t want to cry, God, they hate crying in front of him, but there’s so much inside - too much. When they’re isolated, Chef spends every second convincing themself that they aren’t missed, they aren’t on his mind or in his thoughts. And in some ways, they believe it - but in their core, they know they’re dead wrong.

Leaving his bed before he wakes up, running away, keeping their secrets from him - how much energy has Chef thrown into waiting for it to end? Waiting for Spencer to finally come to his senses and admit he doesn’t want them? And not just waiting, expecting; wanting. At least then, Chef could finally sleep at night knowing that Spencer can move on from this horrible place, this horrible person he’s tethered himself to -

Chef can’t stop the trembling of their hands as they move to touch his face and bring their lips together again; a move that’s as equally desperate as it is passionate. Holding onto the moment for as long as they can, Chef eventually pulls back, before burying their face in the crook of his neck and shoulder. They want to throw their arms around him, but Chef settles for holding onto fistfuls of his shirt.

- you’re wrong, you’re wrong, you’re wrong - he isn’t lying, he loves you - you’re wrong, you’re wrong, you’re wrong  this is your home, this is your home, this is your home -

“----s’my home, s’my home---” Chef can’t hope to keep their voice steady and they repeat those words over and over until they’re grounded enough to look at him again. Though their eyes are still wet and heavy with emotion, at least Chef is confident they won’t break down sobbing.

   It’s rare that her voice comes off as terror-stricken. She is terrified, though, in this very moment. So scared that she’s shaking, lightheaded, a little bit short of breath. Telling someone she loves them is no easy feat - it’s a careful, calculated decision, especially in this specific case. They’ve been whatever they’ve been for so long, shouldn’t it have been safe to say it by now? Shouldn’t it have been easier for her? Shouldn’t it have been a relief to say it, instead of it being as devastating as it feels? Her head is spinning.

   She reaches for... something. Some part of him. She’s not sure which. Her hand falls away before she can make contact with any tangible part of him. All it took to make her wither was Spencer’s lack of enthusiasm. All it took was for him to react like she’d cursed him, said something cruel.

   “Please, Spence, look at me...”

Most days, Spencer’s intuition is a complete blessing. But tonight, when they’re frustrated and trying to focus when it’s gradually becoming more difficult, it’s less so.

Chef folds their arms tightly against their chest, for once straightening out their back in a poor attempt to seem assertive. It all comes down to money, and how much more they need it. The extra work they’re proposing is more dangerous than they care for - too reminiscent of the earlier days, when they were reckless and desperate, but in Chef’s altered mind, it’s a necessary evil. Leaving out the details to him...maybe that’s a necessary evil as well.

After a long pause, they respond lowly, the frustration and conflict clear in their voice.

Chef’s brows furrow. Maybe they shouldn’t be so worried, they try not to be, but Chef’s mind is already racing in a hundred different directions before he even says a word. They know Spencer’s strong, and if there was something terribly, disastrously wrong, they’d be the first to know...

-But Chef is also perceptive. They’ve seen how time has worn him down.

Gently, they reach out and grip his shoulder. Their eyes are serious, but soft with concern.