Tannia

She’s actually absurdly easy to want. There’s nights where they watch something, often what he picked, Doctor Who or some other science fiction which would be great if he could focus on anything but her. Her warm disposition ruminating his too-small apartment with a kind of light that follows his every movement. He’d adore her even if she wasn’t, but it’s impossible to ignore how beautiful she is- the kind of pretty that you hardly expect to see in real life. 

“Hey you,” her so-sweet voice is what breaks him out of his daydreaming, and he looks up at her lovely face smiling down at him. Fondness seeps through her tone, and it’s everything he can do not to preen that her first thought at seeing him is one of pleasure. 

“Hey back,” he says, greeting her with a warm grin of his own. “How was your weekend?”

It’s a calculated question. 

She had canceled their weekly movie night. He’d tried not to look too disappointed, like the idea of her next to him on his couch, of her nimble fingers raking through his unkempt hair while something nice, but far less wonderful than his company played in the background wasn’t all that was keeping him going. These days, and he knows it’s likely delusion, that she sometimes seems to gaze back at him with a similar sort of desperation, hooded eyes and tenderness. 

It’s a liminal space, those nights. How can people be two things at once? You cannot be both in love and not. In the low-light of his place, under his blanket- it’s like Schrodinger’s experiment. She can’t love him like a friend and more at the same time- it resists the laws of physics. She is his best friend, a fact he knows as sure as gravity and the elements, and believing anymore than that- it’s asserting an impossibility. 

When they’re alone together, though. It seems like the impossible exists. 

But she’d canceled it, something she hadn’t done for the months they’d been engaging in their little tradition. So there had to be a reason. She sits next to him, her desk next to his. 

She looks a little disheveled, only in an adorable way- but a little like she’s been busy, like her flow is disrupted.

“It was good! I finally went out with that guy Penelope’s been begging me to let her set me up with.”

It’s all that he can do not to freeze up. 

Penelope has been trying to get her to go out with her friend Ben, which Spencer thinks is a stupid name, by the way, and secretly he’d been so, so pleased when she had brushed off the invite. It’s a dangerous thing, hope. He tries not to have too much of it, tries to savor the thought of her, of more for moments of particular vulnerability. It’s treacherous, to want her the way he does. He knows he can’t let himself feel it all the way. 

And logistically- romance is not a reason for a valid reason for him to be panicking the way he is, but all he can think about is the physics. Two opposite things cannot be true at the same time. 

“You know, studies suggest that even now, the majority of couples are meeting in person or through friends over any other medium.” 

It hurts to say. She’s part of a couple, one half a whole that he doesn’t complete. 

“Seriously? I’d have thought it’d changed by now. I guess it’s safer to date someone you know.”

She’d date someone she knew? Is that what she prefers? 

“How did it go?” He hears Emily ask, and this conversation is already the bane of his existence.

“Guys, it really wasn’t a big deal! We got dinner, it was just a little thing.”

Spencer isn’t experienced in dating, but he does know that dinner is a serious date. Coffee is a smaller thing, but dinner-

Dinner means she got pretty for him. Probably picked out a dress for the evening, spent time on a carefully manicured look. Spent hours of her precious, rare, time on him. 

It’s not fair how much he fucking hates this guy. 

“Dinner is not nothing!” Penelope squeals, and he would love to share in her excitement, except it kind of feels like a piece of his heart is being shredded. 

“Dinner means coming up to my place, have coffee, oh look who doesn’t have her hair done-“

Please kill me, he thinks. Please. 

“Oh, that definitely did not happen.”

Thank god. 

Except he can’t miss her flush, how her expression shifts- and he has the sickening feeling he’d be hearing that guy’s name again. 

When they all settle around the table, her doe eyes focused on gruesome images that were the exact antithesis of her spirit, he couldn’t help but feel that even if it hurt, there was finality. 

The cat was out of the box. Two things cannot be true at once, and so only one is- she does not love him, at least not the way he does. 

Ben, is not in fact, going away. 

If he had more willpower or self-preservation, Spencer would keep his distance from her, but the truth of it is that as much as he wants to be the person she turns to, her smile is most of why he can stand his job anymore. 

It’s a Tuesday, and everyone is grumbling about being pulled in early in the morning, but he’s just happy to have a reason to leave the house.

“Spence!” He hears her excited voice carry, the pretty sound picking his ears up at once. “I got you coffee. It’s hazelnut, and it’s like, 90% sugar. You’re gonna love it.”

She beams at him, and he takes it in his hands. Their hands brush, and he tries so hard not to notice how soft her hands are. Her name is on the cup, and an unconsenting fantasy of her name meaning that he’s hers creeps into his mind before he can bat it away.  

But her cup says Ben. 

“Thanks,” he says her name, tries to sound measured and friendly. “Coffee date?”

She preens, and god, if this guy doesn’t get how lucky he is it might be thing thing that actually sends him over the edge after all these years.

“Just a quick thing, we were just in the same place and he bought me a coffee, I’d already gotten yours.”

If there’s two roles he can fill and he doesn’t get to pick, if he’s stuck with friends, he’s gonna be great at it, and he’s gonna be grateful. Because knowing her is a grace in itself, the kind of thing you should could yourself so lucky to have. 

“He sounds like a great guy,” he hears himself say, “I’m glad you’re doing this.”

It’s the right thing to say. He’s sure of it. The thing he’s not sure of is why the smile she offers him doesn’t reach her eyes. 

The next time he notices the cracks in their relationship, it’s when they’re out. She’d suggested this bookstore-cafe kind of thing, and he’d jumped at the thought, all of his favorite things in one afternoon. He’d felt foolish spending so much time picking out his outfit out, wearing the blazer she’d once complimented-he’d actually stuttered so hard in thanks that Morgan laughed for a full minute when she left the room- but she always looked beautiful, and he knows he sometimes pales in comparison. 

“Oh, I love this one!” She thumbs over the spine of a thin book of poetry. She’s wearing a forest green sweater that hugs her frame, and a bracelet hangs on her delicate wrist. He loves looking at her, though he tries to conceal it. His goal of being a supportive friend includes trying not to make it that known how gone for her he is. 

“I don’t read too much poetry,” he admits, “But I’m sure you have excellent taste.” 

Her keen eyes skim through the pages intently, clearly seeking out a specific passage before stopping, gaze alight with recognition. 

Her tone is molasses-sweet when she begins reading, and his heart skips a beat.

“When I say be my lover,” her voice hitches, reverent of the quote and he is reverent of her, “ I don’t mean ‘let’s have an affair. I don’t mean Sleep with me. I don’t mean Be my secret. I want us to go back to that root. I want you to be the one who loves me. I want to be the one who loves you.”

It feels impossible to look away from her, doe eyes practically sparkling in the low light of the shop, and there it is. His heart’s in his throat. Of all the things you could have told Spencer he’d experience, hearing her lovely voice wrap around the words be my lover in hushed tone, in sacred sweetness, would never ever be one he’d guess. 

He’s not sure how he feels about the multiverse theory, but right now, he can feel all the versions of himself pressing right up against him. Can see into lives he doesn’t get to live, lifetimes where his love isn’t a buried, worn-out tattered thing to keep his ever-frigid chest warm. Versions of himself that in this very moment can smile back at her, warm and open and kind, and kiss her perfect smile. 

Because he would be her lover. He would come home to her, spend the rest of his life building a home that she could fit  into. It’d be easy, actually. She’s easy to imagine- nights of laughing in a shared kitchen, evenings where her company is a fine wine, sipped at leisure with the comfort of knowing it’s never going to slip from your grasp. 

“I like that,” he says, voice too vulnerable for his own good, eyes unable to tear from the eye contact. “I really like that.” 

In the root of it, he already is her lover. He is the one who loves her. She’s just not his. 

It comes to a head on a Friday. It’s a few weeks from he book shop, and the air feels heavier between them now. The last handful of Fridays he’s sat with the ghost of what used to be their plans, empty time lingering where in its’ place used to be her company. 

He doesn’t know if she’s been with Ben. He tries not to think about it. 

The sound of her voice lingers in his mind, sweet and bitter in his mind like old lemon candy, the kind his mother would save for special occasions. He’d spend any amount of money he had to hear her lovely voice say those words to him out of the context of a poem. 

At work, they seem almost normal. Like one of them wasn’t desperately in love with the other; like a genius and his lovely, incredibly empathetic, kind best friend. In the field, their actions flow together seamlessly. She is always the first to listen and to understand (and god, isn’t it intoxicating to have someone meet you in understanding) and there is nothing to suspect is off.

But there’s still a cloud lingering. The poem- the soft melody of her voice curling around the words, the request of it all, the way she had sounded so wanting- and then, there’s Ben. 

She doesn’t mention Ben to him, of course, but Penelope does. Penelope, all bows and bright colors and cheeriness keeps bringing the absolute worst news to Spencer with a smile on her face. 

He’s taking her out for drinks! Oh, he’s reading her favorite book, do you know what it is?

This anger isn’t an emotion that he’s familiar with. A roar of possessiveness, the bite of it not tempered at all by rationality. Has he touched her?

It seems almost a tradition at this point when she shakes him out of his jealous storm of thought.

“Spence?” she muses, “You alright?” They’re alone at his desk, everyone having fled for their own evening and weekend plans. This was one of the Fridays that she had agreed to spend with him, and he wonders if he’ll be able to handle the scent of her shampoo so close after such a lapse of the sensation. Will all of his judgement go where he can’t follow?

“Yeah,” he says, tucking his papers into his bag, “I’m excited for tonight.”

His place is actually a short walk from the office. He’d been embarrassed to show her the place at first. It’s all function over fashion, and a bit cramped, but she’d looked at as though it was made of something more, something good. She didn’t even tease him. It had actually been her idea, to start these movie nights. 

Ironic, really. 

The walk was pleasant, the weather a little frigid but still nice, and she looks beautiful under the setting sun. It’s incredible to him, how her lashes catch the light and make her irises look like polished stained glass. His favorite color. Through the looking glass of another life, he sees a version of himself that gathers her up in his arms. In this daydream, she grants him one of her smiles that seems to carry its’ own light, and leans into his body like it’s the only thing that keeps her steady. It’s so clear. On the other side of the veil, he kisses her reddening nose, and keeps her warm himself. 

In the here and now, Her coat is long, and hangs low by her ankles. It’s an elegant thing, like the woman who wears it, and Spencer would be grateful for a lifetime of just looking.They stop in front of his door, some invisible force stopping him from entering. 

She sheds the coat inside his home. It smells like the candle she got him for his birthday, a reminder of her grace. He’s saved a bottle of wine for them, a sweet thing for the sweetest thing he’s known. 

“I’m sorry,” she speaks the warmth of the beverage on her tongue, and it should feel abrupt but it doesn’t.

“What for?” He can’t imagine what she would have to apologize for. 

“I know things have been…off between us,” she says carefully, considering the phrasing of each word. He watches her with a reverence, his hazel eye brimming with affection with nowhere to go. “You’ve been so great through it.”

Her legs are thrown across his own, and she’s dangerously close to sitting in his lap, but not exactly. He’s missed having her this close, the last time she’d been in his orbit was before she’d had reason to be gone. She smells floral. He fights With limited filtering through his already treacherous mind he thinks, He can’t take this from me. I still get her like this. 

“I’m not entirely sure what it is.” 

She slowly shuts her eyes, go for a moment to somewhere he can’t follow. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold. 

“This whole Ben thing.”

“Oh.”

Logically, it always had to come back to this. Someone else had the good fortune to know her like this, to be the person she reads poetry to in deep meaning to. 

He’s been stealing moments from someone who’s not his to take them from. 

“I don’t even know how I wanted you to react.” she murmurs, staring at the rim of her glass. 

“I just want you to be happy” His voice is something low, grit in the sound of it. His hand rests on her thigh. There’s warmth blanketing the room and he wants to kiss her. He wants to kiss her all the time. 

She laughs, but it’s not her normal laugh. It’s tinny and a little bitter. He pushes his luck, and reaches out to brush the side of her face, moving the hair but still holding her face. Her breath smells like strawberry wine and temptation. 

It feels different tonight. Low light and tension that could be sliced with wire. Every part of her is in reach, and something in the air makes all of this talk of relativity, of physics, moot. 

Like maybe he’s not in the only world they don’t end up together. 

Her face is warm and soft under his touch and he loves the sight of her. He’s never touched her like this. Every point of contact feels electric, addicting. 

“What is it? The Ben thing?” He doesn’t know what he’s expecting to hear. What he wants, is for her to tell him that it doesn’t matter anymore, that she picks him-

“I only went out with him the once.”

“What?”

“I told Penelope I was still going because it made her happy and she said I couldn’t keep going to your apartment and reading you poetry and call that romance.”

Romance? 

Wasn’t it romance, though? 

Her eyes widen in something akin to horror. 

“Shit, Spence- I’m sorry, that is so fucked of me to say-“

“You,” he tries to say calmly, “aren’t going out with Ben.”

She blinks. 

“No?”

He has spent so much time living in other lives, existing in the minds of versions of himself he wasn’t lucky enough to be. Drinking coffee imagine a life colored in her presence, falling asleep yearning for the presence of something lighter than what he has to carry. 

He can’t exist in two places. That was the entire basis of the experiment. 

He moves his other hand to hold hers, and somehow she’s shifted to being on top of him, and he looks up at her with unwavering desire. 

Spencer isn’t good at wanting people, but it comes naturally with her. Less of an action and more an urge, a course of motion to which he is at the mercy of. This is what leads him to close the gap between them, and kiss her. It’s 

Her delicate fingers run through his hair, and she can’t be close enough, please, and he could spend the rest of his life kissing her, actually. He probably will spend the rest of his life thinking about the soft sigh he pulls out of her. 

“I want it to be me,” he manages to say through shallow breath, still so close that his lips brush hers every other word, “I want to be the one you pick. I want it to be me.” His hazel eyes seem to shift in the moment, swirling with emotion. 

She brushes a lock of his overgrown hair out of his face. He normally shaves when he sees her, but he’d been so busy that he’d forgotten, and felt embarrassed of it now. That is, until she runs her index finger along the edge of his jawline.

It’s then she leans down and kisses him again, pliant and good, his hands around her waist. He breathes a prayer into her mouth, one that hopes that she never ever comes to her senses about him. 

You were everything he'd ever wanted and more than he thought he deserved.

It was late when he got back to your shared apartment, his body rife with exhaustion from working a case the last couple of days. He fumbled with the keys to your apartment, jamming the key in the lock as a tired yawn pulled from his mouth.

You had been sharing an apartment for the better part of two months and while it was a strange adjustment at first, he got more and more giddy at the fact that he got to come home to you every day.

Spencer worked away a lot and he always hated leaving you, his mind plagued with the image of you eating a meal by yourself at the table or sleeping in your shared bed all alone. But Spencer was an over thinker, like you liked to remind him while caressing his hand softly and telling him everything was okay.

You were an angel. Spencer didn't believe in such things as ghosts and gods but you, you had to be sculpted by a power not of this realm.

Spencer's mind was always busy, inundated with thoughts and memories that had parts of him bursting at the seams. But you always knew what to do, what to say, to calm him down, coax him down from the edge of oblivion.

How he managed to get your number, land a date with you? He'll never know. He'll always be thankful for that night after a shot of liquid courage and the pressure from his friends, because without them, he would never have thought you would give him a chance. A literal angel.

His angel.

"Spence?" You called softly when you heard the front door creak open along with a jingle of house keys. You smiled as Spencer's tired lanky frame stepped through the door, dropping his bags on the floor to deal with later.

You were cooking dinner, yes it was late, but you wanted him to have something comforting for when he came home. Lord knows Spencer was pretty bad at feeding and hydrating himself when he was away for a case.

"Rough couple days?" You asked, stirring dinner and not bothering to look up at Spencer, knowing he was probably stalking his way over to you.

You smiled when you felt Spencer's large hands wrap around your middle, pressing his cheek to the top of your shoulder as he hugged you tight. He pulled you against his chest, letting out a deep sigh as he drew small circles on your hip.

"Hi, angel," he finally muttered into your hair, pressing a soft kiss to the nape of your neck.

"Hi, baby," your voice was smooth and soft. You pulled on his wrist gently, loosening his grip around your waist to turn and finally look at your poor tired boyfriend. "My poor Spence," you cooed, cradling his face in your hands.

He gave a tired smile, leaning down to plant a soft kiss to your lips. You smiled against his lightly chapped lips, stroking his face softly with the pads of your thumbs. He needed this, the warmth of your embrace and the gentleness of your kiss.

"Smells good," Spencer said softly, pulling away by a fraction to glance at your latest cooking experiment.

"I thought you would enjoy something comforting when you came home," you replied, pulling away from Spencer to serve up some dinner.

Spencer's eyes raked up your body, brain short circuiting at the sight of you in one of his sweaters and your legs bare. You leaned over the counter to put the rest of your cooking into a container, the hem of his sweater riding up over the soft curve of your ass.

"Are... are you wearing pants?" Spencer asked slowly.

"What girl wears pants in her own home?" You teased with a light chuckle, not thinking anything of it. Spencer's hands were suddenly on your hips, grabbing your attention. You spun to face him again, not expecting the soft kiss he planted on your lips.

"...I missed you, angel," Spencer whispered softly against you.

"I missed you too, Spence," you grinned, pushing some of his unruly hair out of his face. "Come on, let's eat then we'll get you to bed," you said, attempting to pull away from him. "Spencer-"

He pulled you closer by your hips, one of his warm hands coming up to cup your face, tilting your neck to kiss you deeply. God, he missed this, missed your taste, your warmth, you.

"Spence-"

He cut you off, "just shut up a moment and let me kiss you."

You smiled shyly at him, finally submitting to his lips and hands. He kissed you again, slowly and sensually this time, his tongue gently pushing past your lips.

Your hands came up to cup his face, feeling his scratchy stubble beneath your fingertips. He pushed you against the kitchen counter, his hands grabbing your bare thighs to lift you onto the cold marble. He stood between your open legs, kisses trailing down your neck to the hem of the sweater you were wearing.

He nipped softly at your skin, hands drifting from the dip of your waist to the soft curve of your ass, his hands gripping the pliable skin.

You raised your legs to squeeze Spencer's waist against you, pulling his body closer as you messily kissed in the middle of your kitchen. You began to grind your hips against his crotch, eliciting a soft groan from his lips. His breath was hot against your lips as he kneaded the flesh of your ass, slipping his hands beneath your (his) sweater to pull it over your head.

The sudden chill of the air sent a shiver down your spine. Your nipples hardened in the chilly air, sensitive to Spencer's gentle touch. He stared at your chest for a moment, making you laugh shyly under his intense gaze.

"Stop staring," you breathed.

"You're supposed to admire art, angel," he replied coyly. You felt your skin heat up at his response, not sure if you really believed you were artwork to be admired.

He kissed down your chest, his soft hair ticking your chin as his tongue darted out to flick your nipple. You let out a soft moan at the sensation, hand coming up to grip his hair and he left soft love bites over your breast.

Your hands trailed down between you as he kissed his way over to your untouched breast. You began to unbutton his shirt, exposing more and more of his soft skin to the chilled air of your apartment before you pulled it down his shoulders. You reached for the buckle of his belt, gently pulling it loose before you palmed gently at the growing bulge in his pants, pulling a soft groan from Spencer's lips.

"I love you," he muttered against your skin, rising from your chest to kiss you softly.

"I love you too," you breathed, kissing the corner of his lips gently.

He leaned in to kiss you again, his hand trailing up the inside of your thigh to reach your damp panties. You let out a shaky moan when his thumb pressed against your clothed clit, your nails scraping his bare back.

"Can I take these off?" He asked, his gentle eyes boring into yours. You nodded quickly. His thumbs hooked into the lacy hem of your panties, pulling them down your legs and tossing them onto the door with his sweater and shirt.

His warm hands spread your legs, his lips kissing the column of your throat as his fingers dipped into your slick cunt.

"Someone's excited I'm home," he teased as he felt the wetness of your cunt, thumb gently circling your clit. You moaned softly, hand gripping his upper arm as he pushed his middle finger to the first knuckle into your cunt.

"More, Spence," you begged quietly.

"Anything for my angel," he kissed your temple softly, pushing his middle finger into your cunt, thumb gently circling your sensitive clit.

You quickly unbuttoned his pants, your hand dipping beneath his boxers to grip his hard cock. He groaned softly into your hair as you stroked him painfully slowly.

Spencer added a second finger into your slick cunt, slowly pumping and curling his fingers against your velvet walls.

You pressed your thumb to the slit of his cock, swirling the precum around the tip. His breath was shaky against your lips, prompting you to stroke him faster.

"Slow down," he muttered. "Wanna finish inside you... Please," he almost begged, making you almost melt into a puddle.

You slowed down your movements, breathing heavily against his lips as he spread your slick up to your clit, flicking the bud with his thumb. Your hips jerked, your thighs wanting to press together to relieve the build up of pressure.

Spencer's free hand kept your thighs apart, fingers curling further inside you, making you clench down on his fingers with a soft moan. God you were so perfect.

He began circling your clit a little faster, his long fingers stretching you open as a warmth bloomed in your tummy. You let out another shaky moan, your hand coming down to grip his wrist as his fingers curled inside you.

"F-Fuck- Spence, I'm gonna-" you breathed, nails scraping at the skin of Spencer's shoulder. He didn't stop his pace, his thumb flicking over your clit just right that it made you dizzy, chasing the orgasm you felt blooming in your lower belly.

"Cum for me, angel," he kissed you hard, his fingers intertwining with yours as you moaned against his lips, the coil in your tummy snapping as you gushed over Spencer's fingers.

His thumb circled your clit as your rode out your orgasm, your hips grinding onto his hand. A bead of sweat ran down your temple and you let out a quiet sigh as Spencer pulled his fingers from your soaked cunt, hand dipping down to grip his cock, stroking it slowly.

"Turn around," he breathed, holding your hand as you hopped down off the marble counter and turned around, your bare ass pressing against his crotch. "Fuck you're so beautiful."

Spencer's hair tickled your back as he kissed down your spine, pushing your feet apart with his foot for better access. He pulled on your hips, making you jump as the feeling of his hard cock pressed against your ass.

"You okay, angel?" he asked gently.

"Js' fuck me already," you whined, back arching as he gripped your hips. You heard him chuckle softly at your demand but all annoyance at his teasing was ripped away when you felt his tip press against your slick folds.

He pushed his cock in slowly, the ridges of his cock splitting you open after almost a week of not seeing or feeling him. Spencer let out a moan once he pushed all the way in, his mind foggy with lust at the feeling of your cunt squeezing him so tight.

"F-Fuck you're so tight," he whined, "you feel so good, baby."

"M-move, please," you moaned, hands unsure of what to grip as Spencer pulled almost all the way out before snapping his hips against yours. You let out an embarrassingly loud moan as he fucked you from behind in the middle of your kitchen. Your neighbours were surely sleeping at this hour but after the loud moan you let out, you weren't so sure that was true.

Spencer's finger rubbed at your clit as he fucked you harder, hips slapping against your ass fervently. Spencer admired the ripple of your ass as he snapped his hips into yours, hand pulling and kneading your flesh.

Every snap of his hips pulled a moan from your lips, the head of his cock rubbing against the spongy spot inside your velvet walls. It blew his fucking mind how gorgeous you were, how he was the only one who got to see you this way; who got to fuck you like this.

Spencer's cock stretched you open with a delicious burn, pushing the front of your hips into the edge of your marble countertop, surely leaving bruises for you to admire in the morning.

You felt your orgasm heating up your belly again, Spencer's rough fingers circling your overstimulated clit faster, making your knees buckle and your legs shake. Spencer wrapped an arm under your hips, his forearm pressing on your tummy and making you moan at the new sensation. You felt dizzy, your mind fogging and all you could think about was Spencer and the feeling of his warm hands gripping you and his cock pumping in and out of your tight core.

"Spence, ah, I'm gonna," you repeated his name like a mantra, back arching into the cold countertop as the coil in your tummy snapped, your slick coating Spencer's cock as he pumped into you faster and harder, chasing his own orgasm.

"M-Me too, angel. Fuck-" Your sweet Spencer saying such a vulgar curse made your skin run hot, but god you loved it. His hips stuttered as he fucked into you, letting out a choked moan as he came inside you, his cum coating your walls.

His breathing was hard and shaky as he pulled out of you, his cum seeping out of your abused hole and running down your thigh. Spencer ran his finger up your thigh, gathering the mixture of your slick and his cum on his fingers.

You turned around to look at him on weak legs, pulling on his wrist to suck the cum off his fingers, looking at him with innocent doe eyes. You were going to send him into heart failure one day.

"You're going to be the death of me, angel," he mumbled, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"You like it that way," you replied with a cheeky grin, sauntering over to your bedroom door.

"Where are you going?" He asked, watching your perfect naked body as you opened your bedroom door.

"Going for a shower... care to join?" You asked, raising a brow.

Who knew a tired man could move so fast.