Lovebirds

WE NEED TO TALK

The door bell rings downstairs. She hears it, but waits for her mom to open the door anyway. She hears her greet him with a warm welcome and possibly a hug; take his coat as he pushes off his shoes. The stairs creak as he ascends, probably looking at the railing that wraps around the stairs, hoping to see her waiting for him at the top.

But she's not there.

He calls her name as he enters her room, looking around, not sure if her absence is the start of a game or cause for actual worry. He's worried nonetheless.

"Spence?" He tries again. But she needn't respond.

Letting his shoulders drop, releasing the tension he hadn't realized had been building, he walks across her room; ducks beneath the open window frame, to sit on the roof beyond. Spencer's feet dangle from the edge, her heels making the gutter rattle when she swings them too strongly.

"What're you doing out here?"

"Thinking," she tells him, not taking her eyes off the horizon line that hides behind the rest of the neighborhood.

"About?"

"About what the hacker sent back to me today."

Vincent straightens up, staring intently at her profile. "So the texting was..."

"It worked," she says, "finally."

"And?"

Spencer wonders for an instant.

She sits in a second that spans longer than it should, wondering if the way he looks at her now can be saved. Something solid to recall again later, while they're at odds, because she has to disrupt the equilibrium to figure out what this mystery hacker is trying to tell her.

She realizes, also, that she doesn't need to do anything. That she need not save the gaze she can feel tingling the skin of her cheek, because she could abandon this whole plan here and now. Just talk to her advisor tomorrow to get this creepy situation off their backs, but...

"They said that we need to talk." She can't help the crack of fascination that edges adrenaline into her veins.

"I didn't know that a mystery-person could break up with me," Vincent jokes, allowing a goofy smile to overtake his expression. But she doesn't laugh. "You're not breaking up with me, are you?" All joking aside.

"Vince," finally meeting his eyes. She regrets it a second later; confusion and anger clouding his vision. And she swallows before saying, "we're not together."

He stands up so quickly, she fears he'll fall off the roof.

"That's bull, Spencer. Bull." He paces along the edge— and half of Spencer's mind is focused on what he's saying while the other keeps an arm extended out of fear that he'll need her quick reflexes.

"I've put up with this for so long—I don't feel like you're even taking us seriously—us, Spence! The two of us, together! Man, I thought that I'd be fine with this. So many times I've talked myself off the ledge by remembering every little good thing about you—Lord, Spence! I love you! Absolutely love you, but it hurts every time you can't call me yours."

He sits down again, feeling the sting of tears as he watches her big doe eyes follow him.

"I don't just want to be someone you kiss when you feel like it. A friend whose affection you're using—" and she tries to interrupt him with a contradiction, but he raises a finger. "Spencer, I understand that the defining of a relationship is uncomfortable for you. I get that. I'm not happy about it, but I get it. I also know that I'm someone who likes to know that there's some security in the romantic relationship I hold with someone—"

He stops short when she grabs his hand.

"I'm never going to another game with Ambrose Holley." Her cheeks are lined with tears. "Please don't be angry with me," she pleads like a church mouse.

"Spencer—"

"I didn't like sitting beside him. All I could focus on was you. Did you notice?"

"No."

"You left around the third quarter. I couldn't eat another bite the butterflies were so bad. Where did you go?"

"To the hall."

"I gave Ambrose his jacket back afterward. I think— I hope he realized it was a one-time thing. He looked sad. I went to find you. When did you leave?"

"A little after I left the gym. I was having a hard time breathing." He swallows. "I felt sick."

Spencer nods, looking again to the horizon.

"Why don't you like me calling you my girlfriend?" His voice meek. 

Spencer visibly, deeply cringes at the word; sour lemon kind of cringe, eyes pinched shut, lips twisted in discomfort.

"I..." She tries. "I'm not sure."

Vincent grabs her hand, squeezing it once. He kisses her head, letting his lips linger as he captures the smell of her shampoo one last time before crawling back through the window.

He didn't say goodbye.

But she knew.