𝑆𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑟

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐

The days blurred together after that. I didn't go to the park expecting to run into Spencer again, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't find myself thinking about him once or twice. Not in any deep way. Just... curiosity.

A week after that first meeting, I found myself back at the park. It wasn't like I'd planned it, but there I was, cigarette in hand again, leaning against a tree, scanning the place. Part of me wondered if Spencer would be there again, sitting on that same bench, face buried in one of his books, oblivious to the world around him.

And there he was.

Same spot, same bookish look, eyes focused on the page in front of him like he wasn't sitting in the middle of a busy park. It was almost comical how predictable he was, how easy it was to find him in the exact place I'd left him.

I took a drag from my cigarette, feeling the smoke fill my lungs, and started walking toward him, my steps slow, unhurried. Spencer didn't notice me at first—too lost in whatever world that book was pulling him into. But when I got closer, I saw him glance up, his eyes widening in that same surprised way he'd looked at me the first time we met.

"Hey, bookworm," I said casually, flicking my cigarette into the grass without looking at where it landed. I slid onto the bench next to him, the same way I had before, like I belonged there. Like I was part of his world.

Spencer blinked, clearly not expecting to see me again so soon. "Oh, hey," he said, closing the book and setting it on his lap. His voice was soft, almost shy. The kind of voice that made you want to lean in closer just to hear it better. "I didn't think I'd see you here again."

I shrugged, leaning back on the bench and stretching my arms along the back of it, making myself comfortable. "What can I say? I've got good taste in parks."

Spencer smiled at that, a real smile that reached his eyes. He had one of those faces that lit up when he smiled, like everything around him was a little bit brighter because of it. It was hard to see why people don't like him. He was the kind of guy who'd be everyone's best friend if they gave him the chance.

"I, uh, didn't expect you to remember me," Spencer admitted, his fingers fidgeting with the edges of his book.

I raised an eyebrow, amused. "Why wouldn't I?"

Spencer shrugged, looking down at his lap, his cheeks flushing just a little. "I don't know. You just seem like you'd have... better things to do."

There it was again—that innocent way of seeing the world. Spencer didn't get it.

"Better things to do than talk to a guy who reads poetry in parks?" I teased, nudging his shoulder lightly. "Nah, you're more interesting than you think."

He laughed, a nervous sound that told me he still wasn't used to the attention. "Well, I'm glad you think so," he muttered, glancing up at me briefly before looking away again.

It was so easy to make him feel special. All it took was a little attention, a little kindness, and he'd open right up. People like Spencer always did. They were so used to being overlooked that the moment someone gave them the time of day, they latched on. It was predictable. Boring, even.

But there was something satisfying about watching him light up, knowing I was the one who made it happen.

"So," I said, leaning forward, elbows resting on my knees. "What's the plan for today? More poetry? Or do you actually do something other than sit in parks and read?"

Spencer laughed again, a little more relaxed this time. "I, uh, didn't have any plans, really. Just... reading." He gestured to the book in his lap, as if that explained everything.