𝑆𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑟

C𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒

Spencer was starting to let me in more, and I could feel him slipping, losing that cautious distance he used to have. He'd started texting me late at night, just to talk, like he couldn't stop thinking about me. He was eager to hang out, always waiting for my message or call, and I knew he was falling deeper into the game I'd set up. He just didn't realize it was a game yet.

And honestly? I didn't feel bad about it. Not then.

To him, this was something real—some connection, some bond. But for me, it was just another routine. I didn't see the harm. I wasn't tying him down, wasn't making any promises that he should've believed. He just... wanted to believe them.

That was on him, right?

One evening, we were at my place. It was just the two of us this time, a little quieter than usual, but Spencer seemed happy to be there. His eyes lit up when I asked him to come over, like I'd just made his entire day with that simple request.

We were on the couch, watching something on TV, though I wasn't really paying attention. Spencer sat close to me, his knee brushing against mine every time he shifted, and I could tell he was more relaxed around me now. That nervous energy he'd had at the beginning was starting to fade. He was comfortable, and he thought that meant something.

I decided to test that comfort, see how far I could push it.

I picked up the remote and paused the show, turning to him with a grin. "You know," I said, leaning back against the couch, "you've been acting pretty different lately."

Spencer blinked, confused by the sudden shift in conversation. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," I drawled, watching his reaction carefully, "you're not the same quiet, shy guy I met in the park. You're getting braver, Spence."

He blushed at the nickname, looking down at his lap like he didn't know how to respond. "I guess... I've just gotten more comfortable around you."

"That's cute," I said, my tone teasing. I reached over and gave his arm a playful nudge, though there was just a bit more pressure behind it than necessary.

"You know," I continued, my voice casual, "I've noticed something else too. You've been a little... clingy lately, don't you think?"

His eyes widened slightly, and he looked up at me, startled. "Clingy? I didn't... I mean, I didn't think I was—"

"Relax," I said, cutting him off with a grin that I knew wasn't entirely comforting. "I'm just messing with you. I mean, it's kinda cute how you're always hitting me up, always wanting to hang out. Like you can't get enough of me."

I could see the uncertainty flash across his face. He laughed softly, but it was strained, forced. "I just... like spending time with you, that's all."

"I know," I said, leaning closer, lowering my voice. "But maybe don't make it so obvious next time, yeah?"

The smile faded from his face entirely now, and he looked down at his hands, twisting his fingers together. He didn't know how to respond. I could see the gears turning in his head, wondering if I was serious, if I really thought he was being too much.

He opened his mouth to say something, but I beat him to it.

"Hey," I said, suddenly softer, more playful. I reached out and ruffled his hair, trying to lighten the mood. "I'm just messing with you, Spence. You know that, right?"

He forced a smile, nodding quickly, like he didn't want me to think he was upset. "Yeah, of course. I know."

But I could see the way his shoulders tensed, the way he kept his eyes down, avoiding my gaze. He was trying to play it off, trying to convince himself that it was all just a joke. That I didn't mean it.

But a part of him knew.

I watched him for a minute, the silence between us growing heavier by the second. I could tell he was second-guessing himself now, wondering if he really was too clingy, too eager. I hadn't said much, but it was enough to plant the seed of doubt in his mind. And I knew that seed would only grow.

I should've felt something—guilt, maybe, or at least a hint of discomfort at how easily I could mess with him. But I didn't. It just felt... normal. Like this was how things were supposed to be. He was so sweet, so trusting, and it was almost too easy to push him around, to see how far I could take things before he broke.

And he never pushed back. Not once.

Later that evening, after we'd fallen back into our usual rhythm, Spencer seemed to have shaken off the weirdness from earlier. He was talking more, laughing at the dumb jokes I made, and for a while, it felt like things were back to normal. But I could still sense that lingering tension, that tiny bit of uncertainty just beneath the surface.

At one point, he mentioned something about wanting to take a trip—a weekend away, maybe, just the two of us. His eyes lit up when he talked about it, like he'd been planning it for a while. He started rambling about this place he knew near the coast, some beach town that sounded way too quiet for my liking, but I let him go on about it for a bit.

When he finally finished, he looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to say something.

"That sounds... nice," I said slowly, dragging the word out like I wasn't sure if I meant it.

Spencer's smile faltered, and he tilted his head slightly. "You don't sound too excited."

I shrugged. "It's not really my scene, you know? Beaches and all that. But hey, maybe we'll go sometime. Who knows?"

I knew that "sometime" would never come, but Spencer didn't. He smiled again, though it was smaller this time. "Yeah... maybe."

There it was—that hope, that stupid hope that he couldn't shake, even when I gave him nothing to hold onto. He was still clinging to the idea that I cared, that I'd follow through on any of the vague promises I made.

And part of me hated how easy it was to make those promises, knowing full well that I'd never keep them.

After Spencer left that night, I sat alone in my apartment for a while, the silence around me louder than it should've been. I replayed the night in my head, thinking about the way he'd looked at me when I teased him, the way his smile had cracked just a little bit when I called him clingy.

Was it playful? Sure, it started that way. But did it hurt him?

Yeah. I knew it did.

And the worst part? I didn't care.

I knew I was playing with him, pushing him further than I should've. But it wasn't like I was lying to him. I never promised him anything real. I never told him we were more than what we were. He was the one reading into things, the one building up this fantasy in his head.

Still... there was a nagging thought in the back of my mind, one I couldn't quite shake.

I lit a cigarette and leaned back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. The smoke curled lazily above me, and I tried to push the thought away.