𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 | spencer agnew

11. safe, part one

♫ velvet ring - big thief

❝ love is a gentle thing

yours is thicker than a velvet ring ❞

--

gracie wakes up on the couch, not remembering falling asleep. the room is dark and fuzzy, and she feels lighter than usual; the weight of the world does not have a place here.

the television is off; the candle and the city lights painting the sky are the only things allowing her to see. she's laying down with her head on spencer's lap. she's warm and safe, and she feels it. he starts to stir so she lifts her head.

he leans down and blows out the candle, darkness engulfing them. gracie sits up in anticipation.

"is something wrong?" she whispers to him.

she can't see him, but she feels him turn to face her.

"i can't be laying here like this with you."

she can't see him, but she knows they're close; his breath is warm on her cheeks. her heart races and her mind floats, unable to find ground. everything is swimming.

"but i'm not with jamie anymore." she is taken aback by her own lie. why did she say that?

if only it were that simple.

spencer's voice is dark and warm like raw honey. "it's not about him, gracie."

the implications of his words send a chill down her spine. the air is thick and her heart is racing.

she can't see him, but she knows he's looking at her.

she can't see him, but she feels his hand placed on her cheek. her breath hitches in her throat.

even if she could see him, she wouldn't want to. she is overcome by his simple touch -- enough to inundate the subconscious guilt she feels about jamie -- but she doesn't even want to put a face to it. she doesn't want to know that it's spencer making her feel this way.

she places her hand overtop of his, tracing it lightly with her thumb. "spencer..."

her eyes are closed, so she can't see him, but she would be too afraid to open them anyway.

--

when she finally does, the kitchen light is on and the smell of pumpkin floods her senses. the candle is still burning, and the light burns her eyes. cleo is curled up at her feet.

"did you say something?" spencer asks from the kitchen.

she slowly sits up, alone on the couch, and turns over the back of it to see spencer hunched over the sink, washing their dishes from earlier.

you have to be kidding me, she thinks to herself after waking up from her dream.

"no," she shakes her head. "at least, i hope not."

he chuckles and turns off the sink. "you talk in your sleep, you know." he dries his hands on the nearest dish towel and slings it over his shoulder.

gracie's heart fell into her ass. "you're kidding."

"i am. but, would that've been a bad thing?" his back is to her as he wipes the counter with the dish towel.

"nope! not at all. i didn't even dream."

he turns to look at her. "i didn't say anything about dreams." he raises his eyebrows, an amused look spread across his face. she doesn't respond. does he know?

he turns the sink off and walks out of view down the hallway towards his bedroom.

she decides to change the subject. "how long was i asleep for?" she calls down the hallway, rubbing her eyes. it was one of those naps that feels like years.

"like an hour," he replies, returning into view with a blanket and pillow in his arms. "it's only like 1:30." he walks over to her.

she laughs. "only?"

"hey, i'm a night owl."

she looks up at him, her dream threatening to resurface in her mind. she tenses a bit under his sleepy gaze, something that she could not find in her dream.

"there's clean sheets on the bed for you, i just took them out of the dryer. i'll take the couch, is that okay?" he asks, oblivious to the internal battle she's fighting.

she's taken aback by his kindness. always. "are you sure? i really don't mind staying here, i mean i already fell asleep."

"gracie, i'm not making you sleep on the couch." his tone is more firm than usual; she secretly likes it. "it's my fault you're here, you might as well be comfortable."

she likes how unwavering spencer is when it comes to caring for her. she has never felt more considered than when she's with him.

she shrugs. "if you insist, sir. it's not your fault."

"i do, ma'am. it is." he smiles softly at her, enjoying their banter.

they trade places. spencer is now sitting on the couch, adjusting his pillow and failing to spread out his blanket. he kicks his legs to no avail.

gracie stands by, laughing. "do you really need me to do it for you?"

"would you? tuck me in, i mean." he looks up at her, hoping to earn a laugh (which he does).

she gently throws the blanket over him, both of them tickled at the ridiculousness yet secretly pleased with the domesticity of it all.

gracie turns the light off on her way towards spencer's room. cleo curls up at his feet.

--

before gracie could even realize that she didn't have clothes to sleep in, she found sweatpants and a big shirt laid out on the bed for her. her eyes water.

he did all of this while she was asleep. while she was dreaming about him, he was putting new sheets on the bed and laying out pajamas for her.

she stands over the bed for a few minutes, staring down in disbelief at the favor, her arms hanging limp by her sides.

she struggles with letting herself enjoy things. her mother and jamie write the narrative of her conscience even when they are not present in her life. their words are sewn into her skin; every stitch a reminder of how she is perceived, every loop a reminder of how she disappoints those around her, every knot a reminder of the growing pit that lives in her stomach.

however, she can't hear them. tonight, her skin is not embroidery; it is patchwork, each fabric a memory of the times she's been loved. they are holding her together.

she sits on the edge of the bed next to the clothes. she debates it at first, thinks what the hell, then lifts the shirt to her nose. she holds it there, taking deep breaths. it smells like him.

she stands to pull her sweater over her head and slip on the shirt. it hangs and hits her mid-thigh. ideal. she loosely ties the pants around her waist.

the smell of him engulfs her as she sits in his bed under the covers, looking around his room lit by the warm glow of his party lights. there isn't an inch without personality. photos on his wall, trinkets on his desk, and clothes draped over his chair. she admires his attention to detail and appreciation of moments.

gracie notices a picture peeking out from under a stack of papers on his desk. he looks young, and his arm is around some girl's waist. she quickly clocks her as that girl dylan from earlier, and she freezes in a moment of panic. she then remembers that dylan said they were friends back in college; it looks like it was taken on a toaster, so that checks out. she exhales. nothing to fear.

she reaches over to turn off his party lights. curling up under his covers, she knows she is safe.