Soon enough, the two of them have climbed the steps to your apartment and stand outside Y/N’s door.
“Well, this is me,” she says. “Are you sure I can’t pay for dinner? Or at least help? I mean, you did pay for Steph to come watch Penny, too…”
“Nope, not gonna happen,” he replies. “Tonight was for you. You work so hard every day between Smosh and Penelope and the whole single-parent thing… You deserve a break. Okay?
She opens her mouth to protest but he grabs her shoulders. His hands slide down to her arms and squeeze. “Okay?” he repeats.
“Okay,” she replies. “Seriously though…tonight was…amazing. I can’t think of the last time I felt so…relieved.”
Okay, here we go… he thinks as he inches closer, glancing down at her lips. This is it. I’m really gonna tell her.
“Well, uh…” he clears his throat. “What are friends for?”
A beat.
“Yeah. Thanks, goodnight,” she mumbles as she heads inside. The door closes. He stands there for a moment before heading back down the stairs and to his car. Head empty. Not a thought bouncing around.
He opens the car door and sits down. He gets as far as putting the key in and hearing the engine roar to life before he snaps out of it.
“Holy shit…” he sighs. How did I fuck up that badly?
He’d gotten her a great meal, they talked the whole time, she seemed in a way better mood compared to the rest of the day, and he held her as they walked along the beach and gazed up at the moon.
“And then I said, ‘What are friends for?’ What the hell was I thinking?” he mutters to himself. In a bout of dramatism, he lets his head fall to the steering wheel. It slides slightly, and he jumps when the horn honks.
I gotta go back.
Before he knows it, he’s racing back up the stairs of your apartment, anxiously counting the levels of floors by signs in the stairwell. He’s out of breath by the time he gets to the green, steel sign that says “3,” but he’s done it in record time. He doesn’t waste a second catching his breath before he gets to your door.
His fist is posed to knock before he thinks better of it, knowing that waking up the little pipsqueak will not help him reach his goal.
Me
come to the door Read 10:12
A few more seconds pass than he can stand to bear. Finally, she opens the door: hair damp from a shower, bare-faced, and wearing his hoodie. God, he thinks.
“Spence, what are you-” she’s cut off by him.
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spencer
come to the door
What in the world is he doing? You wonder, but oblige, quickly slipping on his hoodie over your sleep shirt, something you’re not so comfortable wearing in front of your coworker/friend/crush.
“Spence, what are you-”
Before you know it, hands are on your waist; warm hands that can help your daughter to sleep and pick up knocked over pens and ease all your worries. You get pulled closer, into the doorway, in the blink of an eye.
He kisses you.
It’s warm and soft and exciting all at the same time; you’re electric. You get over your initial shock, melting into the kiss. It’s nearly hurried, like neither of you can wait any longer to do so. After a few moments, you both realize the other won’t disappear, and you’re able to slow down.
You can barely breathe after it’s over. Spencer seems to be the same, staring at you and panting slightly.
“I, uh,” he mumbles. “I would say sorry for not asking but…it doesn’t seem like you mind.”
You turn around, an arm still around his neck, to look out for any toddling intruders coming your way. The coast is clear and you pull him impossible closer. You’re about to dive in for another kiss, but you pause for just one second.
