Chapter Text
At first, Luke barely notices it— the way Spencer’s demeanor will change so quickly, like a switch— how their bodies will be intertwined, lips pressed together, and the younger brunette will suddenly pull away, the brilliant spark in his eyes flickering like a dying bulb.
He doesn’t mind; they’ve talked about their relationship, or lack thereof, extensively, Spencer making it abundantly clear that he isn’t ready to put a label on what they are besides “more than friends,” although he does want to be exclusive, something Luke wants too.
He doesn’t care what they call each other, what they are, because he’s head of heels for Spencer, and the genius is the same.
“I’m not ashamed of you,” The younger man reassured him when “they” started, head resting against Luke’s chest, curled up in his more-than-friends’ arms. “I get if you want more— I can try if that’s what you want–”
“I just want you, cariño,” Luke assured him, and it’s the truth; he doesn’t care what he is to Spencer, what they call or don’t call their relationship, as long as Spencer is his, and he is Spencer’s.
When that flicker grows more obvious, more frequent— becomes a flash— he brushes it off.
He knows Spencer’s capacity for touch can change in an instant, his mood too, that he isn’t doing it maliciously, trying to hurt Luke, or maybe even consciously.
He knows Spencer would do the same, respect what Luke isn’t ready to share– he does do the same, never missing a beat when the older brunette shifts away from a few touches and holds, nicknames, the way he prefers being in control, leading, so Luke doesn’t push either.
And then he almost completely withdraws, stops filling the space between them with the rambles of random facts and statistics that Luke adores, stops initiating kisses, and stays at the library later, barely acknowledging him as Spencer dances around him in their shared space until one night–
“Derek–”
Spencer’s nightmares have woken him up before— on nights the young brunette stays up too late or has to get up earlier in the morning, and he can’t take the medication that knocks him out cold for eight hours— but he’s only heard that name once–
He’s only seen it once because Spencer was non-verbal after their first kiss, and curiosity gets the better of him.
“Who’s Derek?”
The younger brunette freezes like a deer in headlights, dropping the cup in his hands, his fingers going slack as his lips hang open.
“You–” Luke swallows, Spencer’s reaction quickly diminishing the confidence he gathered to ask. “You said his name last night when you–”
“No one.” Spencer chokes, grief overflowing from his throat, like a poison he’s swallowed, regurgitated, burning his mouth again as his body expels the toxicity. He scrambles to his feet, body tense as if every movement, every breath is agony, muscles ready to turn tail and run.
“Spencer–”
“No one— I’m sorry— no one. I have to– No one. I– I need to go–”
“Look, Spence, I’m sorry— you don’t have to tell me if you aren’t ready, and I’ll forget it— but please don’t leave.” His chest heaves, eyes darting around the room— landing everywhere but Luke— balling his hands into fists, nails digging into his palms.
“I can’t– I have to go— can’t be here–”
“Spencer, look at me– look here,” The older man taps the tip of his nose, knowing that’s where Spencer looks when he mimics eye contact. “Can you take a deep breath with me?”
Luke takes a slow, exaggerated breath, shoulders rising and falling, watching the younger brunette’s gaze land on him unsteadily before attempting to match his labored breaths to Luke’s.
“There you go— in through your nose, out through your mouth, Spencer— you’ve got it.”
“I’m sorry–”
“It’s okay; keep breathing, Spencer.”
They continue for another minute— inhaling for four, holding for four, exhaling for four–
Counting up to thirty; One, two, three–
–until Spencer’s shoulders relax, the genius stumbling back to the couch, pulling his knees to his chest, and tapping trembling fingers against his shins rhythmically, counting; he’s always counting, up to thirty, counting the forced beat of Derek’s heart.
“I have– I had a boyfriend… three years ago.”
God, has it been that long already? It’s been three years, almost to the day— two days past the anniversary of the night the clouds parted, revealing the Derek Blue sky behind waning, innocent white, cumulus clouds clearing a path for Derek Morgan to drift away.
“We– um, he d–” Spencer wrings his hands together, eyes glued to the ground as he struggles to force words past his lips. “He was driving me home, and we crashed.”
His eyes burn, knuckles rubbing together as Luke’s gaze burns into his forehead.
“He didn’t– I couldn’t–” Spencer shakes his head, eyes flickering to meet the other man’s before returning to the floor. “I almost did too— I coded in the ambulance— but I made it, and he didn’t– Der– He was dead before the EMTs arrived; he probably died on impact, but my memories are hazy–”
He takes a deep, shuddering breath, suddenly aware of the tears rolling down his cheeks.
“That’s Der– That’s him; he’s why I can’t–” He clears his throat, swallowing around the lump of sorrow, the words in the shape of every name he called Derek that stick in his trachea. “He was my boyfriend; he still is,” Spencer lifts his head, forcing himself to make eye contact with Luke. “We never broke up— he died, and we buried him as my boyfriend— and calling him an ex, calling him anything but that, anything besides the love of my life, means if he weren’t here, we wouldn’t be together, and I– I want to be more with you, Luke, I care about you a lot, but I can’t call you my boyfriend; I’m sorry.”
Luke pauses, digesting his words, waiting to see if Spencer continues.
“I’m sorry that happened— that you had to go through that— and for bringing it up–”
“You deserved to know; I should’ve told you a while ago. I’m sorry–”
“Spencer, you deserved to wait until you were ready; I’m not upset,” The older brunette reaches out, holding Spencer’s hands when he doesn’t pull away, resting their intertwined fingers on his knees. “I’m sorry that happened to you, and I understand why you can’t call me your boyfriend; I don’t need that, Spencer.”
“You deserve someone who can give you everything–”
“I deserve someone who makes me happy— we both do— and right now, that’s you, cariño, in whatever capacity you’ll have me.” Spencer squeezes Luke’s hands, gaze dropping to their laps as he takes a deep breath.
“I want to be with you. I want to be more than ‘more-than-friends’ and go on dates with you. I want a romantic relationship; to be–” Spencer sucks in another breath, searching for the right word. “Partners? Der– he alternated between partner and boyfriend after I went on a rant about gender being a social construct and how I find some gendered terms like “male” restricting–” He clears his throat. “Sorry. I’d like to be your partner— if that’s okay— or something else if you prefer–”
“Partner is great,” Luke smiles, watching Spencer’s eyes widen, their brilliant spark reigniting. “Thank you for telling me about this— about him— it means a lot.”
“The– um, the night you kissed me, I–” The younger brunette clears his throat again, letting go of Luke’s hands to wipe his cheeks. “I mistook you for him— that’s why I shut down— sometimes I forget he’s...”
“I’m sorry, Spence,” Spencer hums softly, wrapping his arms around himself with a shallow nod, and Luke knows what he’s looking for, opening his arms for his partner to settle against his chest and close his eyes. “I love you, cariño.”
The words slip out before Luke can stop himself, his body tensing, getting ready for a negative reaction–
“I love you too.”
The first time Luke sees him without a shirt on, Spencer tentatively exits the bathroom after his shower, a towel draped over his damp hair as he makes eye contact with his partner.
The older man stares for a minute, taking in every inch of Spencer’s bare chest, knowing how much trust such a seemingly simple action holds as he looks away, cheeks flushing red before Luke gets up, breaking the distance between them.
“Can I touch you, cariño?” The younger brunette glances back, nodding silently before dropping his gaze and leaning into his partner’s touch. “You’re beautiful, Spence.”
“Please don’t lie–”
“I’m not.”
Light, feather-like fingers dance across pale skin, starting at Spencer’s shoulder, following two parallel scars running diagonally across his chest.
He doesn’t need to explain this one— it speaks for itself; the seatbelt.
A kind of intimacy— warm togetherness— hangs in the space, the warm air between them, where their skin meets, bodies blending together in something akin to two halves rejoining.
“Is this okay?” The younger brunette nods, swallowing thickly as Luke’s hands move to his arms, tracing more straight lines— he’s seen some of them before, the neat rows of scar tissue viable when Spencer wears short sleeves— and track marks in the crooks of his elbows; self-inflicted. “Still okay?”
Spencer nods again, glancing at his partner’s hands as they travel up his sides, making him shiver as they trace the variety of rigid scars littered across his torso, mapping out galaxies and creating constellations of slightly raised, some stitched skin that makes Luke look to his partner for an explanation.
“The– the windshield; broken glass,” The younger man chokes, unaware he’s crying until Luke is already wiping away his tears with his thumbs, cupping his cheeks.
“I love you, Spencer,” He whispers, pressing a kiss against his partner’s forehead. “And I still adore you, cariño.”