I stared back at Spencer, numbed with shock and the full weight of his words.

Nothing beside soft breaths were coming out as I frantically tried to get my thoughts in order. Holy shit. This was happening. We were having the Big Talk and I had no idea what to say back. While this wasn't a love confession, thank fucking god, it was still pretty fucking major. Spencer had just laid himself bare for me and I had no idea what to do, where to look. In the movies, this would be the part where I would throw him to the mattress and we'd have hot, passionate sex, albeit filled with whispered promises of devotion and what not.

My life, unfortunately, was not a movie, as much as it felt like it was at times. I settled, instead, for draining his cup of tea, not stopping until the bag wetly slapped my teeth and I could feel Winnie the Pooh calling me out for being a coward.

"Do you understand what I'm saying to you, Beau?" Spencer asked, expression open and slightly begging. Begging for me to say something. Do something. Stop pretending to drink tea we both knew was already gone.

"Beau," he tried again, this time even reaching over and grabbing my arm. Pulling the cup down he forced me to meet his eyes. They were a softer grey than I was used to and I swallowed the fake mouthful I'd been holding.

"I don't know what to say," I admitted, as honesty was always the best first step in life. "Kind of wasn't expecting an essay long speech. I'm a little mad I didn't speak first because now I feel like whatever I'm going to say to you will be incredibly underwhelming."

Spencer let out a nervous laugh, not moving his hand from me. I looked down at it, letting my eyes drift to the cup sitting on the bed before slowly wriggling my arm until his hand gripped my own. The skin was hot, fingertips a little rough and I tried to ignore the thrilled chill that jolted its way through my body at the contact. My palm was disgustingly sweaty, from holding the hot cup, from general grossness, it was a lot. I was more than a little proud of Spencer when he didn't flinch away. If anything, he gripped onto my fingers more tightly.

"This is weird," I said, running a hand through my hair nervously as Spencer's eyes fixed on me intently. I pondered for a minute where he threw his glasses to, hoping against all hope I wouldn't end up accidentally breaking them or something since luck did not seem to be on my side. "My hands are a little clammy."

"They're a lot clammy," Spencer said, wrinkling his nose and I groaned internally for bringing it up. "I thought this moment would be a little sexier if I'm being honest."

"Shut up, this is plenty sexy," I scoffed, loosening up in the face of his carefree demeanour. Suddenly I didn't feel as though I was suffocating, body heat trapped in the thin prison of my shirt, and settled a little easier atop Spencers pseudo-pastel sheets. "Can we gloss over me having to confess my feelings too? I really don't think I can handle that, today's been a lot."

"Nope," Spencer said, shaking his head as he moved down the bed to sit directly in front of me. I tried to shuffle back, make space between us, only to be stopped by him grasping both my wrists and pulled us until we were chest to chest. I blinked at the display of strength, scolding myself for the rush of blood to my cheeks, thankful it was the ones on my face.

Testing the give, I bit back a childish chuckle at how little his arms needed to flex in order to keep their grip on me. "Dude, Alpha much."

"Beau, come on, this is an intimate moment. I spilled my guts to you, albeit in a less eloquent way than I would like," he whispered, lips twitching to fight back a smile, and I rolled my eyes. "Quid pro quo?"

"Someone's been cramming for their lit exam. Where were those big words when you were foaming at the mouth with how much you liked me," I goaded, earning a tug to my arms that I pretended not to preen at. "Stop it, you're gonna pull them out the socket if you keep that up."

"Last time you admitted you liked me it was after sexually harassing me at work," Spencer pointed out and I sent a silent apology for the leg of prosciutto he most likely had to throw out. "I'd like a little more words this time, Beau. At least for my sanity."

"You want me to say I only ride bikes for you?" I quirked a brow as Spencer's face grew red. "Because that would be a lie, you're not the first bike I've wanted to ride."

"Don't be disgusting," he mumbled, cheeks staining red and streaking all the way down the exposed curve of his neck.

I grinned back, leaning forward. "You sound like April."

"Beau," Spencer frowned, serious.

"Fine," I said, all but pouting as I released a hard sigh that had Spencer send me another unimpressed look. "I, Beau Minders, like you, Spencer Michael J. Fox-"

"That is not my full name," Spencer interjected and I scowled back. Just when I was getting my groove, he had to butt in.

"Shut up, it's my narrative now, my confessional moment. Reality is what I make it." I frowned when Spencer rolled his eyes, hands shifting to thumb at my wrists in a way I did not let him know felt wonderful.

"You're so fucking dramatic," he muttered to the ceiling Gods. I glanced up, too, mildly alarmed by the giant poster of The Four Freedoms by Norman Rockwell staring back at me.

Turning my attention back to Spencer I reserved my questions on the poster for later and cocked a brow at him, remembering the reason for my attempted spiel. "Do you want the speech or not? Because I can just text all this to you later if you prefer it? Or is email more acceptable, more formality that way?"

"No, sorry, sorry," he placated, white teeth flashing as he lightly squeezed my forearms. "Please, Beau, continue."

"Anyway, as I was trying to say," I started, pointedly glaring at Spencer as I scurried up the last of my confidence to deliver everything I needed to say to him. Or, at the very least, what I could think of at the time to say to him.

"I can't exactly pinpoint when I started liking you, because it sure as hell wasn't the night you helped your Mom arrest me," I told him, averting my gaze to Rockwell's work with a grimace as Spencer patiently waited for me to go on. "I know for a fact that it definitely started developing before Snowed White's opening night – though the play did help shed some light on how I felt, not just about you but about myself and people in my life."

At my pause Spencer squeezed my hand, forcing me to look back at him. The little scar on his face danced as he smiled at me.  "Go on."

"So pushy," I said, growing more flustered. My cheeks felt like they were on fire, mouth numb enough that words just flowed out regardless of my attempts to stop them. "Basically, you've been a thorn in my side since we met, Spencer. Made me feel all this shit I didn't think I'd feel for someone who wasn't Jeremy. You made me a hormonal teenager, which was not appreciated by anyone and you should probably apologize to Tommo for all the trauma you made him go through... And now here we are, with you stuck listening to my half-assed confession which is making me regret ever learning the English language since I am fully butchering it."

I let out a hard breath, collecting myself. There, it was out in the universe. I hadn't realized my eyes had shit part way through until they fluttered open, homing in on Spencer's face.

"Was that so hard?" he asked, tone endearing and it took all my strength not to just face plant into his chest and hide from the world. My entire body was convulsing with discomfort.

"Yes, it was. I hated every minute of that. I've had enough heart-to-hearts these past few months to last me a lifetime," I griped, earning another yank to my hands.

"I'm glad we're finally actually talking this through," Spencer said, relaxing his grip enough to press his thumbs into my pulse points and I sighed, ignoring his smug expression. "I thought I'd have to suffer through another couple weeks of impulsive make-out sessions and double entendre's before we did this."

"Shut up," I huffed, glaring a hole in his green t-shirt that I'd rather physically fill with my face. "If you wanted me to write a love confession in your yearbook you should've just said so."

"Fuck you," Spencer barked out, eyes squinted with how hard he smiled. I felt my own lips twitch in reaction and stared down at our joined hands, trying to control the heat steadily flooding to my cheeks.

"I know you said you need more time but I gotta know what happens when I leave here tonight," I said bluntly and Spencer dropped one of my hands to run his own over his face with a sigh.

"What do you want to happen?" He asked and I shrugged back, annoyed at having the question flipped back onto me.

"In an ideal world? I guess I would want us to be together, in whatever capacity is possible," I admitted, immediately met by a smirking Spencer. I rolled my eyes at him, shoving his shoulder. "Try not to look so pleased with yourself."

"Sorry, I'll try to be more humble," he said, biting his lip against whatever smartass comment he wanted to tag on.

"I'm guessing you want the same thing? Unless all that shit you said about riding my bike and whatnot was a lie," I added and Spencer looked at me unimpressed. Surprisingly that spurred me on, shuffling on the bed and sitting up straighter. "I can't promise you sunshine and rainbows–"

"Never said I wanted that from you," Spencer threw in.

"I just mean, realistically, I'm not sure how happy I can make you in the span of time we have together, and that includes whatever time we get during the break before you piss off to get settled in your fancy art school's town. Like, I don't know if whatever happens next will be worth the clusterfuck you made your life into in order to be with me but... I just, I don't even know, Spencer. I guess I just hope you don't walk away regretting ever meeting me."

"I don't think I could ever regret you walking into my life, Beau," Spencer said, earnest and so softly I couldn't bring myself to meet his eyes. "And I think it's pretty clear that you make me happy. Do I want to strangle you sometimes for being an asshole? Yes, but on the whole, you're not all that bad."

"As always, such a glowing endorsement, Spencer," I mumbled and he deflated a little, turning our still joint hands over as he looked down at them.

"Stop acting like tonight is a final goodbye. Like you said, we have to make the most of the time we have, and I didn't come this far just for you to get cold feet on me seconds after we established our feelings," he stated quietly, chancing a glance my way. I shifted, uncomfortable with his gaze, the swirling blues and grey staring me down. I wondered what he saw back. Lingering uncertainty? Quiet desperation for him to just hold me close and promise that however this ended we'd stay in each other's lives since I didn't know how I would cope in a world absent of Spencer Fox again?

Whatever he saw though seemed to be what he was looking for, as he continued with a little more confidence. "I just said that I couldn't wait to see you again, even in knowing that the smarter thing to do would've been to take more time for myself. Figure out shit in my own head before your stupid face could flood my senses and override my brain with hormones. In plain English, what I'm saying is that I want whatever this is, or will be, with you. Two weeks, months, years if we can make it through long distance, it doesn't matter. I just want to see where this all goes. Face it, Beau, you're kind of stuck with me."

"Fucking hell, Spencer," I said, awed and mildly nausea by the swarm of butterflies inside me. As much as I wanted to bludgeon them back to sleep, staring back at Spencer's determined face made it a little less irritating. "You really know how to make a boy blush."

Laughing, Spencer placed his free hand on the back of my neck, rubbing gently against my skin. I leaned back into the touch, not bothering to tame the grin stretching its way across my face. It spread even further when he tugged me forward, pressing a slow kiss to my lips. The lingering tartness of strawberries infused itself into each parting breath we took and I finally let myself sink into his chest, wriggling my hand free so I could twist it into the front of his shirt and hold him closer.

"Now who's harassing who," I whispered, earning a breathy laugh back as Spencer pulled away.

"Don't act like you haven't been waiting to kiss me since you walked through my front door," he said, running a hand through my hair. I pushed back against it like a needy cat, making Spencer chuckle.

"More like since you called me to come over then rudely hung up on me," I corrected, preening when he just dug his nails into my scalp in response. "If art school doesn't work out for you, being a masseuse may be in the cards."

"Shut up," Spencer tutted but continued to slowly massage my head. I was pretty sure all he was doing was messing up my hair, but it felt good enough that I didn't care. "I'm glad you showed up."

"You honestly thought I wouldn't?" I asked, peeking an eye open. I hadn't realized I'd let them fall shut again.

Spencer shrugged, dropping both hands back into his lap and I tried not to pout at the action like a kicked puppy. "I'm never really sure where I stand with you, Beau," he admitted and I frowned.

"Well, you know now. I wouldn't have let you suck my face off otherwise," I chided, running a hand along the front of Spencer's shirt. He eyed it for a while, flushing when I raised my hand and traced along his jawline, swallowing with a faint click sound.

"That's a good point," he said, jerking back when I tapped the tip of his nose with my finger. "You think you're cute."

"I know I am," I corrected him, caught off guard when Spencer shoved at my shoulder, sending me sprawling onto the mattress. I didn't bother to sit up, just stared at Spencer's ceiling for a while as he settled in beside me. The heat of his arm alongside mine was nicer than I expected and I stayed silent when he twisted onto his side to look over at me.

"I should kick you out before I end up doing something stupid," Spencer said, scratching the back of his neck. I pulled my eyes from the exposed wooden beams, free of Rockwell, to his face, not quite sure what the mixed emotions running across it meant.

"Stupid like what?" I asked, even though I could take a wild guess at what he meant, since I was hoping for the same thing.

"Stupid like asking you to stay the night."

"Presumptuous of you to think I put out after one kiss," I teased and Spencer kicked my foot.

"Then I think it's time I walk you out, Beau."

I faked offense, pressing a hand to my chest as I gaped back at Spencer. "You're kicking me out for saying no?"

"Yes, drama queen," he said, slapping my thigh as he stood up and I groaned internally at the immediate rush of blood to the face the touch ensued. "It's getting dark out. Want me to drive you home?"

Sitting up I dragged a hand through my hair, watching as Spencer threw on a thick navy jacket that all but swallowed him whole. "This your way of sneaking me up to Make-out Point, a place where I'll be unable to say no to your advances?"

"You know, I think I'm starting to miss the tongue-tied and bashful Beau. This Beau is getting a little too cocky now that he knows I'm interested in him," Spencer mumbled, stuffing the corner of his phone into his mouth as he grabbed his keys and wallet.

"That's disgusting," I said, nose curling as he pocketed his wallet then reclaimed his phone.

"I only have two hands," he shrugged, jerking his head toward the bedroom door. "Let's go, Mr. Chastity."

Ignoring the nickname I slipped past Spencer, jogging down the stairs. Heavy footsteps sounded behind me moments later and I waited by the front door as Spencer scooped his cat into his arms. It immediately started butting against his chin, low purrs echoing in the space between us.

"Wait in the car while I open the gate," he instructed, throwing me the keys. I caught them awkwardly, stepping outside and shivering slightly at the drastic drop in temperature. Offering him a two-fingered salute I strode quickly down the driveway, scrambling to unlock his car.

Shoving the keys into the ignition I turned the heater on, watching in the rearview as Spencer deposited the purring cat onto the mailbox. He jogged quickly back to the car, blowing hot air over his fingers before deftly reversing down the driveway. It was just as Spencer was getting out to shut the gate behind us that I realized one glaring issue. Twisting in my seat, I shoved off my seatbelt and forced open the door.

"Wait!" I called, hopping out and running around the car to where Spencer stood.

"What? What's wrong?" he asked, expression automatically thrown into panic mode. The door slammed shut quickly behind him as he landed a hand on my arm, waiting for me to speak.

"This means we're dating, right?" I asked, clarified, fucking demanded to know before my heart gave out from running laps of confusion. "You sort of implied it... but we never actually, you know, said the word."

Spencer quirked a brow, resting his weight against the car as he stared me down, face relaxing. "I don't know. Dating usually means long walks on the beach at sunset and eating shitty gelato on the pier together at night. You think you can handle that?"

"I'm fine with both those things," I said, eagerness receiving a faint smile from Spencer.

"You're so fucking slow sometimes, Beau Minders," Spencer muttered, grabbing a fistful of my shirt and yanking me into a quick kiss that got a little messy when my entire face broke out in a wide grin. Pulling away first, Spencer thumbed the corner of my mouth and shook his head in amusement. On impulse I followed the touch, pressing my lips softly to his fingertip then stepped back when he let my shirt go. Brushing the stretched fabric, he bumped me under the chin and pulled open his car door.

"Now that that's settled, get in the fucking car so I can drive you home already, moron."