Hopping Spencer's fence took more effort than I expected it to. I sat on the edge for a moment, uncaring as dew seeped into the backs of my jeans, to get breath back in my lungs, not used to relying on my mouth alone to circulate air. Mailbox cat was nowhere to be seen, which was good since I didn't want to get into a territorial pissing contest at nearly eleven in the evening.

Ground shock coursed up my legs when I landed on his lawn even though the drop was less than a couple meters. I shook it off, stormed the porch, and knocked on the door three times. The lock caught a few times before Spencer's face appeared through a slivered gap. Suspicion arched in his brows until he recognised me and yanked the door all the way open. He let out a low whistle, eyes honed onto the bridge of my nose, drifting to the deep purple circles that found residency under my eyes.

"Jesus, what happened to your face?" Spencer asked, words muffled by the mouthful of bagel he was chewing. Cream cheese was caked under his nails, knuckles stained a purple that let me know he had been spray painting recently.

"It's freezing out, let me in?" I countered, making a show of rubbing my arms and shuddering until he gestured me inside.

"It's like sixty degrees out, calm down," he chided, clicking the door shut. Accepting my coat, I tried not to scowl when he threw it haphazardly onto the rack by the door, ushering me into the living room. The fireplace was lit, making the shadows of the house more sinister than inviting. The shirt he was wearing looked prison uniform issue, a depressing beige color that made his neck look redder than usual. A pair of paint splattered sweats hung loose on his hips and pooled past his mismatched sock clad feet. Something warm in my stomach flipped when he turned, backlit by the fire with a brow raised as though he was asking why I had stopped following him.

Settled in the couch cushion's dip, Mailbox cat jerked its head up from where it rested on stretched paws. It blinked at the pair of us, mouth stretching a lazy yawn that moulded into a soundless meow when Spencer reclaimed his place beside it. He laid a hand onto the cat's head, scratching gently in a way far too caring for the demon residing next to him. I sunk into the free space on the couch, lulling my head against the backrest as Spencer muted the basketball game currently on the television. I made a mental note to keep track of the current score so I could at least pretend to understand what Tommo was on about when he inevitably brought up the game tomorrow. If there was one thing Tommo and my brother bonded over, it was sports I didn't understand. I gave them about two minutes of awkward small talk at the barbecue tomorrow before deflecting to the safe territory of basketball.

Spencer dropped the remote carelessly onto the table, plastic clunking against the edge of his plate. I glanced down at the other half of his bagel still sitting there, covered in spray cheese. It looked miserably lonely with a weak bite taken out of one side.

"Your diet is appalling." I curled my nose, stuffing a hand in the pocket of my jeans in an effort to make sure my phone was on vibrate rather than silent. I didn't put it past my mom to storm into Spencer's place, pyjama's and all, if I missed any of her texts or calls tonight. Especially after the verbal beating and uncomfortable heart-to-heart I had just suffered through with her and Dad. I'd never heard the word proud and okay thrown around so much in the single space of an hour. It was like between leaving the hospital and driving home I had stepped into a young adult novel about acceptance and love. And I fucking hated it.

"This is a judgment free household," Spencer warned, waggling cream cheese in my face and effectively pulling me back into the present. Shoving his hand away, I chanced a look at his hallway. Only a single set of keys hung up on the wall. He rambled on, unfazed and high off his own kool-aid, "Play nice or I'll kick you back out into the cold."

"Sorry, sorry. I'll be on my best behavior from now on." I rolled my eyes, nudging his side and narrowly avoiding the fanged yawn of the demon nestled beside him. Evil.

"Good." He nodded, shouldering his way deeper into the cushions as I eyed the clock on his wall.

"Where's your mom by the way? It's pretty late." I yawned behind my wrist. When I glanced at Spencer the concerned look hadn't fully dropped from his face, though he was busy petting the moulting devil beside him.

"She's on patrol," he said, tossing the bagel onto his plate. It made a muted clinking noise against the seeming indestructible yellow ceramic. I watched as it landed face down on the spray cheese monstrosity. "What's with the face?"

"Always so superficial," I teased, turning to knock his shoulder lightly with my fist. "I'm still the same Beau under all the tape and bruises, you know."

In retaliation Spencer darted out a finger, pressing at the purple bruise underneath my left eye. I groaned, slapping his hand away, and leaned out of reach as pain briefly flared across my face. "Jesus. What the hell was that for?"

"Who did this, Beau?" Spencer crossed his arms, face stern. His eyes were hardened marble and a slight shiver ran down my spine as they honed in on me. "Unless you've made more enemies around here than I know of, only one name comes to mind."

"It's really not that bad," I promised, kicking my feet up onto the short coffee table in front of us. I was aiming for nonchalant, but really the action just came across as poor manners and tiredness. "Doctor reset it and everything. April filmed the whole thing if you want proof that, though pained, I am fine. Give it a month or so and I'll be all brand new, scouts honor."

Sighing, Spencer stood up and walked out the room. I gaped at the abrupt action and craned my head trying to make out his disappearing frame. My attention shifted though when the cat leaped onto me, making itself at home in my lap. When it didn't immediately throw up a hairball on my shirt, I relaxed a little and let it fully settle in. Thumbing the sky blue collar around its neck, adorned with glitter stitched tiny fishes, I snorted at the name written on a purple tag. Whiskey.

"I'd've gone with Lucifer, if I'm being honest," I muttered, yelping when the cat dug its claws into the meat of my thigh.

"What happened?" Spencer called out, dashing back into the room. He looked less knight in shining armour than startled housewife, cradling overfilled, cartoon-printed mugs in either hand. He waddled carefully to the table, cursing when the liquid gushed over the sides and onto his bare fingertips. Dumping them onto coasters, he checked his hands for burns then pointed his stare my way.

"You're going to give me a heart attack one day, you know that?" he griped, stopping himself at the last second from running a tea soaked hand through his hair. "What happened?"

"Whiskey apparently doesn't like my sense of humor," I drawled, running my thumb along the puncture marks the cat left in my jeans. Spencers face lit up in relief though, the flush in his cheeks dying away. I tilted my head past his frame to make out what exactly was floating in the mugs and fought back a groan, not surprised in the slightest.

"Tea? Really?" I said blandly, eyeing the teabag strings dubiously. My last encounter with tea at Spencer's flashed through my mind and my stomach churned a little in fear. "There're no laxatives in these, right?"

"You're deflecting."

I leaned forward, flicking the tag and letting out a breath of relief that it was just standard peppermint. "I'm always deflecting."

"Beau."

"Ugh, seriously?" I moaned, taking my mug with me as I pressed further into his couch. The pillows morphed around my shoulders but, beyond that, did not aid in my attempt at vanishing from this awkward conversation. Spencer squatted by my legs, lips pressed thin. I stared at his scar for a moment, hyping myself up to speak again. "Can't we just avoid serious conversations and make out like normal teenage couples do?"

Obviously that had been the wrong thing to say. In an instant, Spencer's face closed off and he drew to his feet.

"Fine," he said, tone flat as he extended a hand my way. "Let's go to my room."

I slapped his hand away, rolling my eyes. "Shut up, don't be an asshole."

"No, I'm serious." Spencer turned and pushed his plate back enough that he could take a seat on the edge of the table. Patting his lap he gestured for me to get up. "Come here. Let's be a normal couple and go make out, never talk about anything serious that happens to us, and live in a bliss of ignorance and hormones."

"Okay, sorry," I conceded. "I get it, I'm being an asshole." I felt my face grow hotter the longer Spencer stared at me with not-so-silent judgment and disappointment. "I just don't want to get into it because it'll bring the mood down–"

"Mood came crashing down the moment you showed up at my door with a broken nose and black eyes, Beau," he interjected, fingers tapping the edge of his awaiting mug.

"It's really stupid and I already got an earful from my mom, who's excited to 'officially' meet you tomorrow night by the way," I said, throwing air quotes around officially. At Spencer's blank stare I tucked my chin into my chest, mumbling over the rim of my mug, "she knows your my boyfriend now."

"Oh."

"Yeah, kind of twisted my arm about it while we were driving to the hospital," I admitted, jumping to add at Spencer's somewhat crestfallen look, "Not that I didn't want to tell her about you! I did, just not through a mouthful of snot and blood. She pulled the whole 'I knew the whole time' card too, which I guess was fair since we aren't exactly subtle. You're over almost every other day–"

"You're rambling again," Spencer cut in, finally reaching out to grab his mug. He took a large gulp and I flinched, aware of how hot the water still was.

"Right, I need to stop doing that." I blushed, leaning forward to put my mug back on the table. "I think I've been spending too much time around April, picking up her worser habits. You know she's still hanging out with that skateboarding kid, Jung or something. Saw him sneak out of her room last Thursday–"

"Beau!" Spencer shouted and I snapped my mouth shut. A grin pulled at his lips though, his eyes fighting to stay stern and annoyed with me. "Wanna watch a movie? I feel like any conversation at this point will get nowhere."

"Something tells me I should be weary of your taste in movies," I grimaced, earning a socked foot to the knee as Spencer stood up.

"My mom is a Hugh Grant loyalist so most of the stuff we own is in the romantic comedy realm, though I have the Rocky boxset somewhere," he murmured, striding over to the TV stand and squatting in front of the rows of DVDs.

"Again, the taste you Fox's have is just outstanding," I teased, settling onto the carpet beside him. "I think it's safer just to cruise through the infomercial channels."

Spencer cocked a brow, resting back on his palms. "You saying you can resist the alluring pull of a multi-function vacuum that comes with a free set of knives if you order before midnight?"

"You make a fair point," I feigned contemplation as Spencer bumped my shoulder. "Even with ninety dollars for shipping alone, the products are just so alluring."

"My mom bought one of those blenders that make like margaritas, or slushies, I don't know. She's had for three years, never opened the box." He laughed, shaking his head. "It just sits in the back of her closet in shame."

"Jesus."

"I know." Spencer chuckled wryly. "Took nine weeks to arrive too."

"That happened to April when she ordered some curling wand." I settled back on my elbows, tapping the floor gently as Spencer hummed for me to continue. "Waited like six months for the thing to arrive. She uses it everyday even though it hardly works purely out of spite."

"Your sister is literally my favorite person," he said, rolling his eyes at my affronted look, amending his statement with, "second favorite. Don't blow a gasket, Beau."

"Good."

"So," Spencer drawled, leaning forward. I snuck a glance at the peak of tanned skin on his back as his shirt rode up and fought back the urge to poke it. He pulled a rough around the edges boxset free, gracing me with Sylvester Stallone's face and Spencer's own wagging eyebrows. "Rocky?"

"I should probably head back home, actually," I frowned, skipping his answering pout in favor of glancing at the metal clock dangling on the living room wall. It was a quarter to midnight and I had no idea where the time had gone. "I promised Mom I'd be back soon, just swung by because– well, I don't really know. I just wanted to see you, I guess, after all the craziness of the day finally burned away."

"But now you've gotta head home because of your pension for turning into a pumpkin at the stroke of midnight?" Spencer smirked and I jostled his shoulder.

"Something like that," I said, offering him a hand after I'd gotten to my feet. "Walk me to the door?"

"Let me head upstairs to grab my glasses, then can just drive you home." He nodded toward the keys to his hatchback, trailing a hand along my forearm. "Unless you have more crime to fight, bad guys lairs to break into."

"It isn't easy fighting crime in middle suburbia." I sighed, grabbing his hand before he could pull away. "It's alright, though. I kind of want to enjoy a night walk. Be one with nature and all that. Breathe in fresh air devoid devoid of the faint scent of deli meat."

"Rude." He yanked my arm. "I'll walk you to the top the street at least, make sure no one's waiting to throw hands with you."

"My hero." I rolled my eyes, taking a step toward the front door. "Come on, I want to leave before the sunrise."

I pulled my coat down from its rumpled place on the rack. Spencer switched to stand at my right side so I could get other hand through its sleeve, immediately rethreading our fingers together in an almost defiant nature. I didn't comment on it, just smiled to myself as I yanked my zip until it capped off right under my chin. The weather was more or less the same earlier as Spencer locked the front door. He'd pulled on an unlaced pair of Timberlands that I kept an eye on as we stomped down the porch steps. Our knuckles had turned blue from the pressure of squeezing so tight and I relished the feeling of relief when he let go long enough to pop open the gate.

"Did you jump over the fence?" he asked, putting two and two together when he saw the latch was still in place. I never could get the thing open, having to text Spencer to let me in whenever I showed up at his place.

I didn't answer his question. I just looked up at the night sky. The moon sat dead centre, free of any clouds, and half the stars were blocked out by the radiant amount of streetlamp lining Spencer's street. My nose gave a faint twitch after a while, forcing me to snap my head back down. A brief flash of black filled my vision, the solid sound of Clark's fist connecting with bone rattling in my ears. A gasp caught in the back of my throat, but then it was gone, though my heart stammered hard in my chest. I nearly jumped when Spencer clasped my hand, fiddling my fingers into the grooves of his own and I felt a rush of calm crash over me.

I looked over at Spencer, with his black bomber jacket unzipped and hanging to the curve of his shoulders. The grey of his eyes were wiped over with blue that glinted against the moonlight, a confused purse dipped between his brows. I twisted my free hand into the front of his ugly beige shirt, the material worn and soft against my cold fingers, and pressed a slow kiss to his mouth. His lips parted more out of shock than anything else and I trudged forward, taking everything he gave me. He tasted like cream cheese, the ever-lingering scent of smoke, and strong black tea, no trace of sugar. I couldn't help but laugh at his surprised breath and the amount of time it took until he gently raised a hand to the back of my neck.

"You ever have a song just randomly start playing in your head because the moment is just so perfect it needs a soundtrack? Like, your brain thinks it's stepped into a movie, if only for a few minutes?" I whispered, every other syllable swallowed by the quick pass of Spencer's mouth against my own. The drag of his tongue along my bottom lip each time he pulled back.

"No, because I'm not crazy," he said, but he's smiling. Gripping my hair a little tighter, a little more desperate. His next kiss reeked of I think you're insane but I like that about you.

"You're my Autumnsong," I told him, moving my hand to feel the grove of his jaw. I trailed a finger along the cut that rested there only days ago and was now back to smooth skin. He hissed when I dug my nails into the space and drew back a little dazed, confused. Still smiling.

"What?"

"Don't worry about." I laughed, shaking my head, drawing him closer. So close I could feel his heart bleeding hard alongside my own. "Just be in the moment with me until the screen fades to black."

"You're crazy, Beau Minders."

He kissed me again, harder.

"So fucking crazy."

I let go of Spencer's hand to wrap my arm around his neck, all but crushing him in my embrace.

"I fucking love that about you."

I drew him even closer.

"So crazy."

"Stop talking," I mumbled, biting his bottom lip. I gazed at the sky for a moment. A dozen or so stars twinkled, tiny blue and white blots that winked hello to us from above. They were drowned out moments later by the strobing streetlights further up the block. I firmly shut my eyes and tilted Spencer's mouth back down against my own. "You're fucking up my ambiance."

His responding laughter was deafeningly loud. It rumbled throughout the neighbourhood and nearly blew out my eardrums. My nose hissed in pain when the side of his face thumped against it, shaky breaths of laughter puffing across the chilled slants of my cheekbone. But nothing, nothing at all, could beat down the grin that stretched across my face when he dove back in and kissed me alongside the final chorus' notes.