Count Your Luck- s.r.
a/n: I was thinking about this post for days before I finally sat down to write this. Thank you to @frankiebirds for making the initial post.
warnings: Roommate Spencer, reader insert, slightly illegal activities, mentions of stripping, brief mention of violence, littlest part about a man being creepy
word count: 12.2k words
“This is due at the end of the month?” Spencer asked, his voice tight as he stared at the bill in his hands. The number printed at the bottom was enough to make his heart stop.
The woman behind the counter nodded, her expression softening into one of pity. “Yeah, sugar. By the end of the month.” He could see the sympathy in her eyes, the way she looked at him like he was just a kid in over his head. Because he was.
Spencer swallowed hard, feeling the lump in his throat tighten. He knew she was trying to be kind, but it only made him feel worse. He tried to focus on the task at hand, not on the gnawing realization that he would never be able to scrape together this much money in time. Even if he asked for an extension, it would just push the problem down the road, leaving him trapped in a vicious cycle of bills and deadlines.
He glanced over at the doorway to the common area of the facility, where his mother sat by the window, staring out at the garden. She looked peaceful there, a faint smile playing on her lips as sunlight filtered through the glass. She was safe here, comfortable—at least, as comfortable as she could be, given her condition. Her episodes were fewer and farther between now, the staff attentive and compassionate, but the care she needed came at a steep price.
Spencer’s stomach twisted as he thought about the guilt that had plagued him since the day he’d signed the papers to have her committed. It was the right thing to do—he knew that—but it didn’t make it any easier. His mother needed help he couldn’t give her. The facility was the best option, but it was also the most expensive.
He turned back to the woman at the counter, his voice hoarse. “Is there... any way to lower the cost? Maybe work out a payment plan?”
She shook her head, her pity deepening. “I’m afraid we already have you on the lowest rate we can offer. I wish I had better news for you, sweetheart.”
Spencer nodded, his heart sinking. “I understand,” he said quietly, folding the bill and tucking it into his jacket pocket. “Thank you.”
He stepped outside into the cold winter air, exhaling a shaky breath. His mind raced as he walked, the weight of his responsibilities bearing down on him. He was barely 18, still trying to figure out how to navigate the world on his own, and now this.
As he made his way to the bus stop, he thought about his own situation. He had just begun his winter semester, juggling an intense class schedule, and he’d recently signed a lease for an apartment with a roommate he’d never even met. They were matched by the apartment manager, both desperate to fill their spaces. He hadn’t even had a chance to settle in yet, let alone get to know the person he’d be living with for the next year.
Spencer wrapped his coat tighter around himself, the wind biting at his skin. The idea of asking his roommate for help crossed his mind, but he dismissed it almost as quickly as it came. They were probably in the same boat, scraping by just to cover rent and tuition. And what would he even say? ‘Hi, I’m Spencer, nice to meet you—by the way, do you have a couple thousand dollars lying around?’
No. This was his burden to bear.
When he arrived at his apartment later that evening, the place was dark and quiet. His new roommate hadn’t moved in yet, and the silence was almost suffocating. He dropped his bag by the door and sank onto the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling. The enormity of everything pressed down on him—the bills, the coursework, his mother’s care, the future stretching out ahead of him, uncertain and terrifying.
He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm his racing thoughts. He had to keep it together. There was no other option.
The next day, Spencer dragged his feet to class, exhaustion gnawing at him. The morning sun hadn’t done much to wake him up, and his mind still buzzed from the constant worry. His mother, the bills, his studies—it was all too much. As the professor droned on about advanced quantum mechanics, Spencer tried to focus, but his brain kept slipping back to his mother, her care facility, and the mounting cost of it all.
When class finally let out, he practically ran to his on-campus job in the cafeteria. It wasn’t glamorous, not by a long shot. He worked in the dish room, scrubbing and rinsing plates, silverware, and trays, running them through the industrial sanitizing machine. The smell was stomach-churning, a mix of stale food, wet sponges, and industrial soap. It clung to him no matter how hard he tried to avoid it, but it was money—money he needed desperately.
As he started the sanitizing machine, Spencer did the math in his head. If he worked enough hours, he might be able to pay this month's bills by Christmas. He counted his paycheck before he even received it, trying to figure out how much more he needed to make ends meet. His stomach twisted. Even though he could breeze through most of his homework, he couldn’t take on another job without spreading himself too thin. His body was already showing signs of the strain—exhaustion, hunger, stress-induced headaches.
Leaning against the machine, Spencer felt the weight of everything press down on him. His mind started spiraling, thoughts racing about deadlines and debts, his mother’s well-being, and the pressure of school. It was only when the machine beeped that he snapped back to reality. With a heavy sigh, he pulled the trays from the machine and got back to work.
Later, he rushed to his next class, sliding in two minutes late. His jeans were soaked at the hems from the dish room floor, and his fingers were wrinkled and sore. But he sat down, doing his best to settle in for the lecture. He couldn’t afford to fall behind, no matter how overwhelmed he felt.
By the time he made it back to his apartment that evening, he was dead on his feet. The hallway leading to his door was a maze of plain boxes, stacked haphazardly against the walls. Spencer’s brows furrowed as he carefully weaved through them. Standing in the middle of it all was a woman, her arms wrapped around a small, white dog that shivered and barked at Spencer as he approached.
"Tootsie, hush," the woman muttered, silencing the dog. The air around her smelled of expensive perfume—too strong, especially after a day in the dishroom.
Spencer gave her a tight-lipped smile, feeling out of place, then noticed his apartment door was open. Before he could ask what was going on, a tall man, about his age, stepped out of the doorway, nearly bumping into him.
"Uh, sorry," Spencer said, awkwardly shifting his bag higher on his shoulder. "I’m Spencer. I live here."
The man gave him a once-over before offering a quick nod. "Ricky. I’m just helping my sister move in."
Spencer blinked, confusion flickering across his face. "Your sister?"
Ricky nodded in the direction of the woman with the dog. "Yeah. Y/N. She’s, uh... she's the one moving in."
As if realizing that his sister would be living with another man, Ricky puffed out his chest slightly, standing a little taller, his posture becoming subtly defensive. Spencer didn’t miss the shift, but he also wasn’t sure how to respond. He wasn’t a threat, but Ricky clearly wanted to make sure he knew where things stood.
Y/N approached, flashing a warm smile as she juggled the dog in one arm and extended her hand toward Spencer. "Hi, I’m Y/N. I guess we’re going to be roommates."
Spencer waved, unsure if he should shake her hand while she held the squirming dog. "Nice to meet you."
The interaction was awkward, but Y/N’s friendliness helped ease the tension a little. Spencer glanced back at Ricky, who still looked a bit uneasy. "How are you finding the apartment so far?" he asked, trying to make small talk.
"It’s fine," Ricky replied shortly, still sizing Spencer up. "But, uh, Y/N’s the one living here, not me."
Spencer nodded, feeling the tension ease slightly. "Got it. Well... welcome, I guess."
Y/N grinned, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Thanks. It’s a bit chaotic right now, but I think we’ll settle in soon."
Spencer smiled back, though his mind was already racing with thoughts about the new roommate dynamic, the bills, and how this new chapter was going to unfold.
Spencer excused himself to shower, feeling the weight of exhaustion pulling at him. "I’ll let you guys finish up," he mumbled, giving a small, awkward wave as he stepped past Ricky and Y/N. His feet dragged as he made his way to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. The soft click of the lock felt like the only solid thing in a day that had otherwise spun wildly out of control.
He leaned against the door for a moment, taking in a deep breath. The tension in his shoulders felt like it had seeped into his bones. The exhaustion from class, work, and now the unexpected change in his living situation pressed down on him. His mind buzzed, running through endless calculations—his budget, the bills, his studies—and now the added complication of a new roommate he hadn’t planned for.
Spencer peeled off his soaked jeans and grimy shirt, tossing them into the laundry bin before heading into the small bathroom. The hot water felt like a temporary escape, but even that couldn’t fully wash away the day. He let the water beat down on his tired muscles, trying to clear his mind, but all he could think about was how much more complicated things had become.
The shower didn’t last long. After dressing in an old pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, Spencer collapsed onto his bed. He thought about picking up one of his textbooks, catching up on some reading, but the thought of focusing on anything academic felt impossible at that moment. His mind was a knot of worry and fatigue.
Lying back against the pillows, he stared up at the ceiling, trying to push the thoughts away. But they persisted, swirling around like a storm he couldn’t escape. Outside his room, he could hear the faint sounds of boxes being moved and hushed conversations between Ricky and Y/N. The light shuffling of cardboard against the floor, the occasional frustrated hiss from Ricky about where things should go, and Y/N’s soothing tone filled the apartment. They weren’t loud, but it was just enough to keep Spencer’s mind awake, hovering on the edge of sleep but never quite tipping over.
He tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position, but the unfamiliarity of the sounds and the day’s stress made it impossible. His thoughts jumped from one thing to the next—his mom, the medical bills, his winter semester, and now, this new roommate who came with a brother that seemed more than ready to take on a protective role.
As the night wore on, Spencer couldn’t help but feel like everything was slipping out of his control. He was used to having everything carefully managed, but now, with his mother’s care weighing heavily on him, and the added pressure of keeping up with his studies, this new shift in his living arrangements made him feel like he was teetering on the edge.
Eventually, as the shuffling in the apartment faded and the apartment quieted down, Spencer found himself drifting into a restless sleep. But even then, his dreams were filled with fragmented images of bills piling up, his mother’s vacant stare in the facility, and the growing distance between him and the life he wanted to lead.
Tomorrow, he thought vaguely as sleep finally overtook him. He’d deal with everything tomorrow.
The next morning, Spencer woke to the faint sounds of movement from the living room. When he emerged from his room, still groggy, he found Y/N already up, sitting cross-legged on the floor, sorting through a pile of shirts. Her hair was pulled back, and the soft morning light filtered in through the windows, casting long shadows over the mess of boxes still scattered around.
"Sorry if I was too loud last night," she said without looking up, her voice light but carrying a hint of apology.
Spencer, grabbing a bowl of cereal, shrugged. "It's fine," he replied, offering a small smile she probably didn’t see. The clatter of his spoon against the bowl filled the quiet air as he sat at the small kitchen table, his mind already racing with the day ahead. There were the usual things to stress over—his classes, his job, the bills—never-ending responsibilities that seemed to pile on like the dirty dishes he'd scrubbed the night before. But now, at least half the rent was covered. That thought brought a slight sense of relief. One less thing to worry about, at least for now.
The January weather in Las Vegas was brisk, cooler than most people expected from a desert city. A chill crept in through the windows, and Spencer made a mental note to grab his jacket on the way out. The mornings were deceptively cold this time of year, even if the afternoons warmed up. Y/N hummed quietly to herself as she continued folding clothes, and Spencer, despite his usual social awkwardness, found himself oddly comfortable with the silence that hung between them.
"I'm heading out," he muttered after finishing his cereal, grabbing his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. Y/N looked up and gave a quick wave as he headed for the door.
"Good luck with your classes," she said, and for a moment, Spencer hesitated, feeling something like gratitude bloom unexpectedly in his chest.
He gave a quick goodbye and left the apartment, stepping into the crisp morning air. The sky was a pale blue, the sun just beginning to rise above the skyline. He hopped on his bike and pedaled toward the science building, the cold wind biting at his face. It was going to be a long day—hours spent in and out of labs, followed by an exam he had to ace if he wanted to keep his GPA where it needed to be.
By the time evening rolled around, Spencer found himself standing at the bus stop, waiting to catch the bus to his second job. His fingers, still slightly wrinkled from handling lab equipment all day, fidgeted as he checked the schedule. The bus to the restaurant was pulling up, but another one—Bus 47, heading directly to the casinos—caught his eye.
He hated the valet job. The tips were terrible, the hours long, and it always felt like he was wasting time when he could be studying or working on something that actually mattered. The idea hit him all at once, and before he could think twice, Spencer made a split-second decision. He ignored his usual bus and boarded the one bound for the strip instead. His heart pounded in his chest as he sat down, clutching the strap of his satchel tightly.
The strip was as garish and glamorous as always, lights flashing and the distant sound of slot machines filling the air. Spencer stepped off the bus, feeling out of place among the well-dressed crowd. People in sleek suits and elegant dresses strolled through the casino floor, sipping on overpriced drinks. He glanced down at himself—jeans, a hoodie, his worn satchel slung over his shoulder—and felt like an outsider.
But he didn’t stop. He kept walking, weaving through the bustling casino, trying to ignore the nagging voice in the back of his mind, the one that kept telling him this was a bad idea.
The sinister thought crept up slowly, and Spencer found himself trying to shove it down. Counting cards—it wasn’t exactly illegal, but it was frowned upon. And for someone like him, it wouldn’t be difficult. He knew the math, the probabilities, the strategies. It would be easy. Too easy. He tried to push the idea away, but it lingered, gnawing at him, tempting him. After all, wasn’t this a way to fix everything? To take control for once, to stop worrying about bills, about rent, about his mother’s care?
Before he could talk himself out of it, he walked up to the cashier and traded in his emergency cash for chips. His hand shook slightly as he held the stack, heart pounding louder than ever. He found a blackjack table near the back, away from the main crowd, and sat down. Spencer stared at the green felt, his mind calculating the odds before the dealer even shuffled the cards.
He took a deep breath and placed his first bet, knowing full well there was no turning back now.
Spencer’s leg bounced the entire bus ride back. His heart hadn’t stopped racing since he left the casino, and now, sitting there with a small mountain of cash stuffed in his backpack, he felt more jittery than ever. He was too shaky to ride his bike the rest of the way, so he walked, clutching the bag tightly against his chest. Every step felt surreal. What had he done?
By the time he made it home, the hallway was dark and quiet. He fumbled with his keys, his hands trembling, and slipped inside the apartment as quietly as he could. Y/N’s door was closed, the light from beneath faint, and the thought of anyone seeing him right now—of anyone knowing what he had just done—made his stomach twist. He hurried to his room, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.
For a moment, he just stood there, staring at his backpack as if it were something dangerous. Then, with a shaky breath, Spencer sat down on the edge of his bed and unzipped the bag. Inside, wrapped haphazardly in his hoodie, was the cash. More money than he had ever seen in one place, let alone had in his possession. His fingers were trembling as he pulled it out, the stack thicker than he’d expected.
He counted it out slowly, each bill feeling heavier than the last. His eyes stung with tears as he finished, the reality of it hitting him like a wave. It was enough. Enough to pay his mother’s bill at the hospital, enough for groceries for the week, maybe even enough to put a little aside for rent. It was more money than he had ever made at his jobs. But it wasn’t the kind of money that came without a cost.
Spencer sniffed, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. His head dropped into his hands, and for a moment, he let the guilt, the shame, and the overwhelming relief swirl together into a confusing mess. He had cheated. He had counted cards, used his mind to exploit the system, and won. And though it wasn’t illegal, it felt wrong. He wasn’t supposed to be that person.
But what else could he do? His mother needed him. The bills needed to be paid.
He sniffed again, taking a deep, shaky breath. “I’ll take it to the bank in the morning,” he whispered to himself, as if saying it aloud would somehow make it all more manageable, more real.
Carefully, Spencer stacked the bills into a neat pile and placed them inside an old shoebox he pulled from his closet. He slid it onto the top shelf, hiding it behind some books and clothes. Then he stood there for a moment, staring at the closet door, willing himself to feel better.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he felt hollow, a pit forming in his stomach as he sat down on the bed again, the weight of the day settling heavily on his shoulders. His mother was safe, for now, but Spencer couldn’t shake the feeling that he had crossed a line he couldn’t uncross.
February had rolled in cold and uninviting, the chill in the air matching the unease still settled in Spencer’s gut. He hadn’t set foot in the casino since mid-January, but the memory of it still gnawed at him, like a dark, heavy weight that wouldn’t lift. Every time he let himself think about it too long, his stomach twisted into painful knots. He hated what he had done, hated even more that he had felt so desperate. The envelope of guilt sat unopened in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t afford to dwell on it.
His boss at the valet job had not been pleased with his abrupt absence, but after some tense words, Spencer had been given a second chance. The job was exhausting—long hours of running back and forth, parking expensive cars he’d never be able to afford, all while wearing shoes that pinched his feet. But it was money, and that was all that mattered. Between his classes, his job in the cafeteria, and the valet shifts, Spencer felt like he was running on fumes. He could feel the toll it was taking on him physically and mentally. His grades, thankfully, were still holding steady, but every night, he collapsed into bed, bone-tired and drained.
He didn’t know how Y/N did it. He heard her every night, just after they’d bid each other a quick goodnight. It was a brief exchange—him in the kitchen, her walking through the apartment. By the time he heard the water running from her shower, Spencer was usually halfway asleep, already slipping into that heavy, dreamless rest that only exhaustion could bring.
But then, like clockwork, he would hear the creaking floorboards in the hallway, the soft shuffle of her feet as the front door opened and closed around 9:30 p.m. every night. He never asked where she went. It wasn’t his business, and he had enough to deal with. Still, there was something unsettling about it—how she returned just before dawn, the soft creak of her door waking him briefly before he drifted back off. By the time Spencer left for his classes in the morning, Y/N would already be up, her own schedule just as busy, if not more so. It made him slightly worried, but again, he had no space left in his mind to think about it too much.
His days were a blur of lab work, lectures, and dishwashing shifts, a seemingly endless cycle that left little room for anything else. But whenever he could, he visited his mother. Nearly every day after classes, he made the trek to the facility, spending whatever time he could with her. She was doing well—comfortable in her surroundings, though her episodes were still frequent enough to remind him why she needed the care. He wished he could be there more, but someone had to pay for the doctors and nurses who cared for her when he couldn’t. That was his burden to bear.
He would never forget the look of surprise on the billing woman’s face when he handed over the cashier’s check. Spencer had barely been able to make eye contact with her, the shame of how he’d acquired the money still burning deep in his chest. But the feeling of seeing the bold red stamp reading “PAID” across his mother’s bill was enough to loosen the tight coil inside him, if only for a moment.
Still, he knew this peace was temporary. The next bill was always just around the corner, and the weight of it was never far from his mind. Spencer’s life was a balancing act—one misstep, and the entire thing could come crashing down. But for now, at least for a little while, the scales were even.
By April, things had changed for Spencer in ways he hadn’t fully expected. The weight of the bills had shifted into something more manageable, though the method by which he achieved it wasn’t exactly moral. February and March had been paid off the same way as January—quick trips to the casinos, a few nights of heart-pounding card counting, and the cash had come flooding in. It was easier now. The shame of the first time had dulled into something distant, almost numb. Sure, he knew it wasn't illegal, but rather a gray area he tiptoed into, but it was working. He had never felt better, at least financially.
With the extra money, he’d been able to quit the valet job, cutting back on his time in the dishroom, and it felt like a massive relief. But the adrenaline rush that came from counting cards, from walking away with thick wads of cash, was hard to ignore. He knew he wasn’t being careful enough. He’d already been banned from two casinos, the pit bosses noticing his near perfect streaks. Maybe he could have been slicker, lost more games to throw them off. But that thrill—it was hard to fake losing when his mind was calculating every move to win.
Still, despite his newfound financial freedom, Spencer couldn’t help but notice the toll it was taking on him. Not the gambling, not directly. But everything else. The rush of cash had bought him more time, more freedom, but it also brought a lingering sense of dread. He had to keep doing it to maintain the lifestyle he had now. And that part of him that prided himself on being better, being honest—it was shrinking, buried under the weight of necessity.
Y/N seemed tired. They’d spent a few rare evenings together over the last couple of months, bonding over their mutual exhaustion, both swamped by their studies. Those were moments Spencer cherished. When he wasn’t thinking about his next trip to the casino or how to avoid getting caught, he found himself wondering about her. Child psychology, she’d told him one night, across campus from where he spent most of his time. He’d learned more about her in those brief conversations than he had in the months prior.
She worked as a secretary, she’d mentioned, spending her lunch breaks catching up on classwork and staying late at the office to make up for time lost during the day. Spencer had always known Y/N was busy, but hearing about her schedule made him realize just how much she was shouldering. It was no wonder she was always tired. He admired her for it—her perseverance, the way she was pushing through her own struggles without complaint. But part of him was worried. She looked drained most days, and he had seen the bags under her eyes getting darker with each passing week.
He was worried for her, but Spencer was also grappling with something else—a growing realization of what he had done to himself. This life, this cycle of stress, had become his norm. He had stumbled into a situation that gave him fleeting moments of relief, but the guilt was never far behind. How had he, someone so logical, so meticulous, let things spiral out of control like this?
As April wore on, Spencer found it harder and harder to reconcile the person he was becoming. He hated the lies, the sneaking off to casinos, the constant paranoia of getting caught. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up, but he also couldn’t see a way out. The bills would keep coming, and he needed to keep paying.
By mid-May, Spencer had been banned from his fifth casino. He'd seen it coming, of course. The way the pit bosses eyed him, how the dealers seemed too aware of his every move. It was a familiar pattern now, a mix of adrenaline and dread that built up until it all came crashing down. As he walked down the strip, waiting for the bus, he debated slipping into another new place, starting the cycle all over again. His phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling him from his thoughts.
Y/N’s name lit up the screen.
"Hey, Spencer," her voice was shaky, breathy. He froze in place. Something was off.
"Are you busy?" she asked.
Spencer scanned the street, spotting a nearby taxi. His heart quickened, and he felt the familiar swell of concern.
"No," he said. "Is everything alright?"
There was a strained chuckle on the other end of the line, but it wasn’t convincing. “Yeah, I just… I shouldn't have called. You sound busy.”
He furrowed his brows, his voice softening. “Are you sure? I’m not doing anything. Do you need me to come get you?”
There was a pause. He could almost hear her swallow, hear the lump in her throat as she answered, "Yes. I'm at a bar. Flynn’s."
"I’ll be there soon."
When Spencer arrived, the first thing he noticed was the look on her face. The worry in her eyes, her lips pressed tightly together. The second thing that hit him was her outfit—she wasn’t dressed for a night out, wearing boxy sweats and gripping a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She looked out of place, vulnerable. Spencer stood outside, waving until she spotted him through the window. Relief washed over her features, though her posture remained stiff as she stepped out of the bar.
The night was still, the moon high above them as they began walking. Neither of them said anything for a while, the silence stretching but not uncomfortable. Spencer kept glancing at her from the corner of his eye, trying to piece together what had happened, why she had called him. The streetlights cast long shadows over the sidewalk, and Y/N’s grip on her duffel bag never loosened.
“Thanks for coming,” she finally broke the silence, her voice small. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
Spencer shook his head quickly. “I was already out. You didn’t wake me, and even if you had—it doesn’t matter. You can always call me.”
Y/N gave a faint smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "I appreciate it," she said quietly, her gaze fixed on the pavement in front of them.
Spencer wanted to ask, to push, but he held back. He figured if she wanted to talk about it, she would. And for now, just being there for her was enough. The weight of her exhaustion, her unease, hung between them like a thick fog. Spencer wasn’t sure how to break it, so he stayed close by her side, making sure she knew he wasn’t going anywhere.
The rest of the walk was quiet, the city alive around them but somehow distant, a blur of neon lights and distant voices. Spencer couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this than just a bad night, but for now, he wouldn’t push. When they finally reached their apartment building, Y/N stopped at the door, exhaling deeply.
“Thanks, again,” she said, a little stronger this time.
Spencer gave her a reassuring nod. “Anytime.”
By June, the semester was finally over, and Spencer felt a weight lift off his shoulders. Without classes, he had more time to focus on two things: earning money and spending time with his mother. He visited her as often as possible, only leaving when he absolutely had to—whether for work or when the nurses firmly but kindly reminded him that visiting hours were over.
He spent hours by her bedside, reading to her from medical journals or simply sitting in silence, watching her sleep peacefully in her room. The guilt of putting her there still lingered, but there was comfort in knowing she was safe. The nurses were kind, and although his mother had a few episodes here and there, overall, she seemed calmer. Spencer found himself staying later and later each time, as if his presence could stave off her illness just a little longer.
But even with his deep love for her, Spencer couldn't deny the other pull in his life—the casinos. He visited again, more subtle this time. He had learned from his earlier mistakes, easing his way into games without drawing attention. It was riskier now, with a reputation at some of the places, but Spencer was good at covering his tracks. Counting cards wasn’t difficult for him; if anything, it was almost too easy.
In the span of just a few weeks, Spencer had tucked away a small nest egg of cash in his room, hidden carefully in a shoebox in the back of his closet. It was a safety net, meant for emergencies or to help cover his mother's bills when he fell short.
At first, it had been all about necessity, but slowly, he felt his self-control loosening. He was winning more often than not, and it felt good. He started spending a little more on himself—things he had gone without for far too long.
He treated himself to a new satchel, a sleek, brown leather bag that replaced the worn-out one he'd carried for years. He bought new shoes, sturdy and comfortable for his long walks to class or visits to his mom. He even scheduled a few doctor’s appointments, something he hadn’t done in a while. A new prescription for his glasses, and a splurge on contact lenses. It was all practical, he told himself, but it was hard to deny the small thrill he got from being able to afford it without guilt.
As for Y/N, she hadn't called him again since that night in May. Spencer had been concerned, at first, but then reasoned that she was likely dealing with her own busy life. He had tried to bring it up once, about a week after their walk home, while they were sharing dinner in the dining room.
They had been laughing over one of Spencer’s stories—an encounter with a particularly rude valet customer who didn’t appreciate Spencer’s encyclopedic knowledge of vehicle makes and models.
“You know,” Spencer began, stirring his pasta, “I’ve been meaning to ask… what were you doing at that bar that night?”
He asked it gently, hoping not to push too hard. But the moment the question left his lips, he noticed the way Y/N’s eyes dimmed. Her smile faded just a little, and she shrugged, her focus shifting to her food.
“Bad date,” she said quickly, her tone dismissive.
Spencer hesitated, watching her closely, but decided to leave it at that. Y/N clearly didn’t want to elaborate, and he had enough of his own worries without prying into hers. They had fallen into a comfortable rhythm, an unspoken understanding. Spencer could sense that something was off, but he respected her space. Besides, he had enough going on with his mother, his finances, and his new balancing act between work and, now, self-indulgence.
The summer stretched out before him, a mix of freedom and burden, and Spencer was still unsure which one would win.
It was a calm night in July when everything caught up to Spencer. He’d been at the blackjack table, calculating odds with his usual precision, when a pair of casino security guards approached him. There was no immediate panic; he thought maybe they were checking IDs or doing a routine sweep. But then they pulled him away from the table, leading him to a back room where the pit boss and a few other staff members waited. The accusation was clear—he’d been caught.
Hours later, Spencer found himself sitting in the back of a squad car, the distant hum of the Las Vegas strip fading into the background. His heart pounded, but not for himself. His mind was on his mother. Locked away, he had no idea what would happen to her if he couldn’t make it back in time. Would the nurses understand? Would she panic without him there? The thought of her being confused and alone gnawed at him more than the fear of his own fate.
At the station, they took his details—name, age, bond amount—and left him in a holding cell. It was a small, cold room, dimly lit by flickering overhead lights. His thoughts raced as he sat on the hard bench, trying to figure out who to call. The shame was overwhelming, like a heavy stone lodged in his chest. He couldn’t call his professors; that would be a disaster. And his mother? No way.
After about an hour of internal debate, he settled on calling Y/N. His finger hovered over her name on his phone screen, anxiety twisting in his gut. Would she even answer? Would she be angry? Disappointed? He didn’t know what to expect.
He pressed the call button, holding his breath as the line rang and rang. No answer. The phone clicked, and he was met with her voicemail.
Spencer slumped back against the cold wall of the cell, rubbing his hands over his face. He felt worse now, his chest tightening with guilt. He had dragged Y/N into this, into his mess, and now she wasn’t even answering. He was probably interrupting something important. Maybe she was at work, or worse, maybe he had pulled her away from something fun—a rare night out, even.
Another hour passed, his mind continuing to spiral into a web of worry. An officer came by, handing him his phone back.
“Try again,” the officer said, her tone flat.
With shaking fingers, Spencer dialed Y/N’s number once more. This time, she answered on the third ring. The background was filled with muffled music, her voice breathy as she greeted him.
“Hey, Spencer,” she said, sounding out of breath. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
His heart sank. He could hear the noise, the laughter behind her, and instantly regretted calling. He pictured her out with friends, enjoying a rare night off, and here he was ruining it. He almost didn’t want to ask, but he knew he had no other choice.
“Y/N, I… I’m sorry. I got arrested,” he admitted, his voice small. “I—I don’t know who else to call.”
There was a long pause on the other end.
“Where are you?” she asked softly, and even though he couldn’t see her, he could picture the worry in her eyes.
“I’m at the downtown precinct. They, uh… they’re holding me for-”
He hears a zipper zip on her end. “I’ll be there soon.”
It took nearly an hour for her to show up, and in that time, Spencer could feel the weight of his situation pressing down harder with each passing minute. The fear, the guilt, the helplessness—it was all suffocating. He kept replaying the last few months in his head, wondering how he had let it spiral this far.
When Y/N finally arrived, Spencer felt a mix of shame and relief. She was still in the same sweats he had seen her in earlier that day, but her face was tight with concern. She barely said a word as she walked up to the front desk and counted out $1,000 in mixed bills, sliding the cash toward the woman behind the glass. The whole interaction felt surreal, like he was watching someone else’s life unfold from the outside.
The woman at the desk gave her a bored look before droning, “Someone will call him about the outcome. He’ll have a court date soon.”
Y/N nodded, taking the receipt and turning toward Spencer, who had been standing a few feet back, avoiding eye contact with everyone in the room. She motioned for him to follow her, and without a word, they stepped out of the police station into the cool night air.
For a long while, neither of them said anything. They just walked, side by side, the weight of the situation hanging heavy between them. Spencer could feel the tension, the unspoken questions bubbling beneath the surface.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said, his voice cracking with exhaustion. “I didn’t mean to drag you into this.”
Y/N stopped walking, turning to face him. Her eyes softened, though there was still worry etched in her features. “We’ll talk about it later,” she said quietly. “Let’s just get home.”
Spencer nodded, too ashamed to say anything more. They walked the rest of the way in silence, and as they reached the front steps of their apartment building, Spencer couldn’t help but wonder how he was going to dig himself out of this hole.
August was supposed to be the start of a fresh semester, but instead, Spencer found himself sitting in a courtroom, missing his first day of classes. Y/N’s boss had managed to find him a pro bono lawyer, and after hours of waiting and worrying, the relief came in the form of a fine. It wasn’t an insignificant amount, but Spencer had enough in his checking account to cover it. No jail time. No criminal record. Just a bruised ego and a promise to himself that he’d get things back on track. Y/N had saved him, and he didn’t know how to properly thank her.
So, he bought her dinner.
They sat together, a comfortable silence filling the space between stories. Y/N laughed at something he said about an eccentric professor, and for a moment, all the weight of his mistakes felt like it had lifted. Spencer thought about how nice it was to have a friend—a real friend. Someone who didn’t judge him for his faults, who didn’t ask for explanations he couldn’t give. That night, as they cleared away the dishes, he thought about how different his life would be if she hadn’t picked up the phone.
As summer faded into fall, the pressure mounted again. His mother’s care, tuition, bills—everything felt like it was closing in. Despite the warnings he gave himself, Spencer found his way back to the casinos. At first, it was just to make ends meet, but soon he was hooked again. The thrill was intoxicating. His confidence grew, and with it, the risks. He found himself in underground poker games, the stakes higher than anything he had played before. It was dangerous, but he couldn’t help himself. The money was good, and for a while, it felt like he had control.
Until he didn’t.
One night, he left a private game with his pockets full, the air cool against his skin as he walked down a dimly lit street. He was feeling good—too good. But as he neared the end of the block, two men appeared from the shadows. They didn’t say much, just took his money, his watch, and left him with a bruise on his cheek and a burning pain in his stomach from where one of them had punched him.
When he got home, Y/N practically jumped off the couch the moment she saw him. Her eyes widened, and before he could say anything, she was leading him to the couch, gently pushing him down.
"Sit," she said, her voice calm but firm, though her eyes couldn’t hide the worry. A moment later, she returned with two ice packs, pressing one into his hand and placing the other on his cheek.
“What happened?” she asked, trying to keep her tone steady.
Spencer winced as he gingerly pressed the ice pack to his stomach. "It’s nothing," he mumbled. "Just ran into the wrong people."
Y/N’s brows furrowed. "Do you want to call the police?"
He shook his head quickly. "No, it’s not worth it. I shouldn’t have been there. It’ll just waste their time."
She didn’t seem convinced, but she didn’t press him. Instead, she sat down next to him, her shoulder brushing against his. "You don’t have to keep doing this, Spencer."
He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of her words settle on him. "I know," he whispered, but in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but wonder if he really did.
By fall, Spencer and Y/N had fallen into a comfortable rhythm. Their routines intertwined seamlessly, like two cogs in a well-oiled machine. Despite everything else going on in their lives, they found small moments of joy. In early October, they decided to start decorating for Halloween. Some might say it was too soon, but neither of them cared. Spencer had been the one to suggest it, eager to cling to something fun and lighthearted amidst the constant stress. They spent a weekend hanging fake cobwebs in the windows and placing plastic pumpkins and skeletons around the apartment. Spencer, surprisingly, found himself smiling more than he had in a long time.
It was a reprieve, even if temporary. The guilt still lingered at the back of his mind, nagging him whenever he returned from the casinos. He had stopped going to the private games—too risky after that one night. But he hadn’t stopped gambling altogether. He couldn’t. Not yet. His final semester was in full swing, and December commencement loomed closer. Graduation meant he wouldn’t have to re-enroll, wouldn’t have to juggle classes and the pressure of supporting his mother. He could finally find a stable job. Something steady that would take care of them both. He told himself it was just a matter of surviving until then.
But as the weeks went on, the weight of it all began to creep back. Spencer would lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, his mind running circles around his choices. Guilt gnawed at him for falling back into old habits. He tossed and turned one night in the middle of October, unable to shake the unease. Y/N had left late again, her car still broken down, and he assumed she was working extra hours to cover the cost of repairs. He figured she’d taken up more shifts at the bar where he’d picked her up that one night. It made sense, though he hadn’t asked. It wasn’t his business, he reminded himself.
But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. She’d been working late a lot more often lately, coming back in the early morning hours, and it worried him. He kept telling himself she was just working hard, like he was. Still, the quiet of the apartment gnawed at him in her absence.
As he lay there, trying to force himself to sleep, the buzzing of his phone cut through the silence. His heart jumped. It was late—who could be calling him? He reached over to the bedside table and grabbed his phone. Y/N’s name lit up the screen. He furrowed his brows, a knot forming in his stomach as he sat up in bed.
“Hello?” Spencer answered, his voice low and cautious.
“Spencer…” Y/N’s voice was shaky, barely above a whisper. “I… I need your help.”
The knot tightened in his chest. “What’s wrong? Where are you?”
There was a pause on her end, and he could hear the faint hum of traffic in the background. “I’m not far. Just… can you come get me? Please?”
Without hesitation, Spencer threw back the covers and started pulling on a pair of jeans. “Of course. Where are you?”
She gave him the address, and Spencer was out the door within minutes. The streets were dark, illuminated only by the faint glow of streetlights, and his heart raced the entire way. Spencer expected to find himself standing outside Flynn’s again, but this time it was a different bar. His stomach twisted when he realized it wasn’t a bar at all, but a gentleman’s club. The neon lights flickered faintly, casting a garish glow over the entrance. Through the slightly ajar doors, he caught a glimpse of dim lighting, red velvet chairs, and the unmistakable sight of scantily clad women moving between tables. His cheeks flared up instantly, and he fought the urge to turn around and leave.
The bouncer at the door eyed him with a bored expression. “ID,” the man grunted.
Spencer fumbled with his wallet, barely able to focus as he handed over his driver’s license. The bouncer barely glanced at it before stepping aside. “Enjoy yourself.”
Enjoy myself? Spencer thought, feeling sick. This wasn’t his scene. He wasn’t the type to gawk at women in lingerie, no matter how much he understood that it was just a job to them. It still made him uncomfortable. He could already feel his nerves bubbling up as he hesitantly stepped inside, the heavy door closing behind him. The music thumped through the room, loud and rhythmic, and the room was filled with men, most with glazed-over eyes, openly staring at the performers on stage.
His eyes darted around the room, scanning for Y/N. His heart raced faster with each passing moment.
Before he could take another step, a woman with bright red hair, wearing a barely-there outfit, leaned against him, pressing her body too close for comfort. "Looking for a good time?" she purred, her voice smooth and practiced.
Spencer swallowed nervously, his hands stiff at his sides. "Uh, no—actually, I’m, uh, looking for someone. Y/N?"
The redhead’s expression shifted instantly. She straightened, her flirtatious demeanor dropping. "Y/N?" she repeated, her eyes narrowing as if she were assessing him. "What’s your name?"
"Spencer," he answered, confused by her sudden change in tone.
Without another word, she grabbed his wrist, pulling him toward a door behind the bar. Spencer blinked, stumbling slightly as he followed her. The catcalls and whistles from the nearby men echoed as they passed, but he barely registered them.
"Come on," the redhead muttered, leading him through the door and down a short hallway. "She’s back here."
Spencer’s heart pounded in his chest as they approached a small room near the cooler. When the redhead pushed the door open, he saw Y/N sitting on a metal stool, her knee bouncing wildly. She looked shaken, pale, her hair a mess. As soon as she saw him, she rushed forward and wrapped her arms around him.
"Thank you for coming," she murmured against his chest. He could feel her trembling.
Spencer awkwardly returned the hug, his arms wrapping around her in a comforting gesture. "Of course," he replied softly. "Do you want to head home?"
Y/N nodded, pulling away slightly to meet his eyes. "Are you okay with taking a cab?" she asked, her voice still shaky.
Before Spencer could answer, the redhead piped up again. "Clive’s back," she explained, crossing her arms over her chest. "Y/N doesn’t like to leave alone when he’s here. Usually we have a guy to drive them home, but he's sick."
Spencer frowned, the pieces starting to click in his mind.
Without a second thought, he pulled out his phone. "I’ll call a taxi."
The ride home was quiet. Y/N sat beside him, her eyes staring out the window, while Spencer tried to process everything. He hadn’t expected any of this when she’d called him.
When they got back to the apartment, Y/N immediately started pacing in the living room. Spencer watched her from the doorway, unsure of what to say. He started to retreat toward his bedroom, giving her space, but her voice stopped him.
"Can you stay for a bit?" she asked quietly, her voice so small he almost didn’t hear it.
Spencer hesitated but nodded. "Yeah, of course."
They sat in the living room, the silence thick between them until Y/N broke it. "How was your day?" she asked, trying to keep her voice casual.
Spencer blinked, surprised by the question. "Uh, it was... fine. I went to see my mom today."
Y/N stopped pacing, looking over at him. "How is she?"
"She’s... the same," he admitted, feeling the familiar weight settle on his shoulders. "She’s in a home now. Schizophrenia."
Y/N’s expression softened. "I’m sorry."
He shrugged, trying to downplay it. "It’s just... my life."
The room fell into silence again. Spencer wasn’t sure what to say, but before he could think of anything, Y/N spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I don’t want to be a stripper." Her words hung in the air, and Spencer felt his heart sink. He looked over at her, watching as she wrung her hands together nervously.
"It’s easy money," she continued, her voice shaky. "But I know you’ll see me differently now."
Spencer’s throat tightened. He shook his head, his voice soft but firm. "Y/N, I don’t see you any differently."
Spencer watched as Y/N exhaled, the tension in her shoulders loosening as his words settled over her. He hadn't realized until now just how much she had been carrying, how deeply she feared judgment. In that moment, he felt an ache—a quiet understanding of how much they'd both hidden from each other.
He swallowed hard, the knot in his throat tightening again, but this time, it wasn’t just from the weight of her confession. His own secrets had been buried for months, festering beneath the surface. Now, with the raw honesty between them, they suddenly felt too heavy to keep to himself. The words he hadn’t meant to share began bubbling up before he could stop them.
“I… I’ve been hiding something too,” he began, his voice so low he wasn’t sure if she heard him at first. When she looked up at him, eyes still soft but curious, he knew he had to say it.
He shifted in his seat, fingers nervously tapping against his knee as he searched for the right way to explain. But the truth was, there wasn’t a ‘right way.’
“Y/N, I—” he started, then hesitated. His heart pounded in his chest, and he could feel the rush of guilt flood his system before the words even left his lips. “I cheat casinos. It’s… it’s not like I’m counting cards—well, I guess I kind of am. But it’s not exactly illegal… more of a morally gray loophole.”
Her eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t say anything, just listened. He kept going, his words spilling out in a rush, almost as if he needed to explain himself before she could react.
“It’s the only way I can afford my mother’s care,” he admitted, his voice hoarse with emotion. “The medical bills, the home, everything—it’s all so expensive. I didn’t know what else to do. I wasn’t making enough just working. So I started going to casinos, trying to use what I knew, what I was good at, to make enough money to keep her safe.”
He could feel his pulse in his ears, the blood rushing to his face. He hadn’t planned to tell her. He hadn’t even planned to admit it to himself. But here he was, spilling the truth in one messy, unfiltered confession.
“I know it’s wrong, but I couldn’t watch her suffer. I just… I didn’t want to lose her.”
Silence filled the room. Y/N didn’t look away, didn’t interrupt. She just watched him, her expression unreadable as the weight of his words sank in.
Spencer felt exposed, like a spotlight was shining down on him, illuminating every flaw, every mistake. He wasn’t sure what kind of reaction he was expecting—anger, disappointment, maybe even disgust. But instead, there was a shift. A quiet understanding settled between them, like they had reached some unspoken agreement.
Y/N slowly moved from where she had been standing and sat down beside him. She didn’t say anything at first, just rested her hand gently on his. Her touch was warm, grounding, and it sent a wave of relief through his chest.
“I get it,” she said softly, her voice filled with empathy rather than judgment. “You’re doing what you think you have to do.”
Spencer blinked, taken aback by her response. He had been bracing himself for condemnation, but instead, there was this—a quiet acceptance. She wasn’t condoning what he’d done, but she understood why.
“I don’t see you any differently either, Spencer,” she added, her eyes meeting his. “We’re both just trying to survive.”
Her words hit him hard, the rawness of them resonating deep inside him. They were both tangled in their own struggles, doing what they thought was necessary, even if it blurred the lines of right and wrong. And in that moment, Spencer realized that they weren’t just two people keeping secrets from each other. They were two people trying to navigate a messy, complicated world in the only ways they knew how.
For the first time in months, Spencer didn’t feel so alone.
As the months passed, Spencer and Y/N's connection deepened, their shared confessions forming the foundation for a much stronger bond. Spencer, once hesitant to let anyone get too close, found himself softening in her presence. He kept his phone on all night, ready to answer her calls without a second thought. Y/N seemed to sense that he was always there for her, and the distance that had once separated them as roommates faded into something much more personal.
On quiet nights, when Y/N didn’t have work and Spencer wasn’t pulled into the casino world, they spent hours talking. Spencer even began taking her with him to the casinos, showing her the ropes, teaching her how to gamble with efficiency and precision. He was patient, guiding her through the math and the psychology of it all, explaining his methods for maximizing their chances without raising suspicion. She picked it up quickly, and they even managed to win small amounts together, enough for a celebratory dinner or a couple of drinks afterward.
Mornings became their time to unwind. They would sit over coffee, the rich aroma filling the small kitchen, and swap dreams and desires. Spencer talked about his future, how after commencement, he was hoping to find something steady so he could finally stop relying on the casinos to support his mother. Y/N shared her own ambitions, but they were less concrete. She wasn’t quite sure what the next step was for her—she just knew that the life she was living wasn’t what she wanted long-term.
Dinner was different—lighter. They laughed over the mishaps of their day, whether it was Spencer recounting an awkward encounter with a professor or Y/N sharing wild stories about strange customers at the bar. The ease between them was palpable, and Spencer realized that he looked forward to those moments just as much as anything else.
As the semester drew to a close, the temperature dropped, and the crisp air signaled the end of fall. Spencer found himself in an odd limbo, stuck between the stress of final exams and the excitement of commencement. One afternoon, he was sitting at the table, filling out a request form to bring his mother to the graduation ceremony. His brow furrowed as he concentrated, not noticing Y/N slip through the front door until she spoke.
“Groceries are put away,” she called from the kitchen, her voice bright. A moment later, she settled onto the couch, tucking her legs underneath her. “So, what do you think about becoming a nanny?”
Spencer glanced up, raising a curious eyebrow. “Me? I’d be terrible with kids.”
She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Not you, Spencer. Me. I was just thinking about it. You know, maybe it’d be a change of pace, something different.”
He pushed the form aside for a moment, turning in his chair to give her his full attention. “I think you should go for it if you’re interested. It’d definitely be a shift from bartending.”
Y/N sighed, leaning her head back on the couch. “Yeah, but I don’t exactly have stellar references…”
Spencer cocked his head, confused by her sudden hesitation. “What do you mean?”
With a small smirk, Y/N lifted the hem of her shirt just slightly, swirling her hips in a playful motion. Spencer blinked for a moment before it clicked, and then he chuckled, the realization dawning on him. “Ah, right. The whole… dancer thing.”
She rolled her eyes, but there was a smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah. Not exactly nanny material, huh?”
Spencer shook his head, still amused. “I don’t think that disqualifies you, Y/N. You’re good with people. You’d be great with kids.”
“You think?” She shifted, her tone lighter now, though still carrying a hint of doubt.
“I know,” he replied confidently. “Besides, what’s the worst that could happen? Give it a shot. It can’t be any worse than some of the jobs you’ve done, right?”
Y/N laughed softly, the tension easing from her shoulders as she let his words sink in. “I guess you’re right. Maybe I will give it a try.”
They fell into a comfortable silence, the warmth of their shared space wrapping around them like a blanket. Spencer glanced back down at the form in front of him, his thoughts wandering as he imagined his mother sitting in the audience at his graduation. His life, once filled with uncertainty, now felt like it was finally moving forward. And sitting there, with Y/N across the room, he realized he wasn’t facing it alone anymore.
Commencement day was a blur of emotions for Spencer. He stood in his cap and gown, the weight of his degree finally sinking in as he scanned the audience. His heart swelled when he saw his mother, Diana, sitting near the front, smiling proudly. She’d been well enough to come to the ceremony, and the fact that she was there—present and lucid—made everything feel even more meaningful. Y/N sat next to her, waving at him with a wide grin, and for the first time in a while, Spencer allowed himself to feel like everything was falling into place.
After the ceremony, they all went out to dinner. It was a simple restaurant, nothing extravagant, but the company made it perfect. Diana was animated, more herself than she had been in a long time, and Y/N fit seamlessly into the mix, chatting comfortably with Spencer’s mother as if they had known each other for years. Spencer sat back, watching them, feeling a rare sense of contentment. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to forget the anxieties of the future.
The night carried on, and after dinner, Spencer walked his mother back to her room at the assisted living facility, staying well into the late hours. Diana seemed more at peace than she had been in months, and Spencer clung to that, knowing how fleeting these moments could be. They sat together, her hand in his, as he nervously told her about the job offer he had received from the FBI.
"I don’t know if I’m ready," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "It’s... it’s a lot. I don’t know if I’m the right person for it."
Diana’s eyes, filled with a mother’s wisdom and love, softened as she squeezed his hand gently. “Spencer,” she began, her voice calm and reassuring, “you’ve been preparing for something like this your whole life. You’re brilliant, and you have a good heart. I think you know what the right thing to do is.”
He swallowed hard, looking down at their joined hands. The FBI was something he never imagined for himself. He had attended a career fair weeks ago with Y/N, more for her than for himself. She had been relatively uninterested, wandering through the booths, but Spencer had found himself lingering near the FBI’s table, mesmerized by the thought of working for them. He could picture himself in the field, wearing a bulletproof vest, solving cases that no one else could. The idea had shaken him, and he’d quickly dismissed it at the time. But apparently, Jason Gideon, the FBI agent manning the table, had noticed. He’d taken an interest in Spencer, encouraging him to apply.
“I just… I don’t know if I can do it,” Spencer admitted, his throat tightening again. “What if I fail?”
Diana’s smile was soft, knowing. “You won’t fail. And even if you stumble, you’ll get back up. You’ve always been resilient, Spencer. Don’t let fear stop you from going after what you want.”
Spencer’s eyes met hers, and in that moment, he knew what she was really saying. She was urging him to take the leap, not just for himself but because she believed in him. And maybe—just maybe—that belief was enough to tip the scales.
He sighed, nodding slowly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”
Diana chuckled softly, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. “That’s because I know my son.”
The conversation lingered in his mind as he walked home that night, the streets quiet under the chilly December sky. By the time he arrived, Y/N was already asleep on the couch, a blanket draped over her. Spencer stood for a moment, watching her in the soft glow of the living room lamp, feeling grateful for the way she had been there for him through everything.
He quietly retreated to his room, but he couldn’t sleep. His mind was racing with thoughts of the future, the weight of the decision in front of him. He could almost hear his mother’s voice urging him forward, telling him not to be afraid.
As Christmas Day rolled around, the apartment felt eerily empty. Most of the furniture was gone, and the decorations were sparse. Spencer was on his way to visit his mother’s facility, a tradition they had every holiday season, when Y/N’s voice called out, stopping him in his tracks.
“Spencer, wait!” she called, shaking a small stack of neatly wrapped boxes in her hands.
His heart melted at the sight. He walked over, his smile widening. “Is that my gift?”
Y/N grinned, handing him the boxes. “It sure is.”
Spencer grabbed two boxes from under the small Christmas tree they had left standing in the corner and handed them to her. “And these are yours.”
They settled on the couch, exchanging gifts with the kind of quiet excitement that came from years of friendship.
He tore open the first box, revealing a soft, purple scarf. Spencer laughed, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as he ran his fingers over the fabric. “A purple scarf?”
Y/N nodded, her eyes twinkling with warmth. “It gets cold in D.C., so I thought I’d give you something for when you get off the plane, Agent.”
The word “Agent” made Spencer’s chest swell with pride, even as he blinked back tears. He opened the next boxes, finding a few sweaters, gloves, and a thicker coat. Practical gifts, but thoughtful nonetheless. They were things he would need for his new life, things that showed how well Y/N knew him.
Y/N, meanwhile, opened her gifts with a bright smile. Inside were a few children’s books, a brand-new lunchbox, a journal, and a manual on nannying. She looked up at Spencer, her eyes soft with gratitude.
“These are perfect,” she whispered, flipping through one of the books. “You really thought of everything, didn’t you?”
Spencer chuckled, shrugging modestly. “I wanted to make sure you were prepared for the new job. It’s going to be a big change.”
She smiled at him, the kind of smile that told him how much she appreciated him—not just for the gifts, but for the friendship they had built over the years. “Thank you, Spencer.”
For a moment, they just sat there in the quiet, the weight of the future hanging between them. But it wasn’t heavy, not like before. It felt hopeful. Like they were both ready for whatever came next, even if it meant parting ways for now.
“You’re gonna do great, you know?” Spencer said, his voice soft.
Y/N met his gaze, her smile warm and full of confidence. “So will you, Spencer.”
Spencer’s heart fluttered as he stood at the counter, fidgeting with his fingers. Telling Y/N he wasn’t renewing the lease had been eating at him for days. He finally worked up the courage, watching her closely for a reaction.
“I won’t be renewing the lease next month,” he blurted, his voice slightly shaky. His nerves prickled with unease. He was afraid of leaving her, of this new chapter that would take him away from the apartment they had called home for so long.
Y/N breathed a dramatic sigh over the counter separating them. Spencer blinked, confused by her calm reaction.
“I’m not renewing either,” she said with a nonchalant shrug, her eyes twinkling with amusement.
His heart skipped a beat. “Wait—what?”
She gave him a grin, leaning on the counter. “I found a family to nanny for. A woman who’s a child psychologist, ironically enough. I’m transferring to a different campus next semester to be closer to them.”
Spencer let out a breath, relieved and proud of her. They shared a quick laugh, the tension melting away. For a moment, they just stood there, smiling at each other, their eyes filled with a mix of pride and the unspoken acknowledgment that things were changing—but it was the good kind of change.
The morning sun glinted off the tarmac as Spencer stood beside Y/N in the airport parking lot, a mix of excitement and apprehension swirling in his chest. The reality of their impending separation felt heavier than the duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He glanced at Y/N, who stood next to him, her hands stuffed deep into the pockets of her jacket, a bittersweet smile on her face.
“I can’t believe this is it,” he said, his voice slightly wobbly. “It feels like we were just decorating for Halloween.”
Y/N nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Time flies, doesn’t it? But you’re going to do amazing things, Spencer. I know it.”
Taking a deep breath, he pulled out a pen from his jacket pocket and flipped open her address book. With careful strokes, he wrote down his new address in Washington, D.C. The words felt surreal, a tangible representation of how much had changed in such a short time.
“There,” he said, closing the book and handing it back to her. “You have to come visit. You can stay with me, and we’ll explore the city together.”
“Deal.” She looked down at the page, tracing his address with her fingertip as if committing it to memory. “Just don’t forget to send me a postcard or two, okay?”
“Of course,” he promised, a small smile creeping onto his lips. “I’ll even send one from the FBI office.”
Y/N laughed lightly, but there was an edge of sadness in her voice. “I’ll be waiting.”
They stood in silence for a moment, both of them acutely aware of the ticking clock and the finality of the moment. It felt strange to be standing there, knowing they were about to go their separate ways. He would be stepping into a new chapter, and she would be continuing her own journey.
Spencer took a step closer, his heart pounding. “Can I have one last hug?”
Y/N stepped forward without hesitation, wrapping her arms around him. He breathed in her familiar scent—a comforting blend of lavender and something uniquely her. It felt both reassuring and achingly bittersweet. He held her tight, as if trying to absorb every moment they had shared, every laugh, every worry, and all the late-night talks.
“Promise me you’ll take care of yourself,” she murmured into his shoulder, her voice muffled. “I don’t want to hear any stories about you getting into trouble.”
“I promise,” he replied, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes. “And you take care of yourself too, Y/N. You deserve all the happiness in the world.”
With that, they hugged once more, the embrace lingering longer than it should have. It was a goodbye filled with unspoken words, memories, and a strong bond that would remain even across the miles. Finally, they stepped back, both reluctantly breaking the contact.
“Okay, I guess I should go,” Spencer said, glancing over his shoulder at the terminal.
“Yeah,” Y/N replied, biting her lip as she fought to hold back tears. “I’ll be okay. Just… don’t forget me.”
He reached out, squeezing her hand tightly before letting go. “I could never forget you, Y/N. You’ve been one of the best parts of my life.”
With a final wave, he turned and headed toward the entrance of the airport, glancing back once to see Y/N standing there, her silhouette framed by the bright morning light. He could see the glimmer of tears in her eyes, and it pulled at his heart.
As he walked through the sliding glass doors, he couldn’t shake the feeling of loss settling in his chest. He reached the lobby, the sounds of the bustling airport swirling around him, but all he could think about was her. He found a spot by the large windows, waiting for his flight, but his gaze remained fixed outside.
It wasn’t until he spotted her car pulling out of the lot that he felt a wave of emotions crash over him. He watched as she drove away, the red taillights disappearing into the distance, and his heart ached. A mix of gratitude and longing filled him as he thought about all the moments they had shared, how she had been his anchor in a storm of chaos.
Spencer pulled out his phone, his fingers hovering over her contact information. He sent her a quick message, a simple “Thank you for everything. I’ll miss you,” before slipping the phone back into his pocket.
He could feel the weight of her absence already, but deep down, he knew this wasn’t truly the end. Their friendship had weathered so much; he had faith it would withstand the distance.
As he settled into a seat in the waiting area, his heart brimmed with both hope and sorrow, knowing they were both embarking on new journeys. And as he stared out at the endless sky, he vowed to make the most of this opportunity—both for himself and for Y/N.
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HYBRID!AU PART 2
part one | part two | part three
(: anyway here's what you've all been begging for. a part 2 but it was getting so long...almost 3k words. and so....there will be a part 3.......but for now i hope this satiates you!!!
cw: hurt/comfort, aftermath of hurt???, self-deprecating thoughts, insecurities, mentions of blood and scratching, mentions of past mistreatment, petnames and headpats tho <3
The next time a human approaches you, you’re unable to stop the growls that escape your throat when you hear the pspsp as he tries to approach you. When you hiss, the man scoffs and stomps away muttering a soft ‘stupid cat’ under his breath.
No one approached you for a long while after that. The only way you knew how much time had passed was when the restaurants all threw their leftover food from their workdays. Eating out of the trash was always utterly humiliating, especially when you got caught.
Most people ignored you when they saw you sitting on the sidewalk, getting some sun since it didn’t shine into the little alleyway you hunkered in. Some people would scoff and give you disgusted looks, as if you were a stain on their shoe.
At this point, you were used to humans acting like you were scum of the Earth. After your experience with Simon, human’s behavior towards you no longer surprises you. Though it hurt, you didn’t understand why you were so unlovable.
But then one evening, when the sun was just beginning to set and the temperature was steadily dropping, you were huddled up in what little bit of sun-warmth you could get until it became dark. Your arms were wrapped around your body as you shivered, trying to ignore the way your tummy growled from being empty – the store employees had chased you off before you could steal anything from the dumpster.
A large shadow cast over you and when you looked up, you saw a slender, athletic man. His presence immediately set you on edge and you felt a growl bubbling up in your chest.
“Hey now,” he chided softly, pretty brown eyes crinkled as he squatted in front of you, “None of that, little kitty.”
You scowled up at him. Even crouched down the way he was, he was larger than you.
“Do you have a name?” he asks kindly.
You pause at that. Soap had given you a name. But did it really count as one if your previous owner hadn’t even agreed to it? Still, it was the only thing you really had left of your former companion.
You softly mutter the name you’d been given and the man nods before holding out his large hand, “Kyle. Would you like to come home with me?”
That sends off alarm bells in your head and before you know it, your claws are ripping into his hand and you’re scurrying into the alleyway to cower in the corner.
You hear the man faintly sigh before he stands, knees cracking as he does. You don’t hear anything from him for a few minutes before his heavy boots walk past the alleyway and fade.
You don’t even understand your own reaction. Of course you wanted a home to call your own. But you don’t think you would be able to handle it if he turned out to be the same as Simon. You wouldn’t be able to get attached to a human only to be abandoned on the streets like you were last night's trash. Perhaps it was just easier to reject all human companionship than risk being heartbroken all over again. You had only recently stopped crying yourself to sleep over the memory of your home.
You think that will be the last time you see the man, surely he wouldn’t want anything to do with a cat-hybrid who was mean, but just a couple days later, he’s back. He stands beside you, one bandaged hand gripping a shopping bag. You feel a pang of guilt at the sight of his bandaged wound. He slowly places it beside you, staring at you expectantly.
“This is for you,” he says awkwardly after a second of you staring blankly at him, “It’s some food and water.”
Your stomach growls at the mention of food and as much as you want to peek in the bag, you can’t bring yourself to admit defeat like that. He might think you’re accepting him as your owner if you accept his gift!
But you’re not! You refuse to end up hurt and sad like you had been with Simon! You would rather just live on the street than go through that hurt all over again. You couldn’t stand to give your trust only to be betrayed and mistreated again.
You only wanted someone to love you but apparently that wasn’t in the deck for you and that was okay, you told yourself. No matter how much it hurts to admit.
The man, Kyle, sighs softly when you simply ignore him, the sound almost melancholy. It makes your heart ache in your chest. He casts you one last glance but you keep your gaze down before he walks away, disappearing out of sight at the end of the street.
With his piercing gaze off of you, you turn to the bag and begin rooting inside it.
A couple bottles of water and some hybrid-safe packaged food. Nothing that needed refrigeration but also much better quality and variety than what you had been given by Simon.
You remember how it felt to watch Soap eat delicious meats and fruits and veggies while you got bland, colorless slop. Sure, it was healthy for hybrids but everyone knew it was disgusting. Clearly Simon didn’t care – he was just feeding you so you didn’t inconvenience him by starving to death in his house.
And though Soap would sometimes share his food with you, it wasn’t the same.
This food was yours. Kyle had gotten it for you.
You pull out one of the packages, a neatly wrapped sandwich with all the organic ingredients listed in bright colors. It makes your heart ache just a little bit as you take your first bite, all alone on the sidewalk, quietly wishing Soap was there for you to share it with as payment for all the food he had shared with you.
Kyle makes it a habit to visit you day after day, sometimes bringing food, sometimes just bringing himself. Most of the time, you ignore him but he doesn’t seem deterred in the slightest, only quietly promising to visit you again soon when he bids you goodbye.
It starts to become lonely when he leaves.
You don’t know when it begins, but you find yourself waiting for him. You sit out in the open, mindlessly combing your tail, where he can see you if he approaches. You find yourself thinking about him and if he’ll bring something for you to snack on – he found these delicious fish flavored chips that you were practically addicted to. Though, you didn’t say anything about your liking of them, he kept bringing them so you think he knows.
Some days, Kyle’s visits were quick and fleeting and other times he sat there for a while. He had given up trying to talk to you much since you made it a point to ignore him but you were happy that he hadn’t given up yet.
You know you would have given up by now. But the fact he persists leaves you with a warm, soft feeling in your chest. You’ve never had someone try so hard for you before, Simon certainly never cared to try.
Kyle wasn’t so bad after all, you found yourself deciding. He was quiet but not standoffish. He didn’t try to touch you after you had swiped at him one time when he went to pat your head. He was kind, always complimenting you with ‘pretty kitty’ and ‘sweet kitty’. And best of all, he didn’t ignore your existence like you had grown used to when living with Simon.
Waiting for Kyle to show up became the most grueling part of your day. Minutes felt like hours and any tall man who passed by had you perking up to see if it was Kyle. The urge to get closer to him grew day by day, you wanted him to pet you, you wanted to talk to him.
Maybe living with him wouldn’t be so bad after all. Just the thought of a happy life made you purr to yourself.
You vowed that you would talk to him today, maybe see if you could take him up on that offer he had made that first day you met.
But he never came. As the sun dips behind the horizon, you find your hopes getting squashed. He always came before dark.
With a heavy heart, you curled up in the little cardboard box you had been calling your shelter. It was easy to tell yourself that the ache in your heart was because you wanted to see him and not because you were scared he had given up on you.
The next day, the same thing. You waited all day only for him to not show up. Then the next day. And the next.
A week passed with no sign of him and you tried your best to pretend like it didn’t hurt like hell.
Maybe he really had gotten sick of waiting for you and decided to find a hybrid who would actually talk to him. You couldn’t blame him, you suppose. But it still made that heavy pain settle in your heart like when you had been thrown out by Simon.
One morning, you were awoken by a loud voice shouting down the alleyway, “Alright, come on out, cat.”
The sound of the voice had you sitting up, eyes wide as you looked around. At the entrance, a man stood with his hands on his hips, a hefty utility belt around his waist.
He sighed when he saw you staring blankly at him before he came over, hoisting you up by the arm.
Your growled and hissed, ears pinned back as you fought against his grip. He dragged you out, taking you towards a big black van that had the words ‘hybrid-control’ printed on the side.
You swiped at the man with your free hand, sharp nails slicing into his skin. He cried out in pain but didn’t relent in his hold.
“Stupid fucking cat,” he snapped, “Fuckin’ hate havin’ to pick shits like you up.”
“Excuse me,” a sudden, frantic voice called out, “What are you doing?”
The man holding you turned to look at Kyle, an annoyed look on his face, “Got a complaint about a stray hybrid livin’ around here. Came to pick it up.”
“Oh that’s not necessary,” Kyle said, reaching out to pull you from the man’s grasp, handling you much softer than the stranger, “This hybrid is mine.”
The man looked like he wanted to argue but glanced down at his bleeding arm and rolled his eyes, “Whatever, man. Your funeral. Just get it off the street.”
When the van drove off, Kyle turned to look at you apologetically, “Sorry, I didn’t want to claim ownership over you like that but–”
“Where were you this week?” you find yourself pouting, crossing your arms over your chest petulantly.
Kyle looks shocked before he smiles kindly, “I was away for work. I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you.”
Your pout only deepens, “It’s not like I missed you or anything…”
“Of course not,” he laughs but you both know he doesn’t believe you, “How about I show you my home, hm? It’s not too far from here.”
You agree without complaint, letting Kyle lead the way down the busy streets until it grows quieter and quieter.
The neighborhood is startlingly familiar as he escorts you to his home. It doesn’t take long for you to realize it’s the same neighborhood Simon and Soap live in.
You weren’t exactly sure how far their home was but you couldn’t stop yourself from frowning at the memories.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, “Don’t like it? I know it’s a little boring here but it’s near the base so what can you do?”
“It’s not that,” you quickly said, considering telling Kyle what was on your mind but you instead settled for, “I-It’s nothing.”
You were worried if you told him about your previous home, he might think there was something wrong with you. You didn’t want him to think you were undesirable and put you out on the streets all over again. You silently wondered when you became so insecure.
He hummed and opened the front door for you, “There’s a room at the end of the hall that’s an office right now but it’s all yours once I get it set up with a bed and everything.”
“My own room?” you ask softly, fluffy ears perked up.
“Of course,” he smiles, “This is your home now.”
You feel tears prick your eyes but you quickly look away before Kyle can see them. It felt so nice that he actually considered it your home too and not just his. Simon always made you feel like you were barely welcome and only there because he put up with you until he couldn’t stand you anymore.
“Oh before I forget,” he said, grabbing a box off of the table, “I got you this.”
He showed you the contents, a cute, dainty collar with a metal tag in the shape of a fish with your name engraved on it.
“Why do you have a collar?” you asked, tilting your chin up so he could fasten it around your neck.
“I had hopes that you would let me take you home one of these days,” he laughed, a boyish, kind sound that made a smile grow on your own face, “I wasn’t going to give up until you were safe and sound with me, love. I knew this was going to be your home one way or another.”
You spend the whole day wandering around the house and exploring, nudging against every surface to spread your scent on it. You hadn’t done that much in Simon’s house, too scared you’d get reprimanded for dirtying up the furniture or something.
But Kyle didn’t care in the slightest. He simply smiled when he saw you nuzzling the pillows. He even trimmed your nails so they weren’t nearly as sharp anymore.
It was nice living with him.You quickly realized how different your life felt with Kyle than how it felt with Simon.
Kyle was kind and friendly, calling you by your name and petnames and not just ‘hey you’ or ‘cat’. The affection in his tone was palpable and just hearing how sweetly he spoke to you made you purr uncontrollably.
And he didn’t once raise his voice at you or chase you off the couch when you were napping. He gave you the softest pats on the head and let you snooze on his lap without a single complaint.
He never forgot to feed you and always gave you the most delicious things he could find. He ate at the table with you and told you all about his day, making an effort to talk to you and learn about the things you liked to do while he was at work.
You were happy to finally have a home to call your own. But deep down, you missed Soap. You missed his energetic happiness and how affectionate he was with you in a way that only hybrids could be. He was the only true companion you had ever had and he had left his mark on you. You wondered about him every day, especially when you heard the front door open and you half expected him to come running in with a thrilled grin on his face, ready to regale you with tales of outside.
You passed their house one day while on a walk with Kyle, something he took to doing as an activity with you (he didn’t want you to get bored or stagnant just sitting inside all day), trying your best to act like seeing the home you used to call your own didn’t make your heart ache painfully in your chest.
“There’s a hybrid that lives here, you might like him. His name’s Soap,” Kyle said when he saw you pausing in front of their home, “Owner is Simon Riley. I work with him, kind of a standoffish guy, you should probably steer clear if you run into him. He’s not the most friendly.”
“Yeah…” you found yourself mumbling, barely even registering anything Kyle had said, a frown etched on your lips before you looked at Kyle, “Can we go home?”
“Of course. Let’s get you some food, pretty kitty,” Kyle cooed affectionately, patting your head before leading you back home.
You casted a glance at the home you used to call your own, you were startled to see Soap standing in the window, eyes wide, brows furrowed, and hurt written all over his face. The sight alone made your own eyes sting. He had never looked at you like that before. He looked so heartbroken.
Kyle cooed softly to get your attention again, leading you down the sidewalk and away from the house. Soap’s figure in the window faded from view and you felt your head spinning.
Soap and Simon’s scent faded the further you got away from it. But once you entered your home with Kyle, your scent and his mixed together in a way that it never did with Simon’s. You couldn’t help but purr, the pain and anxiety in your heart fading.
But still, your mind lingered on the distraught face of the best friend you left behind.
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