Work Text:
You were you,
and I was I;
we were two
before our time.
I was yours
before I knew,
and you have always
been mine too.
-Lang Leav
Spencer puts down her fourth cup of coffee, narrowing her eyes at a few wayward papers lying on top of her desk and reaching out to read some of its content. Just a few notes from her boss, apparently, and more paperwork that needs to be filed and put away. Glancing down at her watch and seeing that she’s a few minutes shy of working overtime, she sighs, takes back her seat and starts working through it.
Her mind runs as she types away at the computer. Usually, she finishes her work at 5:30, starts cleaning things until 5:45, and reviews everything she’s done the whole day until 6:00 sharp. Then she leaves without another second to waste. Afterwards, she gets take-out from the nearest restaurant (usually something Chinese), drives home (sometimes when she has time, she goes straight to Hanna’s or Aria’s) and relaxes. That’s the best part of her day, to be honest—when she sheds off her work clothes and soaks her entire body in a bathtub, when she closes her eyes and not think about work or A-moji, when she can just be Spencer.
Today is a Friday. Usually, at this hour, she’s at Hanna’s. She and the other girl have gotten close these past few months, despite their fallout when it came to Caleb. And after the whole thing with getting Emily and Alison together, Spencer’s discovered a few things about her feelings that she should’ve realized a long time ago. She’s through with the denial stage—denial is just a phase where one refuses to accept the evidence placed in front of them, therefore losing valuable time, and Spencer’s got a lot of evidence when it comes to a certain grey-eyed blonde. She just…needs time to figure everything out, even though the universe has already given her plenty.
(It’s funny, she thinks to herself dryly, how Hanna is the only thing that makes sense after Rollins—how, even with Spencer’s world falling apart, the blonde is still there.)
She’s so engrossed in her work that she doesn’t realize that she’s been sitting there for nearly an hour now. By the time she raises her head and glances at her watch, it’s already 7:04 PM. Recalling her co-workers passing by her table and telling her not to over-exert herself, Spencer stands, shuts off her computer and files away all the paperwork. Make sure everything’s perfect, she tells herself.
Perfect. That’s something Spencer’s good at that, though not recently.
Ever since she got fired at her old job, she’s been trying so hard to keep this new one.
(Maybe that’s how she loses things—by holding on too tightly and refusing to let go. That’s how she lost Caleb and her previous job. She shouldn’t be surprised by that.)
After she leaves the building, she checks her phone (she usually turns it off during work hours) and is surprised to find a few missed calls and a dozen messages. All from Hanna. She skims through a bunch of hey where are u? and an alarming pls tell me u didn’t get hit by a truck or something or i stg spence i will find u before pressing her voicemail.
“Hey, Spence,” says Hanna on the other line, “Are you coming over? I ordered some pizza just in case you wanted to uhm, you know, eat or something. Anyway, text me if you’re okay, okay? Work usually finishes at 6 for you.”
The other voicemails are similar but with Hanna’s tone growing agitated and more worried. Spencer bites her lower lip at the thought of worrying the blonde but her heart does grow warm with how much Hanna cares. She tucks away her phone after sending a quick Sorry, I had to file some paperwork. I’m okay, though. See you there; and heads over to her car. She’s about to open the driver’s seat when a horn blares directly behind her and she flinches so bad she nearly drops her keys.
“Jesus,” she mutters, swinging around and glaring at the car. To her shock, the window rolls down and Hanna pops her head out. The blonde, to say the least, looks like crap. Her hair is tied in a messy bun, her eyes a bit sore-looking around the edges and her mouth cruelly turned down at the corners. She glares at the brunette.
“You weren’t answering your phone,” Hanna deadbeats.
“I turned it off,” Spencer retaliates, shaking her head, “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you,” Hanna answers, her voice rising, “I thought you were dead or something. Or worse.” She still look a bit frantic since her shoulders are still tense and her eyes are still shooting daggers but there is also relief written all over her features. This is one of the worst things Charlotte and Rollins have ever done to all of them: made them all paranoid to the point where it would’ve been funny had they been someone else.
Spencer steps closer to the car, shoving her hands into the pockets of her coat. “You didn’t have to go all the way here,” she murmurs, knows how much Hanna hates driving nowadays. (It reminds her too much of Rollins and that one fatal moment where her life got fucked.) “Didn’t you get my message?”
“I left my phone in my haste to save you from imaginable danger,” Hanna retorts, rolling her eyes and looking put out. “You know, most people would be thrilled to see me driving all the way here to Philly just to see if they were okay. I guess you’re not one of those people.” There’s a testy thrum in the way she speaks those words and Spencer’s heart constricts.
“I’m thrilled, believe me,” Spencer tells her, “I just—I don’t want to see you all worked up over nothing.”
Hanna’s grey eyes flash. “You’re not nothing, Spence.”
(Spencer wants to kiss her—she really honestly does—but she doesn’t.)
“Move over,” the brunette says, opening the driver seat. Hanna blinks before obliging, unlocking her seatbelt and jumping over the gear shift. Spencer glances over at her car, decides that she’ll pick it in the morning and hops in. She puts her purse in the dash and starts to drive away.
Hanna doesn’t say anything. She leans back against her seat and looks out the window, her arms crossed.
“I’m sorry I didn’t check my phone,” Spencer murmurs after a while.
“Damn right you should be,” Hanna immediately shoots back, glancing at her.
Hiding a fond smile, Spencer continues, “You know me. Once I’m in the zone, I’m in the zone. And this job is really important to me right now and I had to make sure that I did things right, without fail or any complications at all. Everything has to be perfect with me.” Even as she talks, she tries to remember if she put the paperwork in the right place, decides she’ll check again in the morning and looks at Hanna. She’s not entirely surprised to find the girl already staring.
“You’re Spencer Hastings,” Hanna tells her, voice full of conviction, “You’re always perfect.”
“Nobody’s perfect, Han,” Spencer chastises, turning her eyes back on the road. The back of her neck feels hot. (Hanna has that effect on her—like a blazing hurricane sent from the heavens.)
“Well, you are to me.”
There’s a beat. (There shouldn’t be a beat. At all. They’re best friends, for God’s sake.) Spencer’s breath catches in her throat. Hanna has always been blunt, rightfully so. Years of lying and hiding secrets have that effect on someone. Spencer figures that she’s been blunt on multiple occasions as well.
“Just—” Hanna sighs, sounding annoyed and tired. “Please. Keep your phone on you. I know that the whole A-moji thing is over or something but I just want—I have to know that you’re safe.”
If it had been someone else telling her this, Spencer would feel suffocated. Like Toby or Caleb, for that instance. But with Hanna, she just feels warm.
“Yeah, yeah,” she says, nodding a bit too fast, “Of course.”
“Think you’re up for some cold pizza?” Hanna asks, changing the topic immediately. Spencer laughs, relieved to find the tension in the air gone.
“Doesn’t Lucas have an oven or something?”
“Ovens are for fire and I don’t want to get burnt like Aria,” Hanna says.
Spencer bites her lower lip, shakes her head. “I’ll make sure that won’t happen.”
They spend the rest of the drive in silence, with Spencer driving quietly and Hanna falling asleep in the seat next to her. The radio remains off, since Spencer judges that the blonde doesn’t want to be woken up with some loud, classical music. With her eyes on the road, she makes sure to maneuver out of every manhole she finds and tries to get out of traffic as quietly as possible. She wants to make sure Hanna isn’t as stressed as she already is.
(She doesn’t realize Hanna is just pretending to be asleep and secretly smiling at the view outside.)
When they get back to Rosewood, it’s already 8 PM. She pulls outside Lucas’ apartment and shuts off the engine. Without anything else to focus on, she feels awfully aware of everything. She’s aware of Hanna’s steady breathing, how much warmth she radiates in this tiny space and how strong her Chanel perfume is. She’s also aware of how fast her heart is beating and how clammy her hands have become.
One, two, three, she tells herself, trying to breathe steadily, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine—
She doesn’t hit ten. Hanna stirs in her sleep and Spencer’s knee jerks. She hits the steering wheel, making an abrupt noise and the blonde turns to her, eyes bleary and a frown written all over her face.
“Sorry,” Spencer apologizes, “I was contemplating whether or not to call Lucas to drag you upstairs.”
“Not that heavy,” Hanna mutters, opening her side of the door and stepping out. Spencer exhales, grabs her things off the dash and follows suit.
They talk about an old movie they watched a week ago as they head up the stairs. It’s only there that Spencer realizes what Hanna is wearing: a loose shirt that probably belonged to Lucas and some sweatpants with a bathrobe thrown over it.
“You went out in that?” Spencer asks, her voice getting high-pitched because oh, Hanna’s totally not wearing a bra.
The other girl shrugs, opens her apartment door with her key and says, with a voice clearly attempting nonchalance, “I was in a hurry, okay? I thought you were in trouble or something.”
“And here I thought you had some code when it came to clothes,” Spencer points out, eyes wide.
“Pfft, codes don’t matter when you’re in danger.” Hanna pauses, realizes the enormity of what she’s said and adds, “It’s cool. We’re friends. Friends go out in the middle of the night for each other, even if they are wearing ditzy pajamas that they wouldn’t be caught dead in, by morning comes. Pretty sure Emily and Aria have done the same.”
(Spencer’s pretty sure they haven’t.)
But still—Hanna’s smiling in a way that makes Spencer’s heart race and she forgets about whatever protest that’s about to pop out of her mouth. It’s still a good night, started off on the wrong foot but they can still make things work. Spencer takes off her coat and throws her keys and purse onto the nearest table as Hanna goes into the kitchen to grab the pizza.
They opt to microwave the food instead because Hanna refuses to use the oven and Spencer grows uneasy at the thought of using it too. They then spend the next few minutes to argue about what movie they’re going to watch (Hanna wants to watch a rerun of Mean Girls while Spencer is leaning for a classical take with Grease) until Spencer caves in when Hanna threatens for her to sleep on the couch instead of in the extra bedroom upstairs.
(It hits Spencer how domestic they’re acting but brushes it aside as what friends do in their spare time, especially when they’re not trying to solve murders and hiding from masked figures.)
Once the pizza is finished, Hanna tosses a few clothes at Spencer who smiles fondly when she sees that it’s her favorite shirt of Hanna’s (a cotton sweatshirt with a cat print) and some old Rosewood High jogging pants. She changes in the spare room, leaving the door open, and when she comes out, she hears Hanna dropping a few things in the kitchen and cursing at nothing in particular.
“You okay there?” Spencer asks, poking her head in and raising her eyebrows when she sees that Hanna has actually managed to stick a pizza in the ceiling. The cheese drops onto the floor next to the blonde’s feet.
For some reason, Hanna’s cheeks are red. “Don’t ask,” she mumbles. She places her hands on the counter and stares at the brunette with something like awe in her eyes. “You look good in that,” is what she says.
Spencer walks in and grabs the plate of pizza, gesturing for the other girl to follow and telling her that they’ll clean that mess up later. Hanna smiles gratefully as she turns to the chiller for some beers. Then they’re settling in the couch, inches apart and Spencer reaches for the remote to start the movie.
Cady Heron’s monologue starts and Spencer leans her head against the couch, trying to relax her shoulders as she chews on the pizza. Hanna is chugging sip after sip of beer and it doesn’t even take half of the movie for her to be completely wasted already. She starts laughing at the inappropriate parts and always sobers up for a few short seconds afterwards. As the film progresses, Spencer starts to notice that the distance between them has practically vanished when Hanna wraps both arms around her, snuggling her cheek against the fabric of Spencer’s shirt.
“This is nice,” Hanna states, giggling.
“Hanna,” Spencer says sternly, frowning, “You’re drunk.”
“I am,” the blonde agrees easily, her words slurring, “because I really thought you ditched me earlier.”
Spencer’s throat tightens. She turns to look at Hanna and sees that the other girl’s cheeks are bright red but her eyes are vulnerable, full of sadness and pain. It’s understandable that Hanna’s developed a fear of losing the people she loves—they all have—but after losing Jordan and Caleb in nearly the same week, it must still hurt, even six months later.
“I won’t let that happen,” Spencer tells her, her words ringing true. She possibly can’t imagine inflicting the same pain Caleb inflicted on her.
The look in Hanna’s eyes flickers—it’s a pathetic mirage of her Dollhouse look but it’s still nearly as haunted. Spencer puts away her plate and wraps an arm around Hanna’s shoulder, bringing her close and hugging her tight. The movie is quickly forgotten.
“I never told you this,” Hanna mutters, her lips close to Spencer’s pulse point. (Spencer wonders if she can hear her heart beating rapidly.)
“Told me what?” Spencer asks softly, rubbing circles against the girl’s back.
“When Rollins kidnapped me,” Hanna starts to say and there’s a small amount of fear and agony in her tone. Spencer tightens her grip and perches her chin on top of the blonde’s crown, closing her eyes and hoping that her comfort is enough. (She thinks that it will never be enough, even as Hanna closes her fingers on the front of the brunette’s shirt.) “I really thought I was going to die,” Hanna continues, her voice shaking.
“You didn’t,” Spencer says, feeling the need to say it. You survived. You got out on your own. And I’m so glad you’re here.
“Let me finish, you nerd,” Hanna mutters, trying and failing to sound annoyed. Spencer’s chest vibrates with her laughter. “Anyway, like I said, I thought I was going to die. It was just so…cold. I was still shaking from what he—what he did.” She chokes back a sob and Spencer has stilled, never realizing the full extent of what Hanna went through. It must’ve been exactly like being put back into that Dollhouse all over again.
(Spencer hates herself for being so selfish during that time, when her every thought and being was so fixated on Caleb that she didn’t see Hanna falling apart, or she chose to ignore it. Out of all the shitty things she’s done, that was probably the shittiest.)
Hanna takes a deep breath. “And then I saw you,” she whispers.
(Spencer’s heart stutters.)
“You were there. At least, I thought you were.” Hanna seems to be grappling with something, as if she’s trying to recreate that very same scene in her head. “I told you that you weren’t real—that you couldn’t be real. And then you said something smartass, like you always do. Said something about dreams and experiences and reality. I thought I was losing my mind and then you had the balls to ask me if I understood what the fuck you just said.”
“That sounds like me,” Spencer says absentmindedly. (She can feel Hanna’s smile against her skin.)
“I told you that I was going to die,” Hanna whispers, her voice hushed, “and you said that you weren’t going to let that happen. I was hopeless—it was dark and cold and I couldn’t do anything because I was so weak—and you—Spencer, you were the one who got me out of there.”
Spencer takes a deep intake of breath and Hanna’s hands fall.
“You said that if there was a way in then there was a way out,” Hanna murmurs, “and if you hadn’t told me that—if you hadn’t shown up and told me to get out—then I wouldn’t be here now.”
“Don’t say that,” Spencer says fiercely, “You’re strong. Even if you hadn’t imagined me being there, you would’ve still been able to get out.”
Hanna laughs without humor as she straightens up and looks at her. Her eyes are red around the edges.
“I don’t believe that,” she tells her and when Spencer opens her mouth to protest, she leans forward and smothers her lips with her hand. “You know I’m right,” Hanna says, clucking her tongue in disapproval. She smells of alcohol and strawberry and Spencer inhales those scents greedily. “And then I asked you to stay,” Hanna softly adds, her eyes never leaving Spencer’s, “and you did.”
When Hanna puts her hand away, Spencer asks the one question that’s been bothering her ever since the story was brought up: “Why me?”
Hanna doesn’t seem fazed by the question. In fact, she must’ve been anticipating it. She meets Spencer’s gaze and passes a few second. Then—“I guess you were the only person I wanted to see.”
(This, Spencer knows, is the truth.)
In the background, Mean Girls ends. Spencer, even though she only took a few sips of beer, feels dizzy all of a sudden. The tips of her fingers start tingling and her entire being feels buzzed—like someone lit a fire inside her stomach. Hanna’s stare doesn’t leave hers and the moment is charged, a spark about to explode and set aflame to everything they’ve ever known. Spencer wants to reach out, wants to hold Hanna’s cheek and see if she feels it too.
(Spence remembers a quote by Jandy Nelson—when people fall in love, they burst into flames.)
“You should go to bed,” Spencer says quietly.
Hanna seems disappointed. As charged as the moment does feel, Spencer knows that the other girl is drunk and needy and still in pain, even half a year later. (Spencer doesn’t want to take advantage of that.)
“I have to clean up,” the blonde murmurs, glancing pointedly at the beer bottles.
“You can do that tomorrow,” Spencer points out.
Hanna looks at her and nods. She gathers herself up and moves to stand. When she stumbles, Spencer is there to catch her. She leads the blonde into her room, where she immediately collapses on the bed. After kicking off her slippers and removing her robe, Hanna lies on the mattress with her eyes fixed on Spencer, as if she wants to say things that will possibly ruin the moment. Spencer avoids her gaze and throws a blanket over her.
“Spencer,” Hanna calls when the brunette turns to exit the room.
“I’m just going to clean up,” Spencer tells her, glancing at her from where she’s standing.
“Like you said.” Hanna moves so that there’s enough space on the bed. “You can do that tomorrow.”
(Spencer wonders if she’s going to survive the night.)
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Spencer states. Even if she doesn’t have any feelings for Hanna, the two of them in the same bed together is still a bad formula. Hanna tosses and turns with every intake of breath and Spencer wakes up at the slightest provocation. The only person in their group Spencer likes sleeping next to is Aria and that’s only because Aria’s such a dead sleeper and doesn’t mind any tossing.
Hanna sighs and sits up, running her fingers through her hair. “If I ask you to stay with me, will you?”
It doesn’t even take Spencer a second. “Always,” she tells her.
“Then stay.” Hanna looks at her, eyes open and pleading. She doesn’t sound drunk at all. “Please.”
Spencer shuts the door behind her as she moves towards the bed. The feeling is back again—that charged moment where they can light it up with fire or leave it out to fizzle into the dark. Spencer slides into the empty space next to her best friend and faces the ceiling, her heart in her throat. This moment feels entirely too warm in her hands, like a flaming ball of miniature suns that can set the whole building ablaze. (Hanna has that effect on her—she lights her up.)
Spencer doesn’t recall anybody making her feel like this. With Toby, it had been gentle, sweet and completely how first loves should feel like—like they were on top of the entire world. And with Caleb, he made her feel like everything was an adventure—as if they could pack up their things and travel to different countries. But with Hanna, it’s nothing like that at all.
With Hanna, it’s coming home to a barely heated plate of pizza and chick flicks on screen. It’s getting a text about some new clothing line on sale or a selfie of you and your friends. It’s her checking up on you, even when you don’t ask her to. It’s her lending you her clothes, especially your favorite ones, and telling you that you look good in it. It’s her hands on the front of your shirt, it’s her lips on your pulse point, it’s her eyes on you, no matter where you are, no matter where you go. It’s her lying next to you on the bed, asking you to stay.
(It’s her.)
Spencer bites her lower lip and turns on her side, not surprised to find out that Hanna is already looking at her. The blonde’s cheeks are still bright red from the alcohol.
“How drunk are you right now?” Spencer asks quietly.
“A little bit over the edge,” Hanna responds.
“Drunk enough that you won’t remember what I’ll have to say in the next few seconds?” (Oh, always with the technicality.)
Hanna smiles slightly at that. “Maybe,” she answers.
Spencer takes a deep breath, tugs the blanket across her shoulders and whispers, “I love you, Hanna.” It’s not a confession big enough to rock both of their worlds but with Hanna’s smile widening and her eyes crinkling, it’s better. (It’s enough.)
“Do you want me to remember that?” Hanna asks, her eyes searching Spencer’s face, searching for a lie, probably.
“I really don’t know,” Spencer murmurs, realizes it’s possibly the truest thing she could’ve said all her life. She reaches out and tucks a strand of blonde hair behind Hanna’s ear. (She’s noticed that Hanna’s hair leans more on silver rather than gold and it reminds her of Daenerys Targaryen from Game of Thrones. The similarities are unnervingly canny.)
Hanna’s breath catches in her throat and Spencer very quietly whispers, “Good night, Han.”
“Good night, Spence,” Hanna says in return.
Spencer smiles tightly at her before turning on her other side and trying to fall asleep. (She can’t, not when she can feel Hanna’s eyes burning holes into her back.)
Spencer wakes up early the next day, only to find Hanna’s arm wrapped around her middle. Heart beating rapidly inside her ribcage, she slips out of the blonde’s embrace and tiptoes out of the room. It’s a blessing that Hanna’s such a dead sleeper and Spencer finds herself thanking God endlessly for not getting them into an awkward position, especially with everything they talked about last night.
She makes coffee—black for her and way too many creamer for Hanna. (She remembers Caleb making her the same thing and is relieved to find that it doesn’t hurt as much as it used to.) Then she cleans up the mess they left behind, throwing away the beer bottles and washing the dishes. Moving quickly and effortlessly, Spencer realizes just how easy it is to move around the loft. Maybe it’s because of the fact that she’s been here so many times she practically knows where everything is.
(She pushes away the thought of this place as home. Hanna doesn’t even think of this place as home.)
Just as she’s about to step into the shower with another set of clothes she left behind from the last time she slept here, Hanna appears from her room. Her hair is tangled and twisted, there are shadows under her eyes and her clothes are disheveled. She looks as if she didn’t get any sleep as well.
“There’s coffee on the table,” Spencer calls from the second floor, warmth spilling from the caves of her heart at the sight of the other girl.
“Ugh.” Hanna moves to the said place, dropping her head into her hands. “I hate coffee.”
“I put about five cups of creamer into it,” Spencer adds.
“Oh my God, I love you.”
Spencer pauses at the door of the bathroom, her heart stuttering. Then she shakes her head, chastises herself for thinking that Hanna meant more and steps into the shower.
(It’s all she can think about while she’s in there.)
Spencer tries to concentrate. Her pen is shaking in her hand as the coffee passes through her veins. Images of Hanna are burned in the back of her eyes—her smile when she’s drunk and giddy, her hands clutching at the front of Spencer’s shirt, her eyes, vulnerable and open, when she looks at Spencer. It’s maddening—it makes Spencer want to rip her chest apart and squeeze the emotions she feels, because it seems awfully too much.
Lance, her superior, passes by her table. “You okay there, Hastings?”
“Yeah, fine,” Spencer mutters, putting aside a few paperwork.
Lance frowns. “You don’t look fine,” he states, as if it isn’t obvious enough. Spencer’s mouth tightens.
(It doesn’t help that she knows she doesn’t look fine. She’s spent last night lying so still her entire body practically shook. She just didn’t want to wake Hanna.)
“You should take the day off,” Lance tells her, patting her shoulder gently. He’s trying to be friendly, Spencer knows, but she can’t help but flinch at his touch. He backs away, confused.
“Sorry,” Spencer says, forcing a smile, “but I’m good.”
“Spencer, I’m your superior.” He narrows his eyes. “I suggest you take my advice. It’s no good if you’re here and can’t do a single thing, especially when you’re not that focused.” He taps her desk, looks at her severely one more time and leaves.
Spencer sighs, rubs the back of her neck. He’s right, though. She can’t do anything if she’s not focused. Still, it does sting that she’s taking a day off, especially when she’s still got a lot of work left to do. But she thinks of Hanna and her words I guess you were the only person I wanted to see and concedes. She shuts off her computer, files away her remaining paperwork and gathers her things. She says goodbye to her co-workers and heads out.
Philly isn’t nearly as small as Rosewood, isn’t as packed as it in her old town, isn’t as suffocating as the people tend to be but as Spencer stands in the sidewalk with her phone in one hand and her purse in the other, she wants nothing more than to be in the place that’s haunted her ever since she was a teenager.
(Maybe it has something to do with Hanna’s voice in the back of her mind, the ghost of Hanna’s lips over her pulse point, the feeling of Hanna’s hands on the front of her shirt.)
She goes home.
(She goes back to Hanna.)
Change of plans. Spencer doesn’t think she can survive another second if she’s in the same room with Hanna so she heads to Alison’s house with the sole intention of letting the dam burst—because she can’t take not being near Hanna, not being able to see her, not being able to hear her voice. It’s stupid, really, because yesterday, she was fine. She was more than fine. She was focused. But when Hanna came up outside her office, looking pissed off and worried—Spencer’s head got flipped.
Alison doesn’t even look surprised when Spencer comes knocking at her door. Instead, she smiles, leans against the frame of her doorway and says, “Its Hanna, isn’t it?” She’s got that knowing look in her eyes, like she knows everything. (Sometimes, even years later, Spencer feels as if she does.)
“I don’t know how you do it,” Spencer mutters, walking in and throwing her things on the couch. Her hands are shaking. Too much caffeine. (Probably too much Hanna.)
“Do what?” Alison sounds so amused Spencer kind of wants to throw something at her.
“Pretending!” Spencer nearly yells, her voice ringing in the empty space. She’s frustrated, angry and so, so in love with Hanna Marin that her heart feels like it’s about to explode with the magnitude of such emotions. “Pretending like you’re not in love with your best friend, for Chrissake,” she continues, sighing loudly, “and trying to keep everything quiet, when it’s obvious that your feelings are already there, just waiting to burst like a volcano. I feel like such an incompetent fool just thinking about it.”
“Incompetent fool?” Spencer turns, her jaw dropping when she sees Aria and Emily standing at the foot of the stairs, both wearing identical smirks.
“It’s okay,” Emily pipes up, glancing fondly over at her girlfriend, who returns the smile, “Ali and I had practice.”
Spencer collapses down on the couch and runs her fingers through her hair, her shoulders shaking as she lets out a well-needed sigh. She should’ve known that they’d be here. Emily and Ali have been glued to the hip and Aria’s been all over the place that Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if she found the shorter girl at a ranch outside of town. Still, seeing all three of her friends stabilizes her enough to start thinking straight again.
“I’m guessing this is about Hanna?” Aria asks, slipping away from Emily’s side and approaching Spencer.
“Yeah, well.” Spencer clears her dry throat, trying to keep her shaking to a minimum. “It’s always about Hanna, even when it’s not.”
“I told you to try things out,” Emily sternly reminds her.
Spencer tries to come up with the words, wants to tell the other brunette that she wants to—she wants nothing more than to grab Hanna’s face and kiss her, whisper sweet promises into her ear, tell her that she won’t hurt her the way Caleb hurt them both—but comes up with nothing.
Because she’s so terrified.
(Hanna can hold a gun, yell at her people for hurting her friends, run over a man for God’s sake—but what Spencer fears the most is what Hanna will do to her heart once she has it in her hands.)
“Trying leads to errors,” she mutters under her breath, rubbing her eyes, “and too many errors lead to failure. Failure means being broken. I don’t want to break anything.”
“You won’t,” Alison fiercely says, crossing her arms, “because this is Hanna. When I first met you guys, I thought ‘this is one unlikely pairing’ but you survived. For years, you both did. What’s life without a little risk? What’s love without the pain?”
Spencer raises her head and shoots the blonde a glare. “Our situations are different,” she nearly snaps.
“I think you’re just being a coward.”
“I’m not. There’s a difference between cowering in the corner and testing the waters.”
Aria raises her hands in surrender. “Guys, chill.”
“What happened, anyway?” Emily immediately changes the conversation, glancing over at Ali and narrowing her eyes in warning. Spencer doesn’t notice, too absorbed in her thoughts as Aria rubs soothing circles on her back.
(Hanna’s laugh in the dead of night, Hanna’s close proximity on the couch, Hanna’s eyes when she looks at Spencer—it’s all Hanna, Hanna, Hanna.)
“I think,” Spencer begins, biting her lower lip and leaning away from Aria’s touch, “that I want to try things with Hanna but I’m too scared that I’ll lose her in the process.”
“You won’t,” all three girls say and Spencer manages a smile, amazed at their unwavering support, and wonders why she deserves such amazing friends.
Emily sits on Spencer’s other side and pats her shoulder. “She loves you,” she says.
“And you’re not going to lose her,” Aria adds helpfully. Her gentle tone and aura calms Spencer down.
“And you two are going to be happy together,” Ali tells her, taking the seat opposite her.
Spencer looks at the three of them, nods a bit too fast and prays to God that they’re right.
When she uses her spare key to get into Hanna’s apartment, she almost wishes the other girl is out for the day, possibly making plans with Lucas and arranging any prior business or simply waltzing around town with a frappe in one hand. But when Spencer steps inside the loft and closes the door quietly behind her, she hears Hanna humming a song in the kitchen and sags in relief.
She’s going to tell her tonight. After being spurred on by the other girls, Spencer’s entire being is filled with determination. She can’t waste another second being terrified of getting hurt—Hastings will always get their hands dirty to get what they want—and she wants Hanna badly. She wants her to the point that she can’t imagine waking up next day not being Hanna Marin’s.
Shrugging off her coat and putting it on the rack, Spencer kicks off her heels and moves into the kitchen.
“Han?” she calls out, anxious.
“Yeah?” Hanna pokes her head out of the kitchen, whipping cream all over her face. Spencer frowns, slightly confused, as she steps inside. “You’re out early.”
Hanna is at the counter, holding a bowl of vanilla ice cream with whipped cream and chocolate syrup on top. She’s wearing a loose blue blouse with shorts that barely skim her thighs. Her hair is tied in a messy bun on top of her head, her make-up is off, and there’s food on top of her nose and around her cheeks but Spencer thinks she’s one of the most beautiful person she’s ever seen her whole life. And she’s seen a lot of beautiful people in her travels. Hanna tops everybody else.
“You look as if somebody told you that –A’s back,” Hanna jokes lightly but grows serious when Spencer doesn’t respond. “—A’s not back, I hope? Cause I was just kidding, Spence.”
Spencer blinks. “Right,” she says, nodding a bit too fast. Her cheeks feel awfully warm. When her hands start shaking, she’s pretty sure it’s not because of the three cups of coffee she drank on the way here.
“Anyway, what’s up?” Hanna’s acting so normal that Spencer almost wants to forget about the whole speech she has in her head but decides that it’s now or never.
“I wanted to talk to you,” is what comes out of her mouth.
Hanna stills, her eyes locking with Spencer’s. “No good ever comes from those words,” she states, repeats an earlier statement a few months back and heads out of the kitchen. Spencer clenches her fists, curses her thoughts for being so useless and twisted, and follows after the blonde.
“It’s nothing important,” Spencer continues, her voice shaking at the end.
“Really?” Hanna leans against the table behind her, raising her eyebrows as she takes a spoonful of ice cream. She has her no bullshit look on and Spencer’s heart starts racing.
“Okay, it is important.” Spencer runs her fingers through her hair and tries not to look like she’s about to lose her breakfast and lunch. (This is probably the most important thing she’s going to have to say her whole life.)
“Spill.”
Spencer thinks of how Hanna seems to trump all those nerve-wrecking moments she has during job interviews or during work presentations or when –A literally has their hands on her neck. With her heart in her throat and her words clogging in her chest, she figures it’s because this is more important than anything else in her life right now and that Hanna is the most important thing than anything else. That this moment—right here, right now, with Hanna eating ice cream and Spencer shaking so bad she might have a seizure—is where everything begins.
“I love you, Hanna,” Spencer tells her, her voice clear and firm, no hesitation but just plain clarity. The moment the words are out, her entire body exhales, just completely sags with relief and all sorts of shaking stops.
Hanna doesn’t move. She still has her hands on her bowl but her eyes have softened and her face is just bursting with affection. It’s almost as if she’s looking at Spencer like she has the entire universe in her hands, like Spencer is the only thing that matters, like Spencer is her world.
(Spencer’s pretty sure she’s looking at her the same way.)
“I’ve loved you since we were kids,” Spencer continues, her voice dropping to a low whisper, “and we’ve been through a lot more than just petty crushes and tragic love stories. I told you once, when –A took everything from me, that I couldn’t lose you. And here we are, five years later, and I’ve nearly lost everything again. I’ve lost a boyfriend and my job is in shambles and another –A is behind bars and yet, you’re still here.”
Hanna doesn’t say anything. She looks at Spencer and waits for her to finish.
Spencer takes a step closer. “I love you,” she repeats, tears stinging the back of her eyes as her emotions spill into her words, “and I don’t mean it the way we thought it meant. I don’t mean it the way I used to mean it. I mean it like—like, I don’t love you that way anymore.”
Understanding passes through Hanna’s face, like a light has been switched on and everything is in the clear. She doesn’t recoil nor does she turn away. Instead, she looks relieved. Like she’s been waiting for Spencer to say those exact same words.
Spencer takes another step. “Last night,” she begins, “made it crystal for me. I knew that I had feelings for you, I’ve known for quite a while now. But it was only then that I actually—that I actually thought of us, of making it happen and it just made sense, you know? And nothing’s ever made sense for me, except for—” She almost says Toby and Caleb but changes her mind. She has a feeling Hanna already knows what she was going to say.
“You’re the only person who still makes sense for me, Han,” whispers Spencer in a tone that sounds pathetic even to her own ears.
Hanna looks at her for a few more seconds before putting away her ice cream bowl. She still has whipped cream on top of her nose and all over her cheeks but she doesn’t pay them mind, or maybe she has no clue. Spencer resists the urge to reach out and wipe them away for her. The moment seems too precious, fragile, like one wrong move can break everything apart, which reminds Spencer of Jenga.
“Remember what I said?” Hanna asks suddenly, locking gazes with the brunette.
“What?”
“That I’d rather lose Caleb than you?”
Spencer nods slowly, her throat tight. She wonders if Hanna will take those words back.
But Hanna doesn’t. She’s not the type of person who does that. Instead, she crosses her arms, looks down at her feet and glances shyly back at Spencer again. “I meant it, you know,” she murmurs, “and I’m glad I told you that. Caleb was—he wasn’t a mistake or anything but that ship has sailed and I’m—”
“—you’re here,” Spencer interrupts.
Hanna’s grey eyes are shining. “I’m here,” she agrees.
Spencer takes another step. They’re close now, just an arm’s length away. She wants to kiss Hanna, wants to curl her fingers behind the blonde’s neck, pull her close and press their lips together. She wants to taste what it’s like to love Hanna Marin.
“You have whipped cream all over your face,” she says instead.
Hanna’s mouth forms into an easy smile. Her hand comes up and wipes off the cream off her nose and on her left cheek. There’s still a little bit left around the corner of her lip so Spencer reaches out and wipes it away for her. Hanna’s jaw slackens and her gaze doesn’t leave Spencer’s.
“I really want to kiss you,” Spencer confesses, her heart just itching to burst as her hand drops down to her side.
Hanna lets out a soft laugh before she puts her hand on Spencer’s cheek, leans forward and kisses her. Spencer shuts her eyes when their lips connect. It’s nothing like she expected but it’s everything she wanted. Hanna’s lips are soft and taste of strawberry lip balm and chocolate syrup and the hand on Spencer’s cheek is firm and warm. They fit easily together, when six months ago, they possibly wouldn’t have. Maybe time has worn them down, chipped off their edges until the only people they make sense with is with each other.
Spencer doesn’t know what to do with her hands so she settles for putting them on Hanna’s waist, pulling her close until they’re flushed against each other. Hanna wraps her arms around Spencer’s neck, hums and deepens the kiss. She’s smiling and so is Spencer. They kiss and kiss, until Hanna pulls back and says,
“How long have you wanted to kiss me?”
“I think I’ve always wanted to kiss you, Hanna,” Spencer answers lightly.
“Huh.” Hanna purses her lips, leans forward and kisses Spencer quickly. Then she pulls away and picks up her ice cream bowl. “Wanna watch a movie again? It’s kind of our thing.”
Spencer laughs, shaking her head. “Okay,” she says as Hanna heads into the kitchen to grab the rest of the ice cream.
“And, Spence?” Hanna calls while Spencer sets up the TV.
“Yeah?"
“I love you too.”
(And everything falls into place.)