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Diego loved spencer in all the right ways a person should love somebody, onestly, spencer couldnt exactly complain about that, he didn't want to complain about that.
Diego liked being near him way more than literally anyone that had ever been around him did, he liked touching him in ways that weren't always obvious, weren't always meant to be noticed, either from others or from him.
An arm around his waist here and there, an hand standing firm behind his back, a finger twisted in his hair when bored, his chin placed gently on the juncture of his neck and shoulder when watching a movie.
Diego also liked kissing him, in a lot of spots, on his mouth for long periods of times waiting for them to get all swollen and red and plumply, on his cheeks when spencer was turned away from him to take him by surprise, on his collarbone and on the tip of his nose, at the corner of his ugly overbite and behind his ear, nipping at his earlobe in a way that made spencer always chuckle from the ticklish sensation, a sound that always made diego smile without meaning to.
He would kiss him on the top of his nape before going to work, on his lower stomach and on the inner part of his thighs in those times where spencer felt safe enough to melt into his touch, nuzzing at the side of the soft skin with his nose and pressing soft touches with his lips, or just bringing his hand close to his mouth, blowing a small kiss into the knuckle while staring directly into his eyes, laughing and enjoying the way spencer would've flushed out of embarassment.
There was only one spot on his skin diego never kissed nor touched, and that was spencer's forehead.
One of the most tender, simplest, gentle of touches, and yet, they had long decided that it wasnt something that belong to him like the rest.
Spencer was instead the one to bring his hands up instead of down, cupping his cheeks, fingers brushing near his cheeksbones, bowing diego's head down slighty or either, standing on his tippy toes to place a small kiss right on the top of his forehead, lips barely pressing against it as if not to hurt him.
Diego would always let him, because when his day was horrible, when his back was sore and his legs felt like jelly and his head was killing him, all that kept him sane was the knowledge that once at home, spencer would've took one good, honest look at him and already know what he was thinking without diego having to say anything.
He would move closer, stare at him for a while in peaceful silence with his face tilted and this soft longing in his eyes and slowly, his arms would raise to hold his face gently, bringing it just a bit closer and place that small, subtle kiss right at the top of his forehead that made diego's feel like he was finally being able to breath again.
At times, during those bad nights, Diego didn't always have the strength to speak, to respond to that small gesture or to shower spencer’s body with the kisses his heart freemed to give.
Spencer understood that—he always did, and in those times, his hands would slide slowly down Diego’s sides, fingers curling around his, before he would turn around and starts guiding Diego towards the bathroom.
As Diego sat on the edge of the bathtub with his hands politely folded in his lap, spencer would move around him in the narrow space, starts opening drawers and cabinets until he found a decent enough, unfrayed towel (Diego would have been fine with anything, but Spencer was extremely meticulous) wet it with cold water, and sit down beside him on the tub’s edge.
By then, Diego would have already taken off his hat, sometimes he’d rest it on his knees, other times toss it onto the sofa when first entering his home, or—very often—place it on Spencer’s head instead, making Spencer chuckle every single time and ease the soreness in his chest.
Spencer would wring out the towel slightly and, as he gently wiped every corner of Diego’s face from the stress and the sweat, he would begin to talk.
Of the two of them, Diego was always the one who talked more.
Many of their friends, outsiders to the relationship obviously, very often thought Diego was the one who did everything in their bond.
The affectionate one, the talker, the romantic, the thoughtful one.
Perhaps that was how it looked on the surface, but Diego had fallen in love with Spencer precisely because he was the exact opposite of the person he apperead to be on its surface.
For example, Spencer knew how to make bouquets—he had never told Diego that, though, who instead had discovered it during their first month together when he found a handmade bouquet of red and white roses waiting for him on the kitchen counter at six in the morning, perfectly neated with a pink bow in the middle to hold the flowers togheter.
Spencer wasn't always awake when Diego left for work, so Diego hadn't imagined he’d have the inclination to do something as sappy like that, so early in the morning too.
Beside the flowers laid a note—a very small one, and the handwriting was shaky, just a single sentence.
"Happy anniversary."
Spencer wasn't the type for grand gestures even if Diego knew he tried—Spencer always tried, and onestly he loved that out of him, because everytime spencer did something like this, he knew it was genuine, soft, it came from his want to make diego smile, and that felt better than someone who just did it out of simple habit.
Spencer onestly talked about a bit of everything, about his day, the spider he’d spotted in the corner of the bathroom wall while showering, what he’d studied that very day and what he had liked and what not, a plant he’d watered, a book he’d read, and even a song he’d listened to—one that reminded him of Diego and that he wanted to listen together with him that same night.
He talked about going for a walk on the early afternoon and seeing a little dog with fluffy fur and tiny black eyes trying to lick his hand, and about a new coffee he’d tried only to spit it back into the cup, hoping the barista hadn’t noticed.
About the students he was tutoring during those times, whether they were or not, making progress and of his sister Alice, who had sent him a voice message lasting over twenty-five minutes rambling endlessly about the ending of a movie she’d just watched and that spencer hadnt even ever seen.
And as he spoke, he would keep holding his face, wiping away sweat and grazing his fingertips against his temples, drawing small circles against diego's open palm with his free hand.
Diego would close his eyes, hum quietly from time to time to let spencer know he was still there, listening, melting into the sound of his voice and the tenderness of his touch, silently praying that things would never change, that this was going to be their forever and ever.
After about twenty minutes, Spencer would put the now used towel in a basket near the sink, stand up, wash his hands breefly, and—with one last, small smile—wish Diego a good shower and to try his best to relax, that if he needed him, he was in their bedroom waiting for him.
Diego would just smile back and nod, even though he had never told Spencer that ever since meeting him, he had stopped enjoying these moments alone as much—knowing he could be spending them with him instead.
He would take a very quick, hot shower, sometimes lasting just a bit longer if his muscles ached particulary bad, if the day had been a bit too long, stare into the mirror for an indefinite amount of time, hoping the wrinkles starting to form at the corners of his face were just due to tiredness and that at twenty-three he wasn't actually that old yet, wrap a towel around his waist and head into their bedroom, where Spencer was as promised, right there waiting—lying on the bed, reading something that always took a back seat whenever Diego started to move around him.
Spencer flustered very easily and really deeply, to Diego, he almost looked like a strawberry—though he never said that to his face so to avoid embarrassing him, even if deep down, he had the feeling Spencer probably already knew that himself.
Once changed, he would throw himself onto the bed, landing on his stomach and immediatly burying his face in the crook of his boyfriend’s neck, at that Spencer would chuckle heartily while helping him laying a bit better to best get comfortable.
Diego would end up resting in the empty space between Spencer’s legs soon to be completly entangled with his own, his arms wrapped around Spencer’s waist, nose deep into the crook of his neck, and Spencer would slowly begin to ask if he felt like talking about his day.
Sometimes Diego would nod and starts talking automatically, other times, he would shake his head and try to melt right against Spencer’s skin instead.
In either case, Spencer respected his decision, he would simply lay there, playing with his curls, humming softly and they often fell asleep like that—clinging to each other, snuggling, talking about what they wanted to do the next day, the places they wanted to visit, the stars they wanted to photograph, the songs they wanted to listen.
it was the prettiest kind of boring you can ever imagine.
Diego envied how perceptive Spencer was when it came to understanding someone’s feelings—especially his own.
He could read him like an open book, he always understood exactly what he needed, how he needed it and why, it felt intimidating knowing how diego was never gonna be on the same level as him.
Spencer, however, didn't seem to pay mind to that whatsoever.
"You already know me better than anyone ever has, before you, I didn't even have a favorite color!" he had told him once while they were laying in bed, Diego’s head resting against his shoulder.
Diego chuckled. "I know, I know," he sighed, fiddling with the loose threads on Spencer’s shorts.
"I just wish I could know you better than i do—I wish I could do it the way you do,"
"...I wish i could lead you to open up to me as easily as you do it with me,"
Diego tilted his head, nuzzing his nose against the side of Spencer’s neck, feeling strands of long, raven hair brush against his cheeks.
"I wish I could love you the way you deserve."
Diego could feel the sudden hitch of his breath, and the way spencer tensed up, but before he could say anything, Spencer pulled him away, digging his fingernails into Diego’s shoulders and pushing him back until he was facing him directly.
He looked furious, his already furrowed brows were drawn so close together they seemed like a single, long line of unhappyness.
Diego’s heart made a sound, like it had just feel deep somewhere unclear in his chest.
"Spence, what—"
"I hate that, you know I hate it when you talk about yourself like that." Spencer cut him off, his voice laced with obvious annoyance.
Diego sighed, his eyes trying to look away.
"I know, but—"
It was a pretty futile attempt, one of Spencer’s hands had moved from his shoulder to instead grip his jaw, forcing his gaze back to those two beautiful moons that were Spencer’s eyes.
"I want you to look at me," he said sternly, tightening his grip slightly. "If you want to tell me something, I want you to say it to my face,"
Diego blushed—just a little—though Spencer was too angry to notice.
He opened his mouth, but no sound made a sign of wanting to escape.
But clearly, his expression said enough, because Spencer’s grip softened just a bit, the single hand that had been holding his jaw was now joined by another, both moving to caress his cheeks—a gentle, wordless, familiar touch that made Diego feel safe
"Diego," Spencer began, his voice low and soft.
"I don't want you blaming yourself for something you clearly have no control over. I fail to understand myself half the time—why should you be expected to instead?"
Spencer shook his head before speaking again.
"No one before you had ever made me feel so loved, so wanted and desired, so perfect—no one..." Spencer paused for a moment, laughing softly. "No one had ever told me before that the way my nose crinkles is beautiful!"
"Thats because you are beatiful, spence," Diego whispered, his own hand reaching to cover the one spencer hold onto his face.
"Everything about you is."
"And who do you think makes me feel this beatiful?" spencer questioned him, causing for diego to lower his head in embarassment.
"..fair point." he mumbled, low and unclear.
Spencer was right, obviously, even if-
"I love you,"
Diego completly freezed over, his eyes shooting up immediatly.
Forget about spencer looking like a single strawberry, diego looked like the entire bushes of them.
"I love you's" weren't uncommon for them, but for spencer to say it so casually?
"S-spence.."
Cleary, diego's reaction was nothing short of amusing since spencer started laughing, this hard, beatiful laugh that made every other noise fall into the background.
"Diego." he mimicked back, once calmed down, hands still on his cheeks, fingers tight around his cheeksbones, "i love you, i love you and the way you make me feel, the way you love me and the way you hold me and the way your voice is my favorite sound of the day."
Under diego's stunned reaction, spencer brought his own lips closer, pressing a soft, gentle touch at the top of his forehead.
"I love you," another kiss, "i love you and you deserve to know how loved you make me feel."
Finally being able to breath again, even if he felt like such a tomato, diego's hands slide down around spencer's hips, drawing him even closer and pressing their lips togheter in what was the most beatiful, genuine, soft kiss that would've made the one thing why diego even woke up every morning.
Spencer reacted immediately, responding with such enthusiasm that he nearly knocked Diego onto his back while Diego helped him climb onto his lap.
Once they pulled apart—driven by the wretched, awful need to breathe—they gazed at each other; Spencer’s large, beautiful eyes were shining like the stars he loved to talk about so much.
Diego could have died right then and there, and he would have died happy.
"I love you too, Spencer," he murmured, pulling the boy closer, as if to ensure he wouldn't run away—that he would stay with him forever.
"I love you so much..."
Spencer smiled, a faint flush coloring his cheeks.
"I know," he said softly, leaning in to plant a kiss right on his forehead.
"And you deserve all of this."