When The World Stops | Completed

Chapter 21: Moving Forward

"But-" My voice cracked, "What if we break up." I sounded like a child.

"Then I'll move out. But I don't see that happening. Do you?"

I shook my head.

"Do you want me to move in with you?" He sounded hesitant.

I bit my lip, "Yeah. I'd really like that."

I could hear the smile in his voice, "Well, that's that then."

He made it sound so simple. I really hoped he was right.

***

"Spence!" I called, "Why in the name of all that is holy do you have three copies of the same damn book?"

"Which one?" He responded, poking his head out of his bedroom.

I held up Harry Potter. All three copies: Latin, English, and Russian.

"Because I get bored sometimes. Duh."

I sighed, "Normal people watch TV or go outside when they're bored."

"Egomet nihil probi memet acturum esse solemniter iuro." He responded.

"Great, thanks, that really clears everything up." I muttered, putting them into the box and writing it on my list. He'd insisted that the books were organized, even though they weren't on his shelves, and I was really trying (mostly for my sake when we began unpacking).

"We need to get bookshelves too," I called, "I don't think I have enough and yours are built into the walls."

He groaned, "But I like the color of mine!"

"Spence," I laughed, "We can get a stain or paint. The color isn't irreplaceable."

He walked out of the bedroom, pouting, "But I like these ones!"

"Well, do you want to move in or not?" I asked.

"Yes, I do, I just like my bookshelves," he wrapped his arms around my waist, "I love you."

I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him, "I love you too. Now let me finish packing your books. Work on your bedroom."

"You sure you don't want to join me before it's all packed up?" He winked.

"Spencer. Pack your freaking room."

He was acting like a child, but it really was cute.

"Can I put all your French philosopher books in one or do you want them organized some other way?" I asked. "Because otherwise I'll have to google all of their theories or some shit."

"Language is fine." He answered, "Just write down the titles on your list."

"It's a good thing I don't have to memorize these names, because my French pronunciation sucks." I said, pulling the books off the shelf and writing the titles down before setting them down. "And before you say something in French, if you do, I swear you won't cum for a week."

There ended up being more boxes of books than kitchen supplies, clothing, and toiletries combined. I wasn't at all surprised, but my back was complaining. By the time we'd finished bringing all the boxes over, I was pretty sure my arms were going to fall off.

Spencer sat on the floor, looking around the now-bare apartment. All that remained were the bookshelves and the furniture that he was going to sell. I sat next to him.

"Are you sure about this?" I asked, "We don't have to rush."

He turned to face me, "I want this. It's just... this apartment has seen me through everything. The Dilaudid, Maeve, when you got shot... This has been my home for a long time."