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Chapter 2

Coffee?

"I don't have any coffee," I grumble.

"Oh, did you run out?" There's something suspiciously resembling sympathy in that voice.

"No, I did not run out."

There's silence, blessed silence- but only for a moment.

"So... if you don't have any caffeine, how do you get up in the mornings?"

Oh, for the love of- "I sleep in."

"Uh, it's already past three."

"Nnngh." I give up, I really do. I just want to curl up in a corner with some chocolate and my misery, but the longer this... guy... stands here, the more it feels like I should just throw myself off the balcony and get it over with.

There's a random person in my apartment trying to, what? Feed me non-existent caffeine?

I struggle up from the couch until I'm sitting, too-long hair tangled over my no doubt blood shot eyes.

"Look," my voice is raspy. "What do you want?"

...

I blink. There's no-one there. The kitchenette that's tucked into the corner is, surprisingly, empty.

Oh, wait. That would be the sound of someone clanging through my cupboards. Pots and pans that relatives didn't want or couldn't fit in that awkward corner cupboard that no one wants yet everyone has in their kitchen. A head pops up from behind the counter, and is gradually followed by neck, shoulders, and torso.

"We've had this conversation. I had to make sure you weren't dead- misplaced sense of duty, remember? Though right now, I'd settle for something with caffeine. The strongest thing you've got seems to be muesli bars with chocolate chips."

I stare at the man now in front of me, confused.

He's tall, though not particularly lanky. He's wearing a jacket, and I think it's trying hard to be tweed, in some kind of retro way. It's failing spectacularly.

"Who the hell are you?" And why are you going through my kitchen, though I don't voice that, not yet.

"Oh, uh. I'm Spencer. I just moved here- next door, a few days ago."

"You look like a teacher." I brush some of the hair out of my eyes, hoping my glare will have more of an effect without the obstruction.

"Oh, I am!" The bastard only looks pleased, and faintly pink. "Well, kind of. I mean, I teach history- or I will- at the University."

I stare at him a little longer before getting to my feet, the bones in my back cracking one after the other- my body's very own mexican wave.

"I'm going to take a shower."

"Right. Well, after that you can come show me a place to eat."

"I'm sorry?"

"It's just, I still don't know the place very well, and I really do want to make sure you're okay, and, well, I'll buy you lunch?"

I blink, turn, and stalk towards the bathroom. And I only stumble once.

The rising steam helps clear my head and I rinse the gritty feeling out of my eyes. There's a man- There's a Spencer in my apartment and he's seen acting like a complete and utter fool, and now he won't go away.

Oh, and apparently I dumped my boyfriend last night.

It had better be a bloody spectacular breakfast. Lunch. Thing.

Whatever.

When I re-emerge into the lounge room, having showered and dressed, Spencer is indeed still there.

"So, uh, Luke. Ready to go?" His pants aren't the same psuedo-tweed as his jacket. They're plain, ordinary blue jeans.

"Sure, I gue- wait. How did you know my name?"

He goes pink again and, Jesus, he's a stalker. I've gone and got myself single and stalked all in one evening.

Spencer the stalker inches to the right and I tense. He might be some kind of history geek, but he might-

gesture to the coffee table with a few unopened bills lying on it. Oh.

"I didn't mean to pry, they were just-"

"Whatever, doesn't matter. Let's just go." I mutter, grabbing my keys from the hallway floor, along with both wallet and phone. "You're buying me lunch."

He follows, and much as I'd like to cling to snarky indignation at having my plans for the day thwarted, once we’re outside in the afternoon sun I start to relax, and Spencer shuts up for more than five minutes, which is nice.

It doesn't last, of course.

“So, where are we going?”

I point ahead and slow sufficiently for him to catch up. “There’s a bookshop and a cafe.” I squint as we round the corner. Definitely should have remembered glasses.

He nods beside me and stuffs his hands into his coat pockets.

“So, why d’you wear those shoes, anyway?” I ask without thinking.

“What?” He looks confused. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“The thongs. Its cold, why are you wearing thongs. Most people who feel the need to wear a jacket generally think about socks, as well.”

“Um, I haven’t unpacked all my stuff yet. Some of it’s still arriving- I didn't know it would be this cold and I was wearing them on the way down, so.” He grins a little, looking down at his shoes.

“Right,” I frown. The man’s insane.

AN:

Error-Author and Shelled- you know those late night television adds where they try to sell you compilation albums of 70s music? With the music and the host and deals and the pretty colours? You guys are more awesome than even those. Thanks for the reviews!

I only realised when I was re-reading this, but I actually do have a friend named Spencer who's doing his history thesis. His wardrobe is typical of the history geek chic, as well. Oops. Hopefully later chapters aren't also about him so much. I really need to go sleep. Hope you enjoyed the chapter, stay tuned for the next instalment, which will (hopefully) feature more confusing conversations and accusations aimed at making Spencer feel insecure and maybe-kind-of-a-little-bit unloved. That needs some fixing!