It always amazes me how clean Spencer’s apartment is. Shelves and shelves of old books line the walls, organized by the Dewey Decimal System. He has a binder on the coffee table that tells him exactly where each book is. Said coffee table is always free of dust; the coasters that inhabit it are stacked perfectly. A marble chess table sits by the window; he promised me that he’d teach me how to play.

I am parked on his somewhat comfortable couch, my feet tucked under my body. I have a blanket wrapped around my body and a mug of warm tea in my hands. Spencer is sitting next to me, glasses perched on his nose. He is reading Les Miserables. After I dragged him to see the musical with me, he insisted on reading the book it was based on.

I could sit here and watch him read for hours, even though it only takes a few minutes for him to finish a book. He makes these hilarious faces when he’s reading; when he’s confused, he furrows his eyebrows. And when something is funny, he does that stupid little chuckle of his. He’s simply adorable. There is no other word for it.

Suddenly, the lights begin to flicker. I notice Spencer freeze. Then, it’s pitch black. Spencer doesn’t say anything; he doesn’t even move. I feel around for the coffee table and place my mug there before feeling around in my pocket for a lighter.

Spencer hates the fact that I smoke. Every time I light up a cigarette, he reminds me that it takes six minutes from my life… Six minutes less that he’d get to spend with me. I’m trying really hard to quit.

Once I light the candles that sit on the side tables, Spencer gently puts his book on the coffee tables, and I pick my mug up. He mumbles a “Thank you.” I give a small smile in return.

“You know,” I say, sitting back down, “You look very beautiful by candlelight.”

He grins at my sarcasm. “So do you.” He means it, though. I can tell.

I can also tell that he’s terrified of the dark. Every time we’re walking through the city at night, he’s tense. He prefers to watch movies in the comfort of my apartment, where I can turn on a lamp.

I pull my phone out of my pocket to see a weather alert on the screen: Winter Weather Advisory! Power Outages Expected! Seek Shelter And Stay Where You Are!

“Don’t worry, Spence,” I say, showing him the luminosity of my iPhone screen, “It’s just the snow. And it looks like I’m staying here tonight. So you’ll have someone to protect you.”

He gives a half-hearted smile at this and goes back to twiddling his thumbs. I’ve never brought up his fear… But what better time than the present? I take a long sip from my mug, working up the nerve.

“Spencer,” I say, “Why are you afraid of the dark?”

He looks up at me, the soft glow of the candles curving against his law. He suddenly spits out the answer. “Because of the inherent absence of light.” It sounded as if he had said one thousand times before… Like he had waited for this very moment and practiced in his mirror.

But the answer’s too easy… It isn’t like Spencer, to be afraid of something so simple for a reason like the inevitable lack of light. He’s smarter than that; he’s too smart not to know that the dark can’t hurt him imply because it’s the dark.

He sighs, knowing that I don’t believe him. “It’s completely irrational,” he starts, “But you have to understand that my job is terrifying. I mean, I love it. Don’t get me wrong, I truly do love it. But I see a lot of, for the lack of a better word, bad things. And… And it’s like these people I’m chasing thrive in the dark. It’s where all of the monsters hide. Not the big, furry ones with pointy teeth… The real ones. And those are ten times scarier.”

I hand him my tea, urging him to take a sip. (I’m one of the few people that have conquered his germaphobia.) The air gets thick between us as I try to think of something to say. So being the comedian that I am, I smirk and say, “Does that mean you do it with the lights on?”

Spencer begins to cough, spitting the tea back into the mug. “Uh… No? No. Just… Never mind,” he replies, sitting the cup on a coaster. I mentally smack myself. How could I be so insensitive? He just poured his heart out to me, and I come back with a joke. And a sex joke of all jokes! Spencer is the least sexual person I know!

I place my hands on his thighs, causing his to look up at me. “Hey,” I whisper, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he replies, barely audible, “Really.”

“Listen,” I begin, “I want you to know that as long as I’m here, you don’t have to be afraid. Okay? You are not alone. So whenever it gets dark, literally or metaphorically, call me. I will be here as soon as I can. I know that it’s tough, but you can get through it. You’ve done it for nearly ten years. And now, you have someone that you don’t have to be so strong for. I’m not going to think of you any less. So whenever your head gets too clogged up with images of dead bodies and evil people, call me. Whenever you have to drive home at night, call me. Whenever your power goes out, call me.”

Spencer looks at me with tears in his eyes. He places his large hands on my cheeks and pulls me in for a long kiss. My fingers find their way to his messy hair, and he is so gentle as he wraps rubs his thumbs against my cheeks.

When he pulls away, he looks straight into my eyes. “I love you.” It’s the first time that either of us had said it. And I’m so shocked that he made the first move. (He’s not very good in these situations.) But he did. And I tell him that I love him too.

And the lights come back on.