He believes that's true. With every part of him, Spencer believes it. He knows that some might say it's naive, to think that in just a month, he could say he's found his person, the one who he's willing to promise forever to, but Spencer doesn't care about what others think. Nobody else in this town has touched him the way Joel has, brushed his hair back or kissed him so gently or held him the way Joel has; nobody else has told him how amazing he is, been there to comfort him when he jolts awake in the middle of the night; nobody else had seen him that night at the lighthouse, seen him broken and crying and needy, but Joel had. Joel had seen and done and said all these things, and he's still here.

It doesn't quite compute sometimes. He couldn't have hoped for someone to complement him better, someone who'd be so willing to just lay out and read in silence with their legs tangled in bed or their fingers brushing in between page turns. It doesn't make sense that the first person he's ever so desperately wanted to be with is a man so perfect for him, the odds of that happening are so beyond slim that coming up with a percentage would be pointless. Joel is an anomaly, really, an exception that had been made by the world for Spencer for some reason he doesn't think he'll ever figure out but he'll take it. He'll take it, and he won't let it go.

He begrudgingly unhinges his legs from around Joel's waist and lets his feet hit the sand, groaning his displeasure even though Joel suggests a welcome alternative. "Shower," he repeats, giving a slight nod before running his hands down the other man's sides and letting them come to a rest on Joel's hips. "We'd be saving the environment, too, by showering together. Waste not, right?"