Cause love's a game, and baby I'm playing all night.

Spencer Hastings pitches him the idea when he is scrubbing the last remains of crumbs and stains of the diner counter. She chews the straw leading in her milkshake nervously as she awaits her answer. Her deep golden irises are full of innocence, stretching out to double their size.

He stops scrubbing the counter and stares. He can't help but take a mental picture of the scene playing out in front of him. It wasn't everyday pleads exit her mouth. Rarely does she ever flutter her eyes at him to get what she wants. It was odd and peculiar, but what she wants from him is even more so.

"You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend?" He asks, his eyes glossing over with incredulity.

She nods, offering a smile that never seems to lose vibrance.

"Insane," he comments, moving his eyes from her to the rag that circles the counter.

"Toby!" Her voice almost whines. She sets her hand on his, which is enough for his eyes to settle on her once more. "I really need your help."

"Why do you even want this guy back? He's a douche."

"We weren't the best couple, but I miss him. He could be a little—agitating—sometimes, but he was also generous, intelligent, witty, and he wasn't exactly horrible looking."

"And you think that pretending to date someone else is going to get him back?" He asks her, still in disbelief. Usually, Spencer is a genius. An absolute Einstein, but this plan just seems illogical. "Weren't YOU the one who broke up with HIM?"

"Yes," she sighs, bringing her hand back to lace around her milkshake. Her copper eyes stayed put on the strawberry milkshake , "and when I realized I made a mistake, he wouldn't take me back."

"Which is why he is a douche!" Toby comments.

"No! He is just—" she sighs, shaking her head a little at the thought. "It doesn't matter. The point is, once he sees I'm taken, I'll be back on his radar."

"You make is sound like a game."

"It is a game. Now will you help me, or not?"

There is only one rule, he can't fall in love with her.

PDA.

Handholding. Arm over shoulder. Kisses on the cheek. The game of footsie. Eskimo kisses. Random long lived hugs.

It is all innocent. Frivolous things he has done with her so many times before. Except this time it is not friendly. It isn't just a platonic gesture. It is performed with lust and love—she holds onto to him with everything she has as if she is terrified of what would happen if she lost her grip. When their hands begin to entwine, the first beat of his favorite song begins to play.

She curls her tiny fingers over his— everything she does is done out of wanting to keep him as close as she possibly can. Except, the only reason for this is to raise her ex-boyfriend's envy, but it is Toby who is envious. Toby may have her hand, but it is he who has her heart.

She turns to him a little, keeping a smile on her face as she does so, but her copper eyes lose their sparkle and daze, and it crushes him because he knows it is because she is looking at him now, instead of her ex-boyfriend.

"It's time for that kiss that we have been talking about," she whispers. She sounds nervous, but he knows it is a different type of nervous. It isn't butterflies swarming your stomach, sweaty palms, a voice raising two pitches higher, I'm in love with you, nervous. No, it was just anxiety that burdens her with most things she does out of the ordinary. And no matter how natural the handholding, the Eskimo kisses, the game of footsie, feels, he know it is all just an act—a game. It is all out of the ordinary, but that is only way she can win.

Her eyes flutter a little as she leans in to meet his lips for the kiss. Her lips taste like everything he ever imagined them to taste like—coffee and all the stresses of the world. They feel soft and slick and pure, while his are chapped, calloused, and tainted with all the lips he has met before that weren't Spencer's. He can feel his face become warm, and he hopes to god that she does not notice. He wants this to last forever—he wants her to act the way she acts when holding him—with all her power and might, holding him with all the strength in the world.

Instead it ends quickly. He quickly dismisses himself away from her, afraid she'll see the red blazing his cheeks.

He plays a game with a single rule—with only one objective, he can win easily, but loses like it is the hardest game in the world.

When he tells her he can't do it anymore, she seems mad, but doesn't let it show using vocal chords. Her words tell him that is okay, that she'll find another way to get him back, but her copper eyes are of livid fiery—becoming hard and still, and only furthering away from the look he wishes she give him.

It is mostly nothing after that. They try to move on to another subject, but neither have much to say. So he just leaves and descends down the same stairs he has walked ever since he knew how to walk. Except they feel different now. Everything feels different now, and he hopes that normality is not too far out of his reach. He persuades himself that the feelings with depart from him, and that everything will fall back into place, but they don't. He has entered the point of no return, and his heart was not coming back to him—not when it knew how great of a home Spencer made.

He had lost the game, why was he still playing?

It was a little over a week when she asks him why he has been avoiding her. The question is hard hitting, and the answer is deeply personal. But she is his best friend, questions like that are acceptable from her. He shouldn't be so over whelmed by it. It is simple—a blatant question, spoke with easy and smooth words, nothing about it is deceptive. There is no need for analyzing or studying its contents. It is obvious. Straight forward, and blunt. Spencer isn't the type to sugar coat things. She doesn't filter her words. She asks what she wants to know.

Maybe he should do the same.

"Because I'm in love with you," the words come out. He feels him self becoming small, the confidence in his voice vanishing away, revealing all his insecurities. He doesn't want to look her, he knows those sweet mocha eyes will just become pitiful and empathic, they won't daze with love and fulfillment. Just pity and astonishment, and he doesn't want to see that as the reaction to his profession of love. It will just hit him harder and he is already so bruised and bantered, he does not know how he is still conscience.

A second, a dragging, longing, wholesome, second later, she settles her hand on his. "Toby," her voice settles among him—soft and caring, and nurturing him back from the smallness that installed upon him. "I didn't — I didn't."

He shakes his head somberly, and snatches his hand away from her touch. "You didn't know, I know," he finds her eyes. As he predicted, there is pity and empathy and sadness. He hates being the reason for that. "And I'm sorry I told you, I just—I probably shouldn't have."

She becomes solemn and flutters her eyes a little, she doesn't deny him of the comment, she just keeps her eyes down and away from him to see.

"I hope that our friendship isn't completely ruined," he tells her before stepping away, taking small breaths as he goes. The pain settles upon him in a way that pulls and pushes and drowns and crashes, all at the same time. It is a pain of a million—all pouring into him at once, it is a flash flood and tornado, deluding his whole self at once, tearing his organs apart and draining out the blood streaming through his heart.

He loses her in so many ways. As a friend. As a first love. As an anything.

He lost the game and he lost her, and from then on, he decides the game was worthless. He would never play it again. He would only watch, not willing to bet his heart.

A/n: I didn't want to be cliche? I suck, I know. I'm not sure what it is. It is so short! Maybe it is a two shot and I'll make a happy ending, but probably not. This was weird! And I feel like I could have done a lot more with it? But w/e! Leave a review :) ?