A/N I've found a few other stories of this pairing, and I've always found the dynamic interesting.

Disclaimer: I don't own Pretty Little Liars.

I decide to tell you today. So when I see you in my second period class, I stop you when the bell rings. "Jenna?" I say. "Spencer?" you sas in return. "Yes, it's me. I want to talk to you about something important. Can you meet me at the Brew after school?" I ask. "Okay," you say, then walk away without another word.

My stomach is in knots all day, anxiously awaiting the final bell, and also nervous as to how you will react to this. When the final bell does ring, I rush to my locker and shove my books in my bag. I slam my locker door shut and exit the building. I walk slowly to the Brew, trying to think of how to say this. I don't want you to get freaked out and run or something.

When I get to the Brew, I'm relieved to find that Jenna isn't there yet. Until I notice Emily's working. She comes up to me. "Hi Spencer. What's up?" she says. "Nothing, I'm just meeting Jenna here," I say. There's no point in lying about it. Everyone will know soon enough. Her eyes narrow suspiciously but she doesn't say anything. A few minutes later, Jenna walks in, tapping her cane. My heart thumps but I get up and walk to you calm, cool, and collected. Almost. "Hey, Jenna," I say. "Hello, Spencer," you reply. "Come sit," I say, and you latche onto my hand as I guide you to the table, my heart pounding so loud (at the contact, I'm pathetic,) that I'm sure you can hear it. You sit down across from me and wait for me to talk.

"Look, Jenna, I know we aren't exactly on the best of terms, and when I say that, I know that I'm sugarcoating it, but, I like you. I want to be friends, and I'm pretty awkward at making friends subtly, so I'm just telling you," I say. You raise her eyebrows, but the rest of your face remains still, and I know you're thinking this over, analyzing it. Your big Gucci sunglasses conceal your emerald eyes. Then you lean forward, close enough for me to smell your apple body spray.

"What is this, Spencer? Because I know there's something you aren't telling me. Your voice has that tone that people's voices get when they're lying," you say quietly, and I'm shocked. I sit there for a few minutes, in stunned silence.

"There is something I'm not telling you," I admit.

"What is it?" you say.

"I'm not ready to share that yet. But I promise, it's nothing life-changing." I reply.

That was how it started. Two years ago.

And now? I'm sitting at the grave of you, my beloved, wearing my old sweatpants and a Rosewood High School sweatshirt. I can't help falling to pieces over this. Missing you. Everything about you.

We sit on the couch in your living room, watching Pitch Perfect. You've loved movies ever since you got your sight back. I haven't told you how I feel about you, even though we've been friends for seven or eight months. I keep stealing glances at you, having to be more discreet now that you can see. Suddenly, you meet my eyes. "Spencer, I know that you've been looking at me weird," you say simply. "Sorry," I mutter, not sure what else to say as I blush.

"Don't be sorry. But why?" you ask, even though I'm sure you already know.

And after that, I feel fast and hard in love with you. And then you got shot. And it was horrible. "It's not fair," I whisper to you tombstone, because it's not. How do I get to live if you don't? You were always the most amazing person. It's just not right. And you used to believe that the world had a certain way of doing things, of leveling the moral playing field for everyone. Something like Karma. So that things would never get too bad. And you really believed it. You had every reason to, and Alison Dilaurentis was proof of Karma. But I don't understand this. You did nothing wrong enough to get death.

And then I think of the what-ifs. What if you were still blind? Would you have been where you were when you were there? Doubt it. What if I had never met you? Who would I be with right now? Would I be in nearly as much pain? No? No.

Or maybe it was inevitable. Destiny-bound to happen.

Or maybe it wasn't even meant as a punishment for you. Maybe it's meant to hurt me. If so, fate did a grand job. I have a shattered heart. Or a lonely heart. Maybe both. Nice. Either way, it hurts.

Not a day goes by that I don't miss you. I miss your emerald glittering eyes. I miss how cryptic you were. How in touch with yourself and insightful you were. Everything about you was perfect.

But I guess this is good-bye. See you soon.

A/N If you didn't pick up what Spencer meant by 'see you soon', then it's probably for the best.