He wasn't sure what time he sat down and he wasn't sure how long he'd been there, but people drove in, slammed their doors, passed him, some with a glance, some without any acknowledgement at all, and left a few minutes later, driving off again, leaving the parking lot in a constantly changing, half-abandoned state.
Then, after being passed by faces he took no notice of, he noticed a figure emerging from the traffic-polluted not-really-darkness that he could feel walking towards him, but they remained a blur at the edge of his peripheral vision. He did not turn to look up until they stopped in front of him, blocking out a patch of the starless sky.
"What are you doing?" Spencer asked, the fuzz of a white street lamp forming a dim halo around his head. He was wearing a black fleece and old, loose jeans, one of his hands shoved in his pocket and the other dangling at his side, jangling his car keys. His face was lit by the reflecting red neon sign above the store, still and impenetrable in that distant way he had.
"Oh my god," Hadley gasped, peering up at him, too cold to move his hands out of his pockets and straighten his posture. "What the hell happened to your face?"
"Shut up," he snapped, shaking his head and turning away. The discoloration of his dark bruise, swollen on the right side of his jaw, was violent under that ruby light; his cheekbones sharp and the hollows under his eyes more prominent than usual, a shadow forming over the bridge of his nose. "What are you doing?"
"Sitting," he shrugged, staring up at that vast space above them. Wryly, he added, "Stargazing."
"There are no stars," Spencer replied flatly, without turning around. "There are never any stars here. What are you doing?"
"Sitting," he insisted, pulling his coat collar higher around his neck, huddling back into it and tucking his hands away again. "Just sitting and thinking."
Dubiously, hesitantly, Spencer frowned and turned around, gazing briefly across the parking lot, before looking down at him again. "Are you waiting for someone?"
"No," he said, half-laughing, his brows drawing into a frown. "I'm not waiting for anyone. I'm not doing anything."
Again, he hesitated and, again, turned to look around the mostly vacant parking lot as if looking for an answer there, then turned back towards Hadley and asked, "What are you thinking about?"
"Just thinking," he murmured. Trying to keep everything I've loved alive. Trying to keep everything I've known and still did not love alive.
"Whatever," Spencer muttered and he stepped onto the curb without another word while Hadley stayed where he was, listening to the automatic doors slide open and closed behind him.
Minutes passed, but Hadley considered that it also could've been hours and that it also could've been a few lifetimes and that it also could've been a single second, before he came back out. 
The doors slid open and closed again. His footsteps were brisk and decisive, a march on that hard, frozen ground, and he stopped behind where he was sitting, his presence almost tangible. 
"Seriously," he began, half-desperately, "what are you doing?"
"I told you what I'm doing," Hadley replied. His face was so bitten by cold that he almost couldn't feel it and, even inside the warmth of his pockets, his hands were beginning to turn numb. 
Truthfully, he couldn't have explained it any other way. There was no solid, real reason that he could hold onto, that he could use to explain why he was sitting there other than he did not feel like moving. He did not feel as though his body was capable of standing up, of doing the walk home, of going upstairs to his room and changing, and going to bed. He felt more like a rock than a body, more like a statue than a person, though his heart throbbed strenuously and his stomach was tight with hunger.