"I don't know," he admitted after a short pause, opening the book and flipping through to find his page. 
"You don't know?" He asked, raising his eyebrows. 
"No," he murmured, frowning as he skimmed. "I can't make up my mind. Like, listen to this. I see inexpressive facades, inexpressive faces, inexpressive gestures. Stones, bodies, ideas — all dead. All movements are one great standstill. Nothing means anything to me, not because it's unfamiliar but because I don't know what it is. The world has slipped away. And in the bottom of my soul— the only reality of this moment— there's an intense and invisible grief, a sadness like the sound of someone crying in a dark room. Hold that thought and give me a second." He skimmed again. "Okay. What I once was and will never again be! What I had and will never again have! The dead! The dead who loved me in my childhood." Solemnly, he shook his head and closed the book.
Half-mesmerised, his eyes bright and tender, the shadow of a smile on his lips, "And what about them?"
"What else can I say?" He insisted, a little desperately. He flipped through the pages again. "It's all there." Stepping back into the house, he gestured his head towards the hallway and said, "Come inside."
"So why are you unsure?" He asked, stepping in.
"Because most of the time, it depresses me," he laughed, closing the door with a click, "but I feel like I know myself better than I did before I started reading it. Sometimes he puts into words all these things that I haven't been able to and it makes the more miserable stuff worth it."
Spencer's half-smile didn't change, his voice remained quiet and earnest, and he glanced around so much that, when their eyes met, he never held Hadley's gaze for long enough before he turned away again. There was something in the glimmer of his eyes, something restrained and cautious in the way he spoke that Hadley began to eye him curiously, frowning softly.
"I was hoping you might find pieces of yourself in there," he murmured, touching his foot affectionately against Hadley's.
"I am," he murmured with a small nod, watching him closely. "Thanks for letting me read it. Sorry I'm kind of taking my time."
"You have all the time in the world," he shrugged, taking glimpses of the hallway like he was looking for something.
"Spencer," he said, tilting his head so that their eyes locked. "Are you alright?"
He touched his throat again, but did not look away. He tried to smile again, opened his mouth, closed it, turned away and sighed. "I have something to—"
"Who was at the door!" His mom yelled from the living room.
"A friend!" He yelled back, his face contorted by a scowl.
"Which friend!"
"A friend!" He called, pressing his hand to his forehead and huffing. He dropped his voice to a whisper and softened his face when he turned his attention back."Spencer—"
"Is it Isaac!" She called brightly. "Hi, Isaac!"
"No, Mom!" He frowned. "It's not Isaac! Isaac's not here!" He placed his book on the flat surface at the bottom of the bannister and gently tugged Spencer's hand away from his throat. "What's wrong?"
"Evan? Noel?"
Spencer flashed him a merciful smile and glanced towards the door. "You want me to just go in and say hello? I don't mind."
"No," Hadley frowned, shaking his head and glaring at the living room door. He squeezed Spencer's wrist."I want you to tell me what you were gonna say."