Spencer didn't contribute to the conversation about films, honestly having no idea what to say. He'd never been a massive lover of movies, finding most of them to be essentially the same, the only thing really varying in them being the people that starred in them, and even then they all looked the same. He thought there were more interesting things to do with two hours than waste it watching a fictional character's life, and so he made a habit of staying way clear of the things. Books, on the other hand, he didn't mind so much, although he couldn't actually explain why. He slowly found himself tuning out of the conversation, the voices just becoming a faint buzz as his gaze settled on the fire, watching the flames writhe and twist against each other, colours licking together until they were just a mess of oranges and yellows with the occasional violent streak of blue. It was relaxing, almost, made him forget about the craziness of the day. Part of him thought it might just all be some sick joke, a prank that someone from the high school had decided to pull in one last ditch attempt to be remembered by their classmates as legendary. He was still quite happily living in denial, and it was pretty obvious. It was only when Leon finally checked the phone that it all went down hill, and Spark's borderline calm was ruptured completely. 

At first, Spencer wasn't even sure if he wanted to see the text, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him and he'd peered over the shoulder of someone else while they were looking, but even just one small glance was enough to make his stomach turn. He felt sick, physically sick, as a wave of familiarity struck him, gaze catching one of the dead figures that had tried to flee. He knew him. Max. They'd been friends, or, at least, mutually friendly with each other. They'd sit together at lunch, hell, Spark had even been round to his house when his parents got in heated arguments and he needed to leave. He was possibly the closest friend Spencer had, and now he was lying on the cold, hard ground, bullets ripped through his torso. Eyes widening, he practically stumbled backwards, a slight tremor running through his left hand as he swallowed hard, trying to remove the lump that was threatening to form in his throat. 

It was all too real. 
It was all too stressful.
Spark couldn't cope. 

"I - uh-" he stammered, feeling like everyone was watching him, maybe even laughing. He needed a way to calm down or he felt like he was just going to explode in front of them all, his inability to deal with stressful situations the same way as everyone else crippling him right when he needed to get over it most. 

"I need a fucking cigarette," he finally finished, suddenly realising his fingers had been drumming against the almost full packet since he got here. He was well aware that going off for a cigarette was probably the worst idea right now, especially if it meant he'd be left alone in a situation where he had a lighter and everything around him was flammable, but he'd just have to risk it. He turned and walked away from the group, offering Henry a nervous smile as he accidentally brushed his shoulder, almost forgetting he was even there. He doubted anyone was about to come after him, and to be honest, he didn't really want them too. Leon, Lillah and Henry seemed nice, but the rest? Spencer couldn't be sure. He wasn't good with loud, talkative people, and it was already starting to show. Shrugging the thought away, Spark pulled a cigarette out of the packet and lit it, shaking hand stilled as it clutched his lighter, tight grip turning his knuckles white. He'd get over this - he had to.