luna𝜗𝜚

𖦹 summary for as long as you could remember, you have always had the rest of your life planned out and at the center of it all was sam winchester. all your heart desired was to fill your days with his company. and if he gets to have a future, he wants it to be with you. one thing after other leads to a heated argument and thoughts buried deep down get brought up to the surface. with a painful goodbye, he leaves you behind and sets off for college. as the years pass you move on. until while on the job you spot the eyes you once so deeply loved, and you start to question wether you’d been lying to yourself the whole time. 𖦹 pairing sam winchester x gn!reader 𖦹 content/tags angst, slight mention of childhood abuse, happy ending? i could do a pt2 ;), no use of y/n 𖦹 w/c 2.5k

The first and only boy you’ve ever loved is Sam Winchester.

You’re not sure exactly when it happened. No certain thing that you can pinpoint as the reason why your heart has only ever belonged to him.

You guess its been a gradual thing—like the slow turning of seasons you never quite notice until the air feels different.

It was in the quiet moments.

In the almosts.

You think, maybe, you fell in love with him in pieces.

Playing together as children as the only light in a childhood which was filled by darkness. Hiding from your parents, fantasizing about one day running away from it all—running far enough that the bad things wouldn’t be able to find you.

Because back then, it felt possible and beautiful. Even if it was for a moment.

But it felt like it would last forever. Like if you had him, nothing else mattered. Not the monsters, not the life you were brought up in, not even the battles you were fighting in your mind. All you needed was him, and he would love your shame away.

He’d whisper plans into the dark, mapping out a future that felt so real you could almost touch it. A small place somewhere no one knew your names. Sunlight through open windows. Peace.

Always peace.

And you would listen—really listen—nodding along, adding little details here and there, like you were just as desperate to believe in it as he was.

Like you needed it just as much.

But even then, there were cracks. The truth creeping into the crevices of your mind the closer this possibility came to a reality.

Deep down inside of you the feeling that you could never leave this life gnawed at you. You were too submerged into it, it’s all you’ve ever known. It's what was beaten into you as a child. It isn’t easy to leave a habit you’ve had your whole life.

A burnt child loves the fire.

And you could tell that Sam was the opposite. He couldn’t wait to leave behind the nightmares he was forced to fight —to trade blood and bruises for books and something that resembled normal.

You could see it in the way his eyes lingered on campus brochures like they were lifelines. In how his voice would soften when he talked about lectures and libraries, about a life where the biggest problem was an exam and not whether you’d make it through the night.

He wanted out.

Not just to run—but to escape.

And you… you didn’t know how to want that.

Out there, in the world he dreamed of, you weren’t sure who you’d be.

Or if you'd be anything at all.

But maybe loving him would be enough. Because you loved him more than you loved living. So, really, it should be easy to learn how to accept something that he wants, right? You were made up of bits and pieces of things he adores that you've incorporated into yourself anyway.

You'll never recover from that kind of devotion.

But one thing Sam was good at was noticing. He was so tuned into you that he could read you just by your breathing.

So, he noticed how you would slowly get quieter each time you talked about your future. He saw it in your eyes, heard it in your tone. He could tell you were reluctant, but he also knew that in your heart, buried deep inside, you wanted it.

He tried to slowly change your mind. Make you more used to the idea of a simple, boring life.

But it was futile.

Because the more he tried to reshape the future, the more you felt yourself slipping out of it.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want what he wanted.

It was that you didn’t know how to exist in it.

A life without constant vigilance felt foreign, almost wrong. Like stepping into a story that wasn’t written for you. And no matter how gently Sam tried to guide you there, no matter how carefully he painted it out for you—soft mornings, quiet nights, safety—you couldn’t stop the voice in your head that whispered you didn’t belong in something that peaceful.

That you’d ruin it.

That you’d ruin him.

And Sam… he could see that, too.

And you could see that he was drifting away from you. Not that he was falling out of love, just disconnecting.

The flickers of frustration in his eyes that he tried to hide when you hesitated. He understood you, he really did. He slowly started to want a free life more than he wanted a life chained down by hunting with you. Maybe sometimes love wasn't enough.

Some things are meant to happen but not to last.

But like you didn’t know a life outside of hunting, you didn’t know a life outside of him.

You forced yourself to put on a face every time he’d talk about college, nodded your head like you were listening and understood. But you didn’t. Didn’t understand how he could so easily think about leaving the job behind him.

You told yourself to love was to sacrifice.

You could turn yourself into what he needed.

But love, you would come to learn, isn’t supposed to feel like slowly erasing yourself.

And Sam…

Sam was starting to realize that, too.

He loved you too much to push you into being miserable, it was far too cruel a fate for you.

He couldn't imagine a life for himself where he dies at the hands of the job instead of old age either.

It happens slowly at first. He stopped talking of the future as often. He wouldn’t mention anything past the next day. A small part of you hoped that it was because he changed his mind. But you knew he would never close that window, the view was too beautiful.

One night, the invisible string that intertwined the two of you together snapped.

It wasn't even anything big.

That’s the worst part.

Just another hopeless conversation about the future—his future.

You’re sitting across from him, knees almost touching, but it feels like there’s miles between you.

“You didn’t even read it, did you?” he asks, voice quieter than you’ve ever heard it.

You blink. “I did—”

“No, you looked at it.” His jaw tightens, fingers tapping restlessly against his leg. “You do this every time. You shut down.”

“I’m not shutting down.”

“Then what is it?” His voice lifts, not quite yelling, but close enough that it makes your chest tighten. “Because every time I try to talk about this, it’s like I’m talking to a wall.”

“I listen. I enjoy listening to you talk about it.” You protested.

“You’re not supposed to just listen; you have to communicate with me. It’s your future too.” He knew it stopped being yours a long time ago. One last attempt.

You hesitate for a second. A second is all it takes to break everything apart.

Sam blinks.

You both realize this is the last conversation you’ll have about this one way or another.

You cant force the stars to align when they’ve already died.

“You’re just telling me what you think I want to hear.” He snaps.

He never snaps.

It hits you harder than you expected.

“Maybe because every time I tell you the truth, you look at me like I’m the problem.”

His expression falters for just a second, but it’s enough.

“I never said you were the problem.”

“You don’t have to say it,” you shoot back, your voice breaking despite your best efforts. “I can see it, Sam. Every time I hesitate, every time I don’t jump at the idea of leaving everything behind, you look at me like I’m holding you back.”

“Because you are!” The words come out sharp, immediate—and the second they’re in the air, you both freeze.

The silence is deafening.

How unfair that you're physically closer than your souls have been in months.

Sam runs a hand through his hair. “That’s not—I didn’t mean it like that.”

“But you did.” Your voice is quieter now. Not angry. Just… tired. “You meant it exactly like that.”

He has for a while. You figure he’s been checked out for longer than you thought.

He looks at you like he’s trying to understand why you can’t overcome your fear for him.

But then again, he was choosing freedom over you, so maybe he wasn’t much different.

“I can’t stay here,” he says, softer this time, but somehow it hurts more. “I can’t keep doing this. This life—it’s killing me. And I thought…” He trails off, shaking his head. “I thought you’d understand.”

“I do understand,” you whisper a lie. “I just can’t be what you need.”

In a way, you’re the one who ruined this. You did it yourself.

Why couldn’t you change for him?

“I don’t want to lose you.”

“Then don’t leave.”

It comes out too fast. Too desperate.

But you already know what he’s going to say.

He made the choice long before this.

“I have to. For me”

“Why can’t you stay for me?” You know that isn’t fair. But you’ve always been selfish. And you knew it. That was the worst part. You knew.

“Don’t do that,” he says. “Don’t make it sound like I’m choosing to—”

“You are choosing,” you cut him off, tears blurring your vision. “Just not me.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Neither is this!”

Your voice echoes in the silence that follows, louder than you intended, but you don’t take it back.

Because it’s true.

It’s all true.

Sam looks at you like he wants to say something—like there are a thousand words sitting on the tip of his tongue—but none of them come out.

Because there’s nothing left to say.

Not when the truth is already laid bare between you.

“I’m leaving”

Of course he is. You knew this too.

It doesn’t make it easier to accept.

He waits for a moment. For you to stop him. To say something that will make him stay.

But you don’t.

You never did.

You love each other, you do, and here’s the tragedy. It isn’t enough.

The story still ends.

The first few days feel unreal.

Like you’re suspended in something that hasn’t quite settled yet. You still expect to hear his voice, still catch yourself turning to tell him things that don’t matter—small, insignificant details that somehow always felt important when he was there to listen.

But he isn’t.

How weird it is to be haunted by someone that is still alive.

And slowly, painfully, that absence starts to take shape.

You’re forced to live in the after him. Learn how to untangle him from your day to day.

The hardest thing you’ve both done is walk away still madly in love.

Missing him comes in waves and most nights you’re drowning.

But you continue fighting. Continue doing the thing that tore you apart.

Because the only thing you ever knew besides him was hunting and especially now you needed a constant in your life.

Days blur into weeks. Weeks into months. You keep moving because that’s what you’ve always done.

But your memory loves him. It asks about him all the time.

You have something in your heart for him that will die only when you do.

Every corner you turn reminds you of a time when you still had him. He haunts you at all places.

He’s everywhere.

And you try to trick your mind into believing that this was okay. That your life was normal, nothing was missing.

You tell yourself you’ve moved on.

You get good at saying it, too.

Good enough that eventually, it almost sounds like the truth.

Years pass.

You grow into yourself in ways you never thought you would. The life you once believed you could never leave behind becomes something you navigate with ease. You get sharper. Colder, maybe. Less willing to hold onto things that aren’t meant to stay.

You stop looking for him in crowded rooms.

Stop expecting to see him where he doesn’t belong anymore.

And when you finally start to think that it isn’t just convincing yourself anymore, that you’ve truly gotten over him, right when you stop looking for him, he shows up.

It’s just another hunt. Another constant.

You hear it before you see him—the familiar scuffle, the unmistakable sound of someone struggling against something not quite human. Instinct takes over. You move without thinking, weapon raised, you swipe, cut, another creature hits the ground and then you realize.

You recognize him, you know him. It feels like from a dream or another life where you haven’t finished loving each other.

For a second, neither of you move.

It’s like the world narrows down to just the two of you, everything else fading into the background. He looks older. Harder. The softness you once knew still lingers somewhere beneath the surface, but it’s buried now, hidden behind something worn and weathered.

Too familiar.

Because you recognize it.

It’s the same look you see in the mirror.

The look created by something that means too much to let go.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me,” you breathe, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Sam blinks, like he’s trying to make sure you’re real. “I could say the same thing.”

And there it is.

That voice.

Older, deeper—but still his.

Still yours, in a way that makes your chest ache.

“You’re—” Your eyes flick over him quickly, taking in the weapons, the stance, the way he holds himself. “You’re hunting.”

It’s not a question.

His jaw tightens slightly. “Yeah.”

And it stings. The feeling that all the years lost between you were for no reason.

He fought so hard for what he wanted, hard enough to lose you in the process, just for him to circle back.

He left you behind to live his dream, yet he still came back to where you were stuck.

Of course this is how it ends up.

There are a million and one questions on your tongue.

Why did you come back?

Was it worth it?

Did you ever think about me?

But you couldn’t speak. It felt like you were trapped in a loop of the past.

But despite everything—despite the years, the distance, the way you’ve both changed—some things haven’t.

The tension. The pull. The way your heart betrays you instantly, like no time has passed at all.

Like he didn’t leave.

Like you didn’t learn how to live without him.

Like you’ve traveled back in time and you’d just finished a hunt, together, and you’re going to go back to the motel you would call home for a week and lose yourself in each other.

But you’re not going to. All you’d go home to was the hum of the fridge.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

You swallow, steadying yourself, forcing your grip tighter around your weapon.

“Yeah,” you say quietly.“Me neither.”

But the truth lingers between you, unspoken and undeniable—some things don’t stay buried.

No matter how hard you try.

౨ৎ summary she wasn't ever the picture-perfect student. that is, until she started going to his lectures. top of the class, always challenging his points and asking several questions. maybe she even harbors a secret infatuation for her professor, but it's never supposed to go further than that. that is until participating in class turns into lingering looks which leads to long after-hours meetings in his office. and spencer? he never should've lost focus at work. because now he can't help but cross the line and get tangled up in her messed-up life. ౨ৎ pairing professor!spencer reid x student!fem!reader ౨ৎ content/tags no use of y/n, suggestive content and slight smut? but not really explicit/descriptive , age gap, teacher/student relationship, reader can be perceived as naive and soft, they both become obsessed with each other and quickly ౨ৎ w/c 2k

Spencer has always thought that participating in workplace relationships was the most foolish mistake a person can make. They were always unnecessarily messy and distracted you from actually doing your job. So, he never indulged, never even wished to. He expected nothing different when he took up the job as a professor at Marbury University.

Teaching, in theory, was simple. Organized lectures, predictable schedules, the quiet hum of a classroom filled with students scribbling down notes while he spoke. Spencer liked the structure of it. It allowed him to do what he did best—share knowledge, analyze ideas, and challenge young minds. Though, as he had expected, no one fancied being there. It was just another requirement, another class to survive so they can get one step closer to their degree.

And that's precisely what made her stand out.

She wasn't the type of person that gave much effort to participating in classes. Always too shy to say anything, preferring to quietly sit through the lecture and keep her head down. Yet when she first stepped into Spencer's class, she felt an undeniable pull towards him. She couldn't focus on a single word he said during the whole class, all of her thoughts circling around different images of him, some soft and sweet, others lustful and reeking of desire. Her eyes roamed every inch of him, from head to toe. It wasn't just a sexual pull; it was something more. Like a certain part of her brain had been turned off up until she saw him, which she felt crazy for thinking. She'd just met the man. Yet how does she look away now that she's seen him?

And oh, did he notice her too.

At first, it was just another class to him, another set of students. He didn't particularly like any of them, found no reason to. Yet somehow, his eyes locked with the girl sitting in the last row. He looked at her and light went all through him. He almost stumbled over his words, bewildered at the sudden strange feeling going through him.

It was brief—so brief most of the class didn’t notice it. A pause in the middle of a sentence, a fraction of a second where his train of thought slipped from his grasp. Spencer recovered quickly, of course. He always did. Years of lecturing, profiling, and speaking under pressure had made him excellent at that.

Still, the feeling lingered.

Because when he looked at her again, she was still staring.

She didn't look at him with the boredom or curiosity the rest of them did, it was different. Her eyes so sad, and intimately kind. He felt as if though he could read her like a book, but also not truly know who she was behind those eyes. She was like art, not perfect, but beautiful enough to write poetry in your bones.

When that class ended, and they were both in their own homes, in the dark of night, their thoughts trailed to the other. Different fantasies cooking up in their heads. What if he asked her to stay after class? What if she goes up to him and pulls him into the quiet of another room? Was it stupid to be thinking like this? He's not the type of man to meddle in the life of someone in a position below him. She's not the type of woman to chase after a man she's seeing for the first time. Yet in the quiet of her room, she can't help but let a lone hand travel down her body, tracing a path of desire on her skin, that small moment being the most she's felt in a long time.

And he doesn't stop the thoughts of memorizing every single part of her, inside and out.

With each passing day, her obsession with him grows. With every lesson she becomes bolder, raising her hand more, giving him soft looks she can't control, and every time his eyes flick to her all he can notice is the way her soft lips look biting on her pen when she gets too focused.

He likes that she challenges him, he wasn't used to it. No one ever questioned him deeper, always agreeing with what he says. And here she was, soft, seeming deeper than anyone around her emotionally.

She knew that provoking him was wrong, daydreaming about being trapped between her professor and his desk, surrounded by his rough tenderness, was unethical. He was her shame. Still, all she wanted was to fill her mouth with his name.

It takes a person a lot of strength to resist something they really want. She wasn't a strong person. Her heads too up in the clouds, she doesn't fit in. So, when she couldn't prevent her path from veering towards him after everyone has left, the taut wire being pulled between them in the empty room, she isn't surprised.

“I… I have questions,” she murmured, though the words felt hollow even to her own ears. Questions about the lecture, yes, but not the kind that could be answered with statistics or case studies.

The moment he hears her voice something in him shifts. He's suddenly much more vigilant and as he looks at her, he fights the urge to break every rule he's set for himself. She was his idea of an angel.

“I’ve noticed,” he said carefully, almost a whisper. “You ask a lot of questions.”

Her heart thumped. It wasn’t the words themselves—it was the way he said them, as if he was studying her with every syllable, memorizing the subtle shifts in her expression, tracking the tiny movements that betrayed her composure.

“Just… trying to understand,” she breathed, voice trembling despite herself.

She stepped closer without thinking. Just a small movement, almost imperceptible, but enough for him to notice. His gaze dropped to her lips for the briefest fraction of a second, enough to set something alight in her chest that had been smoldering since the first lecture.

The room was empty. The lecture hall silent. Only their breathing and the faint rustle of papers on his desk filled the space.

But neither of them gave in, not tonight. It was almost as if the tension and waiting was just as, if not more arousing, than the thought of their limbs tangled together.

She asked questions related to the lesson and he answered every last one of them. Her body sometimes leaned towards him, his voice slowing down, looking at each other with an undeniable fire in both of their gazes.

When she left, he couldn't ignore the lust growing deep inside him. It was all he could focus on and it disturbed him how he wasn't opposed to throwing away all the morals he's stood for his whole life.

She was no different. Maybe she was always destined to fall for an older man, searching for the love she never got from her father. She felt special whenever he paid her attention, like she was worth more than what her mind had labeled her as.

That wasn't the last time she stayed after class. It became an almost daily routine, the only part of school either of them grew to look forward to. The questions continued, though slowly they grew more and more personal, and he entertained her.

He was always the person to ramble on about a topic, but when it came to her, all he wanted to do was listen. He listened as she talked and talked, half listening and half letting his eyes trail her while he imagines every possible way he can take her in that very room, or every way he’d let her unravel him, piece by piece, until nothing of the careful, controlled man remained.

She didn’t realize the effect she had on him. How the soft brush of her hand as she flipped pages made his chest tighten. How the quick intake of breath she didn’t notice made his pulse spike. How the scent of her shampoo, faint but intoxicating, lingered on her neck and pulled at a part of him he’d never admit existed.

And she, in turn, could feel it—the way he watched her, the subtle shift in his posture when she leaned closer, the almost imperceptible tension in his hands as he scribbled notes or adjusted his glasses. It wasn’t just admiration; it wasn’t just curiosity—it was need. Raw, consuming need, and it terrified her, thrilled her, and made her ache in places she had never admitted to aching before.

Sometimes, she caught herself imagining his lips against hers, the heat of his hands tracing her body as he pressed her against the edge of his desk, whispering her name like a prayer. Sometimes, she imagined him softer, tender, tracing the contours of her face with the same care he gave his lectures, memorizing her in ways that went beyond words or numbers.

There wasn't any turning back now, he understood her. To be understood was her desire and he gave that to her.

A day came where he wasn't able to stay long after class has ended. The room emptied, everyone filing out. Everyone but her. She was still sitting at her usual place, not making a move to head out. He walked up to her, stared at her long and hard before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

His voice was rough when he spoke "I can't stay today," was all he said before leaving, not sticking around long enough to hear a response.

She was frozen, the place where his fingers lightly brushed against her cheek immediately feeling cold.

Every nerve in her body was screaming for him—screaming for the touch, the attention, the dangerous pull that had been building between them since the first day of class. But he was gone, and the empty lecture hall felt impossibly vast, a cruel reminder of everything they were denying themselves.

And after Spencer left? He decided on something dangerous. Something that would change everything. But his mind was made up. He couldn't bear anymore resisting. They wouldn't be good together, but they're worse apart. He was going to make it up to her the next time.

And when that day came, when she walked up to his desk ready with a new set of questions, she felt the air shift. She knew something was different, a different type of electricity lingering between the two of them.

Just as she opened her mouth to talk, he was on her. And she knows, she has never felt this good before. The aching, dark delight of embracing a sin. His mouth all-consuming on hers, tongue exploring every inch as if this was the last time, and he must memorize every part of her.

Her hands tangle in his hair, and everything else is forgotten. All they could focus on is each other in the haze of limbs. They slowly revealed every inch of themselves; nothing left to the unknown. Her bare back pressed against the cold wooden desk as he lingered above her, putting exceptional care into worshipping every part of her body in every way he can.

And after? He doesn't leave her in the cold room, alone and reeling. She doesn't deserve that; she deserves everything and more than what he could give her. He could take apart his very essence and hand it to her on a silver platter, yet it still would not be enough.

He takes her to his home and repeats it all again and again until he isn't sure where he ends and she begins.

All her blood is aflame with passion.

Even when it's all done and she's laying on his bed in the dead of night, he never leaves the home he's built for himself in her mind.

Does this make them lovers?

Maybe.

It's something tender, like a bruise.

No matter how many days pass, the desire never subsides. Possibly it's the thrill of sneaking around, or just maybe it's because this is the most both of them have ever felt. They deepen the red of each other's blood.

ㅤꨄ︎summary one blurry night the line that you and your co-worker have been teetering on gets crossed in a drunken daze. in its absence you're left with endless questions and days full of painfully obvious awkward tension in the office. will you finally put a label on the odd dynamic you share, or did one choice ruin everything? ㅤꨄ︎pairing spencer reid x gn!reader ㅤꨄ︎content/tags no use of y/n, slightly suggestive content but nothing explicit, two people with feelings and everyone knows but them, a little angst but fluffy ending, maybe a bit of mischaracterization but i hope not a lot, reader is a bit sensitive and the main focus is their feelings, they are both so oblivious to each other, i think thats it?? ㅤꨄ︎w/c 2.3k ㅤꨄ︎a/n this is my first fic and i dont really know exactly where im going with it so i apologize for any mistakes, feedback is welcome! :]

It was an unusual thing for you to have one-night stands. You were never one to appreciate fleeting intimacy and didn't understand how it was so easy for people to do the whole "no attachments" thing. After all, you were a hopeless romantic at your core. Always a devouring desire to love, never pulling back when the inevitable pain stings too sharply. Yet you continue to love. Continue to forgive. Continue to grow. Good things take time. So, it was even stranger when your first true one-night stand was with a person you never in a million years would've expected it to be with.

Spencer Reid.

The most maddening part was that you've been endlessly pining over him since you first joined the BAU and what you were waiting for was wasted on a night after one too many drinks.

The team had just finished with an exceptionally difficult case and decided it called for a celebration. After long hours of persuasion, you were six drinks in too deep and surprisingly enough, so was Spencer. In the rare moments he decided to accompany the team to their outings, he never dared touch anything more than a simple water, so it came as nothing less of a shock when he indulged too. You had known that as of recently, he'd been having a harder time swallowing down some of the cases, still you never expected him to drink away the feelings at a bar.

The rest of the night was spent in an exchange of stolen stares, which led to you two talking and sitting suspiciously close to each other and finally in a hazy walk to his apartment in a flurry of limbs, clothes and feelings way too good to name.

The events are like a jigsaw a puzzle you can't solve, long hours pondering on a way to put everything together but never quite there. A touch. A kiss. One round. Two rounds. Three. Things you've never felt before and highs you think you'll be chasing for the rest of your life. Your fingers pulling on his incredibly soft hair. His long fingers creating paths all along your body. Small flashes.

There's only one thing you can remember and it's exactly the kind of thing you want to forget. Waking up in his bed, tangled together and with the horrible realization of what has happened dawning on you. In a panic you dress and leave. You never thought you'd be the type of person to ditch in the morning, but when it's someone you're fairly sure you're in love with, morals start to blur.

This is all your mind has been able to focus on for the past three days. Every train of thought inevitably leads to Spencer. Which was nothing less but painful when your time at the office was spent in ignoring and avoiding each other.

Three whole days of silence that stretched like a live wire.

Three days of avoiding eye contact.

Three days of conversations that stopped the moment one of you entered the room.

Three days of wondering the same haunting question.

Had it meant anything?

It certainly did to you.

Which made everything infinitely more unbearable. Ever since that night it feels like your world has shifted on its axis. Sometimes you could feel parts of your body tingling, like it still remembered his soft and desperate touch even if your mind couldn't. The worst part wasn't even what had happened. It was Spencer. Long work hours you had once filled with listening to him talk on and on, coffee and friendly debates now felt empty. Every single time when you'd lock eyes and he immediately looks in a different direction; it chips another piece of your heart away.

The most tragic part is that everyone noticed too. It was strange the first day, when neither of you exchanged a single word. It started getting concerning by the second. And when the third day rolled around, you were being buried in a pile of questions, to which you could only answer "I don't know".

Spencer had perfected the art of almost being near you without actually interacting with you. If you were in the break room, he suddenly remembered he had paperwork. If you walked into the bullpen, he found an excuse to disappear into the archives. Once, you ran into him in the copy room. You both froze, the silence incredibly loud. You thought about saying something, anything to try and mend the cracks in your relationship but just as you were about to say something, he muttered a quiet "Sorry," and bolted out of the room.

Something you missed more than the amazingly hot night you shared, was him. You missed him so much that you could physically feel his sudden absence in your life. Sitting at your desk, all you wanted to do was get up and go beg him to ramble on about anything he could think of. Because you'd listen. You stared at the files on your desk, willing yourself to read through them, when you noticed something that wasn't supposed to be there. A case you hadn't worked on. It was like the world was sending you a sign to talk to him, try and fix things. Mustering up every last drop of courage you have, you picked up the file and so very slowly made your way to Spencer's desk.

Hearing footsteps nearing towards him, he looked up. Your eyes locked, and it felt like these past days didn't even matter. Like it was just the two of you alone again, getting lost in the essence of each other, clandestine moments that are no one else's but yours. Until he quickly turned his head away. Your body deflated, already missing the warmth of his stare.

"These are for you. They were on my desk, I didn't work this case," you stumbled through the sentences, your brain not working fast enough to produce words.

"Uh, thanks. Just leave them there," he mumbled out. You sighed, setting them down on his desk. Still standing there, you couldn't help but stare. It's been a while since you really looked at him, and now that you've started, you can't seem to stop. He feels the weight of your gaze on him and can see you still standing there from his peripheral vision. His eyes flick for a second, just a mere second before looking away again.

The movement is small, but it’s enough to make your chest tighten.

"Spencer?" you break the silence, his name soft and bitter on your tongue. He doesn't look up. The only tell that he even heard you is the crease between his brows which you fight the overwhelming urge not to smooth out with your thumb. You stand for a moment more before you turn away and rush to the empty conference room.

The moment you enter, your legs give out and you slump down on the nearest chair. You're never one to lose composure at work, but the world just feels so heavy. Spencer, who would never dare to ignore you, can't even look your way for more than a second. You wish you wouldn't take things so hard, that you were the type of person to move on and not let the dam break at every inconvenience. You carry your pain so gently, people often mistake it for peace. Rivulets descend down your face before you can even try to hold them back.

Behind you, you hear a quiet creak and then a door closing. You slowly turn around, already wiping at your face and weaving a web of excuses to give to whoever just entered until you see a glimpse of Spencer's unmistakable soft eyes.

For a moment neither of you speak.

He stands near the door like he isn’t sure if he’s allowed to be here, hand still resting against the wood like he might bolt at any second, still not quite set on the decision he made to follow you here. His expression shifts the moment he takes in your face—your red eyes, the tear tracks you failed to wipe away in time.

Concern flashes across his features so quickly it almost hurts to see.

Embarrassment flares in your chest, the last thing you wanted being him out of all people to see you in a state you rarely ever showed.

“Sorry,” you mumble, voice thick despite your attempt to sound normal. “I’ll be out in a second.”

You stand too quickly, chair scraping loudly against the floor. You can't bear another humiliating moment with him, anything more and you're sure the damage made will be irreparable.

But as you try to move past him—

“Wait.” it stops you dead in your tracks. It's the most emotion you've heard in his voice since that night, and it sends sparks flying through your body.

Spencer shifts where he stands, clearly uncomfortable, clearly conflicted. You can practically hear the gears in his head turning, the thousand calculations he must be running on what the right thing to say is.

"You're crying."

You let out a humorless little laugh.

“Yes, Spencer. That tends to happen.”

He winces slightly at the edge in your voice.

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know what you meant.”

You think that after all the silence shared between the two of you, you'd be used to it by now. Yet it still weighs heavy on you, all the unspoken things lingering in the air, aching to be addressed.

You sigh, "I'm sorry- for this, I was just leaving."

"You don't have to apologize for being upset," the sincerity in his voice almost turns the faucets on again. You missed the sound of his voice, even when he was stating facts you'll probably never need in your life again. You missed your person.

"You won't even look at me," your voice cracks, sounding much more vulnerable than you've ever let yourself be around him.

He goes still. Your words hit a mark.

"I didn't think you wanted me to."

You almost barked a laugh at how ridiculous that was. All you could've possibly wanted these days was for him to look at you. To say absolutely anything to stop the overwhelming thoughts that wouldn't stop spinning around in your head.

"What?"

His eyes finally fully meet yours in what has felt like forever.

"You left," that hits you like a punch. Of course. You left. What else could he have thought?

"You didn't say anything. You didn't wake me up. You just...left"

It doesn't sound like he's accusing you. You recognize the feeling in his voice because it's all you've felt these past few days. He's hurt. And so were you.

"I'm sorry."

Spencer's brows pull together. "Why?"

Because you love him. Because you couldn't bear the thought of being just a one-night stand to him. Because what if he only likes you then, and when the alcohol in his system wears off, he realizes it was a mistake?

"I'm not just a one-time thing. I don't want to be that to you."

He blinks. Once. Twice.

"That's not true"

The words come out quickly, almost desperate.

Your heart stutters.

“It meant something,” he repeats, quieter this time.

You stare at him blankly. Your mind waging a war on whether or not he's telling the truth or just trying to ease your pain. You search his face. His ears are red and he's fidgeting with the sleeves of his cardigan; he couldn't ever really lie to you.

"You've been avoiding me every single day. You can't stand being in the same room as me."

“That’s because I thought you regretted it,” he blurts out.

You pause.

“What?”

“I woke up and you were gone,” he says again, softer now. “And statistically speaking, people usually leave like that when they’re trying to avoid an uncomfortable conversation afterward.”

"I would never regret anything when it comes to you," the truth rolls of your tongue, a weight being lifted off your shoulders with every word you exchanged.

He takes a tentative step closer, unsure of what else he could possibly do. "I'm sorry."

You soften. Deep down you knew that Spencer wouldn't abandon and forget you, but when your mind sets itself on something, it's hard to believe anything else.

"I do wish it hadn't happened though."

His words startle you. You think you must be getting whiplash from how contradicting he's being. "What?"

His eyes widen, words stumbling out of his mouth in an almost illegible manner "I-I didn't mean it like that- obviously I wish it happened, I've been wishing for something to happen for a while, I just- what I wanted to say- I mean I would've preferred if we weren't both intoxicated."

You smile, the first genuine smile you've had in days. If you'd been a more confrontational person surely you would have resolved this by now. It's such a funny thought to you, and all you can feel are warm bursts in your chest so you couldn't help yourself from grabbing his tie and pulling him towards you.

Spencer is shocked, definitely freezes for a second, but when his lips meet yours, they're soft. All you can focus on is his shy hands slowly resting on your waist, not possessive, just present. Your arms wrap around his neck, and as your lips move one against another it's all soft and sweet.

This is exactly what it should've been like, and you definitely won't forget it.

"I should- probably take- you- on a real- date," he tries to mumble out through kisses, but you can't help yourself and keep pulling him back in.

A soft "Mhm" leaves you, which is all you really want to say.

The only people probably happier than you two are the team which may or may not be seeing the full show through the glass.