Mathis Monet

You had a problem.

A Spencer Reid problem.

Specifically, the fact that he was your boyfriend, he was right there, and you weren’t currently kissing him. A travesty, really.

Which is why you found yourself sneaking into the BAU’s break room, where he was hunched over a case file, completely unaware of the ambush about to take place.

You struck swiftly.

“Spence,” you whined, draping yourself over his back. He jolted slightly but relaxed instantly as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

“Hi?” he chuckled, setting his file down.

“Missed you,” you mumbled, pressing a kiss to the side of his face. Then another. Then one to the bridge of his nose. Then—

“Sweetheart, we’ve been at work together all day,” he reminded you, but his voice was soft, utterly pliant under your affection.

“Okay? And?” You cupped his face, pulling him toward you so you could kiss his forehead, then his temple, then his cheek. He was warm and a little pink, and it made you want to smother him even more.

Spencer was laughing now, squirming as you peppered kisses all over his face. “Sweeth—”

“No, no talking,” you shushed him, holding his face firmly in your hands and attacking him with more kisses. His lips, his jaw, his nose—you didn’t care. “You are so cute, and you’re my boyfriend, and I can kiss you whenever I want, and I will.”

Spencer groaned, but it was ruined by the way he melted into you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m in love,” you corrected dramatically, grinning against his skin.

And then—

“Ahem.”

You froze.

Spencer froze.

You both turned in slow horror to see Hotch standing in the doorway, arms crossed, a blank but deeply unimpressed expression on his face.

“I, uh—” you started. “Was just looking for—” You grabbed the nearest object, which happened to be a spoon. “—this.”

Hotch blinked.

Spencer, completely red-faced, buried his face in his hands.

“Right,” Hotch said flatly.

You nodded, clutching the spoon like it was your lifeline. “Very important. Needed it.”

With that, you turned on your heel and walked out like nothing had happened.

Silence.

Then—

“Reid.”

Spencer peeked between his fingers. “Yeah?”

“Why are you red?”

Spencer groaned again, dropping his head onto the table. You were definitely going to be the end of him.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

After your totally convincing spoon excuse at work, you spent the rest of the day pretending you hadn't just been caught smothering your boyfriend in kisses by your boss. Spencer, meanwhile, spent the rest of the day trying to will the blush from his face and avoiding Hotch's knowing glances.

By the time you both got home, you were practically vibrating with pent-up affection. Spencer barely had time to step inside, let alone process the fact that the day was over, before you launched yourself at him.

"Mmph—okay?" he says, chuckling against your lips as he stumbles back into the door. "Not that I'm complaining, but what did I do to deserve this sudden affection today?"

You pull back just enough to pout at him. "What do you mean? You exist. And I love you. And I have a mouth. So."

He blinks, an amused smile tugging at his lips. "So... what?"

You squish his cheeks between your palms. "So, I'm using it for its most important function. Kissing you."

His ears turn red, and you swear you can feel the heat radiating off him. "That's—not accurate—"

You shut him up with another kiss. And another. And another.

"I don't care," you murmur between pecks. "Don't care about accuracy. Only care about you."

He groans, but it's the kind that makes you grin because you know he's just being dramatic. "You say that like I don't also have important work to do."

You gasp, scandalized. "Are you saying I’m not important work?" You clutch at your chest, reeling backward as if he’d wounded you. "Wow, Spencer. Wow. I guess I’ll just take my love somewhere else."

Spencer sighs, dragging a hand down his face, but his eyes are shining with affection. "You're ridiculous."

"And you are irresistible."

You launch yourself at him again, and he catches you with a laugh, his hands settling at your waist as you pepper kisses along his jaw, his cheeks, his nose. He tilts his head, giving you full access, and you don’t waste a second of it. He smells like old books and faint traces of coffee, and his lips are soft and familiar, and—

"At this rate, I'm never going to get anything done," he murmurs against your mouth, but his grip on you tightens like he's not really mad about it.

You hum, grinning. "Good."

Spencer groaned, hiding his face in your shoulder. "You know, Hotch is never letting us live that down."

"That's a future us problem," you declared, pulling him down onto the couch with you. "Right now, your only job is to accept that I adore you and to let me properly smother you in love."

And Spencer? Spencer had no complaints. Obviously.

You nuzzle against his cheek before pulling back, lips curling into a smug grin. “And besides, statistics say that couples who kiss at least hundred times a day have a 92% higher chance of lifelong happiness.”

Spencer blinks at you, and for a second, you think he’s going to correct you—but instead, his face softens, eyes practically turning into hearts.

“That’s… not accurate,” he murmurs, but it’s barely a protest, his voice already melting under the weight of your affection.

You giggle, tilting your head. “So what I'm hearing is… I should kiss you more to improve our sample size?”

Spencer groans, but he’s smiling like he’s absolutely, utterly ruined for you. “You are going to be the death of me.”

And then you kiss him again—because, statistically speaking, he loves it.

He doesn’t know how he doesn’t recognize you immediately, why it takes a few seconds to place the curve of your cheek and the way you stand.

Logically, he knows it’s because he didn’t expect to see you here. If someone had asked him to guess where you were, this wouldn’t have made the top 100 guesses. If it wasn’t for that “find your friends” app that Penelope had created and forced you two to download for “safety reasons”, he never would have come here searching for you.

Confused, Spencer quietly approaches, hiding his body behind a nearby tree, something deep inside him telling him to not alert you to his presence just yet.

From this spot, he can just barely make out that you’re speaking, your voice soft and broken.

“… and that’s the thing. I can’t even hate you, because I could never hate anyone for loving him. He makes it so easy you know? But sometimes - God, sometimes I wish we could trade places. Even if it meant I was dead, at least I would have lived in a world where I had Spencer Reid’s entire heart”.

Spencer is shocked at your words, confused that you could ever think he didn’t love you with everything in him. He knew things had been a little tense for the past few days, since he came home late one Friday to find you with red rimmed eyes, but this, this sadness, couldn’t be from just one night.

You pause for a moment and Spencer recognizes your shaky inhale, knows that you’re trying not to cry. You’re holding an umbrella above you to ward against the sprinkling rain, but something else hides at your side, and it crinkles as you move. You raise your arm to wipe your eyes, giving him a view of what you’ve brought here of all places.

Flowers.

A bouquet of flowers.

With a start, he notices they look exactly like the ones he just sent you today. He actually moves to step forward but stops once more at your voice.

“I don’t even like this kind of flower. Not even in my top five. But they were your favorites. I know that because every time he misses you, he sends them to me. I haven’t figured out if it’s because he feels guilty or because he wishes I was you.”

You bend down, balancing an umbrella on your shoulder, arranging the bouquet along the headstone in an artful way. As you do this, you continue talking, as if the bones lying beneath the dirt will actually answer you, your voice sad and wistful.

“I know your favorite book and passage, as well as which philosophers resonated with you. The songs you liked, and your favorite color. I know that you hated peppermint tea and have powered through novels you despised because you never wanted to leave something half-finished. I know all these things, because he carries you with him, in everything he does or says. And don’t get me wrong, I’m not begrudging the man for having a life before me! Everyone has a past… I just… I wish he would leave you there. God, that sounds awful, doesn’t it? Maybe that’s why he prefers you.”

Your huff out a self-depreciating laugh, shoulders shaking as you struggle to hold in your sobs. Spencer notices his hands are shaking as well, silent tears escaping his eyes. He lets them roll down his cheeks, too ashamed to even wipe them away. He catches himself against the tree at your next words, can feel his heart shattering at how much he feels he’s failed to make you feel his love.

“But I’ll never be you, and that’s the problem Maeve. That’s the issue. You’re Dr. Maeve Donovan, the most beautiful girl in the world, renowned geneticist and the love of my boyfriend’s life. You’re gone and you’re never coming back but he still picks you.  I can never be you so I’ll never be enough.”

Spencer hears you let out a painful sob, one he’s never heard from you before, and he watches as you raise one hand to cover your mouth in a futile effort to silence yourself. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t know if he can, his mind racing, his heart beating faster and faster and faster —

He doesn’t know what caused this. How he didn’t know these poisonous thoughts had taken root in your mind.

He still doesn’t know why you’re here, why you’re talking to the grave of his maybe-ex-girlfriend as if you have some shameful secret. Spencer realizes with a start that he’s been zoning out as his thoughts race, and when he looks back over to where you were, all he sees is the headstone, with the flowers he had sent you arranged all around.

Stepping out from behind the tree, Spencer looks around, trying to find you in the empty graveyard. He spots you as you are getting into your car, and he knows you won’t be able to hear him even if he yells your name, the soft rain of before coming down harder now. He rushes out to the street, ignoring the raindrops hitting his face and the puddle he absolutely stepped in – making a mental note that he should take Derek up on his offer to train more often as he pants – and hails a taxi. Maybe it’s his voice or the way he’s fidgeting, but the driver senses his urgency and Spencer pretends he doesn’t care as the man goes at least 15 over the speed limit. Anything to get back home and talk to you, to make things right.

As the taxi rolls to a stop, he throws cash at the driver, and rushes to take the stairs two at a time, making it to the apartment just as the door swings shut. He hastily throws himself against it, startling you as he pushes inwards. At the sudden intrusion, you raised your umbrella to defend yourself, and Spencer lets out a startled yelp as it crashes down on his head.

“Spencer! Oh my – I’m so sorry!”

You drop the makeshift weapon, mouth dropped open as you stare at your boyfriend in shock and regret. He’s wet – as if he’s spent 30 minutes in the rain and you have no idea why he would have done that. His eyes are staring at you widely and you can’t name the emotion you see swimming in them, but you do notice the small puddle forming where he stands.

“Why… Come inside, we need to get you changed. I know you said that rain doesn’t cause sickness, but it can’t be good for you!”

Spencer lets you usher him inside, watches as you run around grabbing him a towel and blanket. He hadn’t realized how cold he was until now, and he feels his eyes well up with tears watching you rush to take care of him, even though you think that you’re somehow not enough. You notice the tears forming along his lash line and gasp,

“Oh, please tell me I didn’t hurt you. I’m so sorry, I was turning to lock the door and when you pushed in I thought you were an intruder or someone had followed me and I hadn’t noticed and so I just reacted –”

Spencer drops the towel you had given him to the floor, stepping out of his soaked shoes and approaching you. He places a chaste kiss on your forehead, his large hands cupping your face as he leans back to stare directly into your eyes,

“I love you.”

You furrow your eyebrows, absolutely puzzled by what has gotten into your boyfriend. Deciding that your emotions were already drained for the day, you go along with him, leaning to brush a kiss against his lips.

“I love you too, Dr. Reid. Let’s get you out of these wet clothes though, okay?”

He hums, nodding only because he knows that logically, he needs to talk to you, and the conversation will not be a short one. Before he moves away though, he pulls you close to him, kissing you once more.

“Can we talk, once I get changed?” his voice soft and tender.

Hesitantly, you nod, your mind racing with what he wants to talk about. As Spencer goes to change, you make your way to the kitchen, making tea to both warm him up, and to give yourself something to do as you wait.

Spencer goes through the motions of drying off, and makes his way into your closet, searching for a particularly extra large sweatshirt of his he knows you often steal. As he’s looking through the variety of fabrics that are hanging, his eye catches on an outfit he’s never seen before, and his hand reaches out to touch the silky material.

It’s purple, his favorite color, and he can already imagine how beautiful you’ll look wearing it, and he wonders just why you haven’t modeled it for him before. He starts to imagine the two of you all dressed up, and where he would take you to show you off.

Suddenly, it hits him, the smooth fabric falling from his fingertips as he realizes just why he’s never seen this particular outfit before, and why you had been crying a few days ago.

He had missed your make-up anniversary date.

Your anniversary had been a few weeks before, but as it fell on a weekday, you both knew he would likely be called out on a case. You had suggested a make-up anniversary date for the following weekend – knowing that Jack had a soccer game on that Friday, so he was a teeny tiny bit less likely to be called out that night. You had teased him that you’d bought a new outfit, had hinted that you had bought something to wear underneath as well, and assured him that you had taken care of all the details. You had been so excited – and he had forgotten.

The team had returned from a case extremely late the night before, and the paperwork that he could normally breeze through took much longer than normal. It had been a stalking case of a high profile government employee, and the stalker had been murdering innocent people to get their attention. To top it off, the stalker had multiple personalities and he had felt as if all his past nightmares had piled on to each other at once. His mind had been swirling and when he had left work in a daze, he hadn’t planned on going to visit Maeve. One moment he was thinking of all the different aspects of his past and how lucky he was to have survived to find you, and the next he found himself before her headstone.

He hadn’t visited Maeve in a while, and while it wasn’t his plan for the night, he found himself telling her about the case and then about what new books there were, the new coffee shop down the street that gave him all the sugar he asked for. He told her updates about his life. About you. About how he thought she would like you, and how much better you made him want to be. He had spent over an hour talking about you when he realized the time, pulling out his phone to find missed calls from you. When he’d called you back, you had frantically asked if he was alright. When you found out where he was, your voice had changed, although you had tried to play it off as relief.

Suddenly, your words from earlier made more sense and he feels the panic well up inside him.

“You’re gone and you’re never coming back but he still picks you.”

“…picks you”.

That’s what you thought he had done. He hoped you knew he would never purposefully miss a date, especially for something like this. He replays every single word he heard you confess to Maeve’s grave, his mind picking up on details he hadn’t paid attention to. He doesn’t notice that he’s having trouble breathing, still standing in your closet staring at the purple outfit, until he hears you call out his name as you come into the bedroom.

You had partially expected to see Spencer fast asleep, or perhaps taking a hot shower. You had not expected to see him standing in your closet, crying as he stared at the outfit you had thought about trying to return.

“Spencer”… you call out again, not wanting to spook him.

He turns to you and whimpers.

“I’m so sorry”.

His shoulders shake much like your own did just an hour ago and you hurriedly set down both tea cups you carried, approaching him like he’s a wounded animal. Spencer launches himself into your arms, his face buried into your neck as he whispers apology after apology. The words run together and you can barely hear him anymore, but you understand all the same.

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his own still brimming with tears.

“I didn’t pick her.”

You furrow your eyebrows and Spencer forces a deep breath into his lungs, and speaks quickly, like he’s afraid if he doesn’t get the words out now that he never will.

“I wanted to talk today, so I came home early and you weren’t here. After a while, I got worried, so I used that app Penelope made? The one that says where someone is?”

Your eyes widen as you realize he knows where you had been. You don’t think he’d be angry with you, and it isn’t as if what you had done was wrong. But if he had been there… had he heard?

As if he could hear your thoughts, Spencer continued,

“I… I heard you, not everything, you sounded like you were in the middle when I got there. You think I picked her because I missed our make-up anniversary night. Angel, I’m so sorry. It just slipped my mind, work had been intense all week, and the case was too much. I left work just thinking about it and my feet led me there. I didn’t plan it at all, I never would have… I’m so sorry”.

You step out of his embrace, your eyes finding the floor and he pays special attention to every micro expression you try to hide. When you look back up, your eyes don’t meet his, and you stare to his left, to the outfit still showing behind him. He waits, wanting to apologize more, to convince you of his sincerity, of his truth, but knowing you are working up the courage to speak.

“I waited at the restaurant for an hour. I’d left you a note here with the address along with a matching tie. They finally asked me to leave – it was that physics-magic place, the one you mentioned? They were having a Nicola Tesla night, and I ended up bartering with the owner for a reservation because they’re booked for six months. I took on some admin work, some marketing style things that they didn’t have done… but they, uh, well, it’s almost a show, you know? You’re at a private table, but everyone in the room starts at the same time. They couldn’t hold up the show for just me. And you weren’t there. So I left.”

You meet his gaze now and Spencer can see the hurt in your eyes. Hurt that he caused.

“Honey…” he starts, but you interrupt him.

“Why her? You, you just said that you were upset and your feet led you to her. What was so, so special about her?”

Tears are in your eyes but you’re determined to not let them fall. You’re hurt and you’re angry but most of all you’re scared. You’re so scared of what his answer will be, if this is the night you’ll officially lose him to a ghost of a memory.

“That’s not…” Spencer sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know why I ended up there but it’s not because she’s special or anything. I hadn’t been there in a while, and I think my brain knew I needed somewhere to go to just talk.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Spencer knows they weren’t the right thing to say. The tears you were fighting so hard against spill over, but when he takes a step towards you, you take a step back.

“72 days.”

Puzzled, Spencer cocks his head to the side, staring at you in utter confusion.

“That’s the last time you were there. I know that because that’s the last time you sent me those flowers. Her flowers. And because when you came home that night, you read Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and E.E. Cummings. Her favorite author, and her favorite poet. The next day you wore the gray cardigan that itches because you knew she owned one similar.”

Spencer can’t help his mouth from dropping open, and he roughly swallows, his mind going over that day and wondering how it was that he had never stopped to profile himself.

He can’t find words. He has the entire English language at his disposal and he finds himself speechless.

“2,412 hours. 100.5 days. That’s how long you two had. Do you know, without calculating right now, how long we’ve had? Do you know the number of days? Do you remember our first conversation – our first phone call? What do I have to do to be good enough for you, Spencer?”

“I…you are more than enough for me” he whispers, his voice fraught with distress.

You snort at his words, wrapping your arms around yourself before remembering that it shows you’re defensive. Instead you move to the arm chair in the corner of the room, grabbing the large sweatshirt Spencer had been looking for in the first place and putting it on as if it were a shield against him.

“Maeve…was special. She was my first love. My first real relationship. But that doesn’t make you matter any less, doesn’t make you any less special and important to me. It doesn’t make me love you less.”

He looks at you with love shining in his eyes and it makes you angry. It makes you angry that he can say pretty things and that you want so badly to believe him when you have the proof that they aren’t true. You know you shouldn’t, but you voice the negative thoughts you’ve harbored for far too long.

“That wasn’t a real relationship”. You mutter the words softly, almost hoping that he doesn’t hear but wanting to say them out loud all the same.

“Pardon?” he replies, his voice sharper than before.

You inhale slowly, and count to ten before letting out an exhale. When you meet his eyes, he can’t name the emotion he sees in them, but he knows that he hates it.

“She wasn’t real, Spencer. You talked to her for days on end but none of it was real. You learned that she spent Fridays looking at a microscope and not on dates but she somehow didn’t ever mention the dates that led to her being engaged? You told her about one of your worst childhood memories but you censored it! You told her about your shirt being removed but never told her the rest. You both, both cherry picked what you would share and that’s not a real relationship!”

You’re frantic and heaving by the end, your hands waving as you talk, eyes wide as if you’re pleading with him to understand but not hopeful that he will.

Meanwhile, Spencer doesn’t know what to feel, his first reaction to become defensive and to fire back. He hasn’t responded and he almost misses your last sentence.

“But it was real to you. And that’s what matters. That’s why you pick her”.

You’re so quiet by the end, and you’ve given up on trying to appear as if you aren’t defensive, wrapping your arms around yourself and looking down at your feet.

At first, Spencer wanted to be angry. He wanted to rage and lash out against you that what he had with Maeve had been more than real, more than special, more than love. But then he looked at you, huddled in his clothes, staring at his mismatched socks with tears streaming down your face, and the bubbling anger cools. Left in its place is the desire to soothe, to fix, to love.

He approaches you, and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you against him. His large palm lands on the back of your head as he encourages you to lean against him entirely, your face in the crook of his neck. His other hand moves up and down your back in a soothing motion, while his head drops down to whisper in your ear.

“She was real to me. She was my first. You’re… you’re right. I’d never thought about what we didn’t share with each other. I didn’t want to admit that because then I’d have to wonder if she would have said she loved me if she knew all of me and I didn’t think anyone ever would, until I met you”.

You shake in his arms, your own arms encircling his slim waist and you bury your head further into him, trying desperately to listen to his heartbeat.

“You’re the first person to love me unconditionally. To be there when I don’t deserve you. I think of her fondly, and I think she changed me for the better. She… well, without her, I wouldn’t have told you I loved you so soon. She taught me not to wait, not to let an opportunity slip through my fingers. That love can be fleeting and sorrowful. You’ve taught me it can last and bring more joy than I ever thought I’d get.”

He pulls you away from his chest, cupping your face in both palms,

“Two years, and twenty days. Two years, two months, 6 days, and 9 hours, if we go by the moment I first saw you. It did take me an entire week to see you again, and have the courage to approach you. I’d planned out the conversation in my head but you didn’t stick to my script – and I was so flustered.”

You gave a half smile at the memory of him, coffee cup in hand and hair a mess as he approached you to talk about the book you carried. The same book you carried to avoid talking to strangers. Instead, it led to a wonderful first conversation, an exchange of names and numbers.

“I don’t know why Blake ever told you that I called Maeve the most beautiful girl in the world.  I did say that back then, but I never told you that in that moment, when I first saw you, I couldn’t come up with a single adjective to describe you because none of them were enough. I couldn’t hear anything but the sound of my own heart beating, and it was calling out for you. It sounds silly, and, and ridiculous, and I’m a man of science – of logic and structure – of rules. But the moment our eyes met, none of that mattered and I found myself wondering if fate and destiny might be real after all. By the time I had gotten myself under control, and had the thought to actually approach you, you had walked away”

His thumbs brush away the remaining tears from your cheeks, his lips press against your forehead softly.

“I got called on a case right after, and we landed in the middle of nowhere, late at night. I had been berating myself the entire flight for not talking to you and when we were in the car, I saw a shooting star. And, and I remembered when I was a child, my mom telling me to make a wish on a star and how even then, I didn’t understand how it could ever help. But that night, I made a wish to see you again. I even tried to make a bargain with it – with whatever magic the star had. That if I saw you again, I wouldn’t mess it up, and I’d approach you and get your name.”

He looks at you tenderly and you’re doing your best not to sob once more.

“You wished on a star…for me?” you whisper.

Spencer nods, smiling a smile meant only for you, kissing your forehead once more, then both your cheeks, and the tip of your nose. He presses butterfly kisses against your eyelids before his lips finally meet yours for a brief touch.

“I’m so sorry, for missing our make-up date, especially one you planned for me. I’m sorry for making you feel as if I was stuck in my past, instead of looking forward to a future with you. The flowers – her favorites – I never sent them because of that. I sent them because they mean love for all eternity. In some cultures, they represent divine perfection. It wasn’t because I missed her but because she reminded me to never take you for granted, to appreciate every moment I get to love you. You said that you wished you could trade places with her so you could live with my whole heart but you already have more than that. You have my entire soul, my every atom vibrates with love for you and only you. You are more than enough.”

You reach up to kiss him deeply, your fingers wrapping themselves in his hair.

“I’m sorry” you whisper against his lips and he just smiles at you gently.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry for ever making you doubt how much you matter, how absolutely incredible you are. I love you and I don’t want you to be anyone but you. I don’t want Maeve or anyone else. You’re the only one for me, from the moment we met until the moment our ashes turn to dust, and if there is time after that, you’ll still be the only one I desire. I love you.”

Another kiss, another long embrace. Spencer whispers his love to you, swaying side to side as you hold each other close, bodies molded together like puzzle pieces. Eventually, you move to the bed, lying to face one another, and continuing to whisper truths you have somehow kept hidden, baring the shadowy parts of your souls to each other. You tell him of your own love for him, of your fears and how afraid you are of losing him. He soothes every thought, and tells you about the future he imagines with you. He talks about buying a farm with cattle to pet, and laughs when you tell him you’re imaging him wearing chaps with a cowboy hat. He talks about an actual future, painting a picture so clear there is no doubt it will happen.

It wasn't because the two of you were ashamed or embarrassed to be out in public, but there was something about the thrill of sneaking around like teenagers. Plus, it was somewhat concerning for a bunch of profilers not to even clock on to the fact that you feel like you and Spencer have been painfully obvious. It doesn't diminish the option that they do know but not getting into your business; but at the end of the day - they're not just a team, they're friends outside of work, and you guys are very close together.

"Any plans for the weekend, pretty boy?" Morgan asked Spencer, who looked up from his paperwork.

"Yeah, (Y/n) is hanging around, planning to try and do a Harry Potter marathon."

You look up upon hearing your name, Morgan looks over to you as you flash a smile and a thumbs up. Morgan simply smiles and turns back to his work. You look at your boyfriend, who stares at you, both of you (promptly) shrugging your shoulders and returning to work.

It was almost a weekly occurrence that one of you two would slip up and make it obvious that you two are dating.

"When did you start wearing hoodies?" Penelope asked Spencer, pulling on the hoodie strings as Spencer swats her hand away.

"It's (Y/n)'s."

"Oh, that's nice of him, I know you can get cold easily."

You stood behind Penelope with a baffled look that she had not connected the dots. Spencer sighs out a chuckle before changing the subject.

"Cute lockscreen."

You looked up from your phone to see JJ next to you with Emily, who peered over to look at your lock screen, which was a picture of you and Spencer with your family dog between the two of you. You could mistake it as a friend picture, but what type of friends have their temples touching and basically cuddling up together?

At this point, you gave up. It was much more funnier to see them be more confused as to why you and Spencer spend so much time together. But, sometimes, you are thankful that you and Spencer can enjoy each other's presence without being teased and hounded by your team. It was nice to have each other and be each other's escape from reality.

"So, Spencer," You hummed, lying in your apartment, which was bigger than his, "I was wondering when you wanted to move in?"

He looks at you, eyes shimmering like a child on Christmas day, his heart is thumping loudly against his chest as he can't help to feel the heat rise to his cheeks. You couldn't help but smirk at his reaction, booping his nose as a tease causing Spencer to smile so bashfully.

Your apartment was bigger than his and a lot more cosier; he was most often than not at your place, he had started bringing his stuff over and leaving at yours; slowly he was invading your home, but you loved it.

"I like the idea of that."

You shrugged your shoulders, snuggling closer to your sofa as you looked at him. Beautifully lit under the warm lamp as he read his book, and to you, he had looked like a piece of art, upon seeing him - you couldn't help but smile to yourself; wondering how you got so lucky.

Spencer thinks the world of you, from an outsider, most often not, you are the one to protect him. You were the more threatening-looking one, you were always blunt and sometimes rude, but he still thinks you are one of the most sweetest person he has ever met. You have been there for him, you know him so well, and you've been there on the days he struggled the most. You are so understanding and patient, he couldn't believe you're his boyfriend.

Like Frida Khalo said: 'Take the lover who looks at you like you’re some kind of magic.'

"You're soft," Spencer teased, lying in bed with you, you turn to look at him in the dark, and he can't help but notice that you, once again, have taken his breath away from your darling eyes.

"I'm soft?" You mused out, a slightly humourous tone to your voice, "I am soft in the way the fabric of a tattered blanket is soft. I could be ripped to shreds and still hope someone finds comfort in me."

"You are comforting," He reassures you, you let out a breathy laugh, as you bring your hand to caress his cheek.

"Oh, to be your boy, Spencer Reid," You gently say, sending shivers down his spine, tenderly placing a kiss upon his lips, "Turn over, we gotta sleep and I want to cuddle you.

"I heard that (Y/n) is ill," Morgan says during lunch break, the team sitting about around Spencer's desk.

They had noticed that Spencer have been on his phone more often than not. He looked worried sick and every hour he seemed to be checking his phone; it's not usually like him. The team were sharing concerned looks and usually, the person who could calm him down was off ill.

"Hey, Spence, are you going over to (Y/n)'s later?" JJ inquired as Spencer looked up as he heard your name, "If you don't mind, I'd like to tag along, (Y/n) isn't usually ill and I get worried sick when one of us gets sick."

"Awh," Morgan had a playful tone, "You care about us, JJ?"

"Maybe not with you," JJ playfully snapped back before looking at the young genius with a questioning look, "Well?"

"I mean, I guess?" Spencer finally responded though he debated with himself whether or not to inform you.

"Great!" Rossi says, Spencer did not know that he was listening to the whole conversation, "We can all check up on him!"

"Er.. I don't think-"

"Nonsense, Reid," Rossi interrupted, giving him a look, "You need to learn how to share."

Spencer was rendered speechless before making the decision to message you that he couldn't stop the team from tagging along with him to check up on you.

You had completely forgotten that the team was also coming along with your boyfriend, you had spent the better half of your day lying in front of the television catching up on your series as you battle the winter flu. You hear the door unlock as you tiredly sit up from the sofa.

"Babe?" You called out, though it was hoarse and you tried to clear your throat, but to no avail, you were inevitably going to lose your voice.

"I'm home, baby."

The sound of your boyfriend's voice was so comforting that you slunk back into the comfortable position on the sofa.

"Babe?"

You sat up almost immediately as you realised that was not Spencer's voice, then remembered that he had brought visitors. You internally groaned, not wanting to be putting up with the antic of your team. You slowly got up as you stood in the arch way that stood between the hallway and the living room, the blanket wrapped over you.

"What are you guys doing here?" You croaked out, it was so pitiful, you turned to look at your boyfriend helplessly. He put his hands up in defence.

"I tried to tell them no," You hummed in disapproval as Spencer sighed at your state, "You look worn out."

"'Cause I am."

He gently place a kiss upon your forehead, and you had to stop yourself from letting out a coo. You just couldn't help but slink yourself into the comfort of your boyfriend's arm.

"Hang on, you two are dating?" Emily asked, she had an offended tone and you know why she would be offended.

"I mean, we haven't exactly made it sublet," Spencer says bluntly as you snort, he looks at you with an annoyed expression but that was soon washed away and replaced with a fond expression, "I spend too much time around you."

"You love me, Spence," You teased, a playful twinkle in your eyes.

"Well, why didn't you tell us!" Morgan says afterwards, almost pouting, "I'm your best friend, Reid!"

"Like he said, we haven't made it sublet, we just didn't think we needed to tell anyone, plus Hotch knows."

"Aaron knows?" Rossi asked, surprised that their stoic team leader had not said a word about the pair of you.

"He had caught us making out in the cleaners' closet at work," You answered dryly, "He's known for about five months, we go on double dates with him and Beth every so often."

"Five months?" Penelope exclaimed, it makes sense why Hotch declined the offer to come to check up on you and it makes even bigger sense that he had teased Spencer about it afterwards.

Spencer nodded, ushering you back to the living room so you could rest, "We've been together longer than that, about eight months."

"How?"

"It was after a night out we all had, we got drunk, stupidly confessed our feelings and the rest of history, to put it short."

"Well, I don't want the short story, I want the details," JJ demanded, sitting on the other sofa that was adjacent to you as you sent a glare to Spencer.

"This is your fault," You mumbled, as Spencer rubbed your shoulder, you couldn't really be mad at him.

"You love me really..."