to love me is to suffer me

He reached for his phone, flipping it open and blinking in the light from the small screen as his thumb pressed down on the button to move through his contacts. There was Morgan, who probably fell asleep hours ago after picking someone up from the bar. Then Hotch, who was almost definitely asleep next to his wife. His thumb stopped when his eyes scanned your name, realising that you might be the only person that he couldn’t be sure what you were doing. The probability that you were asleep was high, and that the phone call would wake you up before a long day did cross his mind. He didn’t want to wake you, he didn’t expect you to answer, he just needed to feel, even for a moment, that someone might. His thumb pressed onto the phone button, and held the phone to his ear, counting the rings as they vibrated against him. One. Two. Thr-

“Spencer?” 

Your voice was quiet, sleepily soft and raspy, his back straightened at the sound of it. His chest tightened with guilt, immediately regretting his decision, that he had interrupted your night’s sleep. 

“I’m sorry,” Spencer stammered, his voice cracking slightly as he squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose as he cursed his insomnia fuelled decision making. “I didn’t think you’d answer. I’m so sorry, I just… I couldn’t sleep, and my probability calculations for waking you were much lower than reality, and I should let you go back to sleep-”

“Hey, Spencer… breathe,” you interrupted gently, and he could hear the shifting of your comforter as you sat up against your pillow. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. No… Physically, yes. Cognitively, I’m at a standstill.” He murmured, dragging his hand down his face as he flopped back against his bed, his free hand resting on his stomach. “It’s been four days. I just… I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Your heart dropped at the profound exhaustion in his voice, the tremor of defeat that bled through. Spencer had opened up to you about his insomnia before, and you recognised how bad it had gotten. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” You said, pinning your phone between your ear and your shoulder, already pulling on your sneakers.

“Wait, no it’s-” He sat upright, his fingers curling into his t-shirt as he heard the jingle of your keys through the line. “It’s past three in the morning, the safety risks of driving at this hour-”

“I’ll lock my doors. See you in fifteen, Spence.”

The call ended with the dial tone and he pulled it away from his ear, staring down at the phone as he flipped it closed. A warmth spread through his chest as he realised how quickly you had helped, without even needing to be asked. And the way you had called him “Spence”.

When you arrived at Spencer’s apartment twelve minutes later, he opened it after your soft knock, and your heart ached a little at the sight of him. Dark circles bruised the skin under his eyes, his hair mussed at the back where he had been tossing and turning against his pillows. His eyes dropped to your pyjama pants, green and white striped with little cartoon characters dotted around the fabric, and the oversized hoodie that hung from your shoulders. “You didn’t have to come.” He said, though he stepped aside to let you in, his eyes fixed on you as if you were a holy being. 

“Well I’m here now.” You smiled softly, setting your keys on the counter as he closed the door with a gentle click. “You eaten anything? Had something to drink?” 

“I had tea. It didn’t help.” He said, shuffling awkwardly behind you as you moved to his worn velvet couch. He sat down stiffly beside you, his hands tucked between his knees, looking like a nervous guest in his own home. 

“Talk to me.” You said. “Or don’t. You don’t have to explain anything.” 

Spencer looked at you, his brown eyes wide, and glassy with fatigue. He paused for a moment, his shoulders losing some of their tension as he watched you sitting comfortably in his apartment, as if you belonged there. “Can I just…?” He gestured vaguely towards you, a rare moment of hesitation from someone who usually had all the words.

You nodded, lifting your arm along the back of the couch. He didn’t need to be told twice. Spencer shifted, sinking sideways against you, hesitating for a fraction of a second before letting his head drop onto your shoulder. His long legs tangled awkwardly on the small couch, but as your hand dropped back down to his shoulder, you felt him sigh, finally letting go of the tension he’d been holding onto for days.

“Your heart rate is remarkably steady,” Spencer mumbled, his eyes drooping slightly from the warmth of your body, the comforting scent of you enveloping him. “It’s roughly sixty-five beats per minute.” You smiled at his calculations, even when he was suffering with insomnia, his mind still wouldn’t stop noticing things. “It’s very soothing.” He added quietly, almost as an afterthought. 

“Good.” You said gently, resting your cheek against the top of his head, tracing slow, lazy patterns against his arm, just below the hem of his t-shirt sleeve. “Focus on that.” You hummed. 

For a few minutes, he kept talking in a low, drowsy monotone, his voice vibrating softly against your collarbone. “There’s a biological phenomenon known as physiological synchrony.” He mumbled, his eyelids fluttering as he fought to keep them open. “When two individuals are in close physical proximity, especially during moments of shared trust… their autonomic nervous systems begin to mimic one another.” He paused as your hand moved up into his hair, slowly brushing your nails along his scalp. “Your steady heart rate is effectively acting as an external pacemaker for my overstimulated amygdala… lowering my cortisol levels… by approximately…”

His voice trailed off, the precise percentage losing its battle against his exhaustion. The spaces between his words stretched longer, turning into quiet, shallow breaths.

“...it’s very…efficient.” He sighed deeply. You held your breath for a moment, listening. The frantic, nervous energy that usually radiated off him had completely evaporated. His breathing had deepened, turning into a rhythmic, peaceful rise and fall against your chest. He was asleep. Truly, deeply asleep. 

You gently leaned back, holding his head in careful hands as you maneuvered it into your lap, his cheek pressing against your thigh as you let go. You ran your fingers through his hair again, looking down at him, completely safe, using you as a pillow. And you had no intention of moving until morning.

The pale glow of afternoon light filtering through the blinds was what finally woke Spencer. He didn’t move at first. His brain, usually firing at a mile a minute from the second he opened his eyes, was blissfully quiet. He became aware of three things in record timing, even for his brain: the heavy weight of exhaustion lifting from his chest, the faint scent of familiar perfume, and the fact that he was still completely sprawled against you on his narrow couch. You were awake, propped up against the arm rest, your eyes watching the muted TV while your hand was still tangled in his hair. 

You looked down as Spencer slowly lifted his head from your lap, and let your hand drop from his hair. He looked away as his cheeks flushed, finding the textbook on the coffee table more interesting than it should be. You pushed yourself more upright from the slouched position you had been in for the last ten hours. “How are you feeling?” You asked, leaning forward slightly in an attempt to catch his eyes, but they were fixated on the book. 

“Yeah-” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, shaking his head in embarrassment before trying again. “Better. Um… I’m sorry for essentially using you as a human sedative and trapping you against the couch.” He said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“There are worse places to be.” You laughed softly. That made him look at you, his eyes quickly moving between yours as if trying to deduce a deeper meaning from your statement. “Besides, you desperately needed sleep.” 

His fingers twisted together between his knees, and his gaze dropped to his fidgeting hands. His lips pursed as he chewed on the inside of his cheek, his brows creased in thought. The blush on his cheeks didn’t fade, if anything, it crept down his neck. Finally, he spoke. “I didn’t just sleep because I was tired.” He murmured, his voice dropping to that quiet, vulnerable tone he rarely used.

“What do you mean?” You asked, meeting his brown eyes as he looked back up at you, searching your face with the analytical precision of a profiler, but stripped of all professionalism. “I’ve tried prescription medication, cognitive behavioral therapy, white noise machines, sleep deprivation techniques…” He said softly, gesturing his hand as he listed his methods. “Nothing overrides the hypervigilance. But last night… my brain calculated the highest probability of safety simply because you were in the room…” He looked down at his hands again, swallowing thickly. “Because I was holding onto you.”

You felt your breath hitch a little, your eyes darting between his. “Spencer… you don’t hav-”

“No, I-” He started, running his hand through his hair before realising how abruptly he had cut you off. “Sorry… I just- I noticed it months ago, how my anxiety decreases significantly whenever you’re around, how my heartbeat increases when I can see you from afar,” he continued, taking a slow, shaky breath. Unconsciously leaning in a fraction closer as his thumb picked at the skin around his finger. The slight shift had the space between you feeling charged, and you dipped your head to attempt to meet his eyes. He noticed, and lifted his eyes to you, they moved slower than usual, lingering on your mouth before finally meeting yours. “There was nothing statistical about the way you comforted me last night.” He admitted, the honesty of it hung in the quiet afternoon air. 

The corner of your mouth lifted slightly, watching the way Spencer anxiously chewed on his lip. Your arm lifted, reaching out to brush your fingers against his jaw, before your hand settled against his face. “Spence..” You murmured, your eyes dropping to his lip as his teeth finally released it, his throat bobbed as he swallowed, his lips parting as he leaned forward another inch. His skin goose-pimpled underneath your fingertips as you mirrored the action, bringing your faces inches apart. His eyes fluttered closed, and nose brushed yours as his head tilted slowly, your breaths mingling in the minimal space between you. His lips brushed yours gently, not a kiss, but more of a question, asking for permission. Your fingers moved into his hair as you finally closed the gap, sliding your lips between his. The sigh that he let out against you was one of relief as his hands moved to cradle your head, his long fingers holding you against him as if he never wanted to let you go. 

The way his lips slotted against yours grew more heated, his fingers curling into your hair as his apprehensive trembling faded. He gasped as your tongue flicked against his, one of his hands moving from your hair to the back of your neck, before his fingertips moved down the line of your spine, the motion sending a shiver through you. You began to lean back, using both  arms wrapped around his neck to pull him down with you. He scrambled against the couch to a more comfortable position as he leaned down over you, the hand that had been tracing your back dipped underneath your hoodie, his thumb gently brushing your hip, as he braced himself on the other arm to hold himself above you. His tongue traced against yours, letting out a soft hum in satisfaction of the feeling of you against him. 

Your hands tugged at his hair softly, tilting your head as your lips moved against his in a slow, sensual rhythm. His lips pulled away momentarily as he repositioned his head, his eyes stayed closed, his nose brushed against yours, his breath hitching as he leaned back in. His hand traced up your side, his thumb gently caressing the dip of your waist as his body settled flush against yours, melting against you. “Spence.” You mumbled against his lips between kisses. He pulled back, his brow furrowed in concern, his mind racing with the possibilities of what you were about to say, had he done something wrong? Had he taken it too far? 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” He panicked, his voice quivering with both want, and nerves. You smiled gently, tucking a stray hair behind his ear before resting your palm against his face. 

“Nothing.” You shook your head, pulling your bottom lip into your mouth, watching his eyes drop to the movement, his pupils dilating and his breathing growing more laboured. “Just wondering if you own a bed, or whether you just sleep on the couch every night.” You hummed, twisting his hair around your fingers absently. He let out an amused exhale, half his mouth lifting into a sheepish smile, ducking his head and squeezing one eye closed as he nodded. 

“Yeah… Yes I-” He sat back, letting his thumb brush against your waist slowly. “Yes, I own a bed.” He finished, his voice dropping to a quiet, almost shy tone. You stood from the couch, Spencer's hand still on your waist, tilting his head to look up at you for a moment before following suit. 

His bedroom was what you would call an organised mess. Books scattered across every surface, empty abandoned mugs around the room. The glow from behind the orange curtains made his features look softer, and the smell of a burnt out candle enveloped you, comforting and warm. Spencer’s hands wrapped around your hips as yours settled against his shoulders as his mouth lowered back to yours, more sure now that he knew you wouldn’t pull away. His fingers toyed with the hem of your hoodie, silently asking for permission. You broke away to pull the hoodie over your head, your shirt coming with it, leaving you in only your bra. Spencer swallowed, an involuntary, breathy “wow,” leaving his lips before he could stop it. You smiled softly, lacing your fingers through his and pulling him with you as you backed towards the bed. 

He kneeled on the bed as you lay back, pulling his shirt off before settling over you, his body between your thighs. His skin was warm against yours, his lips catching yours in another deep, deliberate kiss as your fingertips traced down his back, the contact pulling a soft moan from his throat as his hips shifted against you. His lips moved down to your jaw, pressing a line of soft kisses along your neck towards your collarbone, the soft brush of his mouth combined with his breath against your skin had your back arching, pressing your chest against his. 

“Is this okay?” He asked as his lips moved down over your chest, pausing just above the line of your bra. You nodded, lifting yourself up slightly to unclasp your bra, and pull it from you. Spencer swallowed thickly, before lowering his mouth back to your skin, slowly moving his lips down toward your nipple. He closed his mouth around the sensitive bud, his hands steady on your ribs as he dragged his tongue over your sensitive skin, his confidence growing with the breathy moans that left your lips. He lifted his eyes to watch the way your head tilted back, the way your lips stayed parted around sighs and gasps as he continued, responding to when his actions gained an arch of your back or a tightening of your fingers in his hair. 

Eventually, he brought his mouth away from your chest, only to press soft kisses along your stomach, shifting backwards on the bed as he brought his mouth lower. His shaky hands moved to the waistband of your pyjama pants, eyes flicking up again, his brow creased in a question you answered by lifting your hips to give him the space to drag them down. His tongue moved out to wet his lips as he pulled your pants down your thighs, placing them gently on the floor as if he would hurt the fabric by throwing it carelessly. He inhaled unevenly, his eyes still locked on yours as he lowered himself down towards you. His lips landed on your hip first, his fingers gently tracing your inner thigh as he moved his mouth down further with each kiss. You gasped when his mouth finally closed around your clit, a soft, gentle movement that already had your body writhing and desperate for more. Spencer’s head spun with want, eagerly obliging in your twitching hips, delving his tongue deeper through your folds. He moaned at the taste of you, a low vibration shaking through your core, his eyes closed as he focused on flicking his tongue in the way you liked. 

His fingers drew up your inner thigh until they reached where his mouth was already hungrily lapping at you. You moaned as one finger gently pressed into you, slowly at first, working you open with extreme preciseness and care as he gradually pushed it further. He crooked his finger in time with his tongue, his other hand gripping your hip as he responded to every signal your body gave him. Every moan, every tightening of your stomach, every time your fingers tugged at his hair, every time he felt his hand wet from your arousal, he studied them, locking the information safely in his brain to calculate the best way to bring you to your peak. He moaned against you again as he inserted another finger, feeling you clamp down around them as he curled them just right. 

“Spencer…” You moaned, the sound of his husky name from your lips sent ripples of pleasure through his body. “Right there, Spence..” You sighed, your hips bucking into his face as he continued moving his tongue over your clit. Time slowed as he watched you fall apart, the way your body clamped down on his fingers, your thighs closing around his head, squeezing him as you moaned loudly, the sound echoing off the walls. He slowed his movements, letting you ride out your high as your back arched, your fingers tightly tangled in his hair. When your moans turned to laboured breathing, he lifted his mouth away, and carefully withdrew his hand from you. 

“What that… Was it okay?” He asked softly, his brow furrowed in genuine question. You opened your eyes and propped yourself up on your elbows, he smiled at the way your hair was messed from the pillows, and the flush across your skin that hadn’t faded. 

“More than.” You said, your voice still breathy, and your chest heaving as you tried to regain composure. You watched him wipe his mouth on his arm, and you sat up fully, your hands trailing down his stomach to the top of his sweatpants. His breath hitched as your nails gently scraped his skin. “Do you have…”

“Oh, um… yeah. Somewhere. Hold on.” He moved almost immediately, his long frame extending as he leaned over the edge of the bed to rummage through his pile of clothes. He located his wallet, and pulled out a blue wrapper. “Just check it’s still…” He murmured as he turned it over in his hands to find the expiration date, it had been a long time since he needed one of these. “Yeah it’s um-” He glanced back up at you, at the way you were propped up on one arm, your hair falling behind your back, tangled around your shoulder, the light filtering through the curtains painting you as some kind of sun goddess. “You’re so pretty.” The words rushed out of him in a single breath as he moved back towards you. You smiled gently, using one leg to wrap around his hip and pull him down over you, his mouth met yours with no hesitation this time. Your fingers curled around the waistband of his sweatpants and pulled, he dropped one hand to help, the other stayed in your hair as he kissed you deeply. 

Once his sweatpants were discarded, your hand moved to his cock, wrapping around the considerable length as his eyes squeezed closed. “Oh-” He rasped, his mouth staying open and eyebrows shooting upwards as your hand slowly moved. His jaw stuttered as you worked him slowly for a long moment, he finally found it within him to close his mouth, and swallowed hard. 

“Okay?” You asked, smiling when he nodded desperately, unable to form any other coherent thought than the feeling of your hand wrapped around him, moving so deliciously slow. Eventually, he fumbled with the wrapper for a moment before finally tearing it open, only then did you let go for him to roll the latex down his length. He leaned over you as you lay back, eyes flicking to yours as he positioned himself, and rolled his hips forwards. He moaned against your lips as you gasped, your hands flying to his shoulders, nails biting into his soft skin as he dropped to his elbow. “Spence-” You whispered as he pulled his hips back before setting a slow, steady pace. His breath was against your ear, his eyes squeezed closed as he let out a low groan at the feeling of you wrapped around him. 

“You- God… You feel so-” He choked out, every thought slipping his mind other than the way you felt digging your nails into his shoulders, the way your leg lifted to hook over his hip and pull him deeper, the sounds you were making every time he pushed forwards. He moved his mouth back to yours, catching your lips in a fierce kiss, his tongue tangled with yours as he kept his steady, aching pace. Your chest pressed against his as your back arched, one of his hands splayed across your thigh, holding it against him as if he couldn’t bear to have any part of you not touching him. His cock dragged through you slowly, a perfectly gentle pace that had you moaning against his mouth, your hand threading through his hair. His slow, deep thrusts had your head spinning as you reached your free hand between your bodies, your fingers finding your clit to rub tight circles. The extra stimulation had you clenching around him already, his hips faltering for a moment as you grew tighter around his cock.

“I-” He stuttered against your mouth, “I’m gon-” he couldn’t finish his sentence as the ripples of pleasure washed through him, his stomach tensing as he came, his forehead pressed against yours and his eyes squeezed closed, and his fingers tightened on your thigh. Long, loud moans spilled from his mouth as he stilled, his breathing ragged and uneven. As his head stopped spinning, he lowered it to your shoulder, nuzzling his face into your neck as your arms wrapped around him, your fingers carding gently through his hair as his breathing returned to its normal pace. His mind was quiet, for once in his life, he could enjoy the moment, enjoy the feeling of your body under his, enjoy the-

“Spence.” Your soft voice broke his train of thought, and he lifted his head to look at you with sleepy eyes. “You might wanna take that off.” You said, at first, he furrowed his brows, unsure of what you meant, but then it registered, and he laughed softly before reaching down to pull the condom off, before rolling over to discard it in the trash by his bed. He wasted no time returning to his position with his head on your shoulder, his arm slung over your stomach, listening to your heart rate returning to normal as you traced your fingers up and down his spine. 

He could definitely get used to this cure for insomnia.

You had turned up in the middle of the night, the sound of your car pulling into the lot had made his eyes drift from the book he was reading whilst curled up on the window seat, over to where you were slamming your car door closed, attempting to balance cardboard boxes that had become damp in the rain and using your foot to push open doors with your keys dangling from your mouth. It wasn’t until he heard the boxes land on the wooden floor next door that he realised he should have helped you, offered to open doors or carry boxes or… anything really. But he hadn’t, he was too distracted figuring you out. Who you were, where you were coming from. Judging by the lack of boxes and personal belongings, he had figured you were either moving out of your parents home for the first time, or moving out from a shared home, be that with a partner or a friend. His answer came two days later when he heard your muffled voice through the wall. He couldn’t make out any words, but you sounded upset, and angry, speaking in half-choked sobs and sending your phone clattering to the floor when you hung up. 

You introduced yourself a week later. His arms had been full of mail from the mail locker in the lobby, and lifted his head at the moment you dropped from the last step, your hands tucked into the pockets of a leather jacket. His fingers curled around the letter in his left hand tighter as his eyes darted away from yours quickly, before he could linger too long on the shiver it had sent up his spine. He had introduced himself quickly in return, and disappeared upstairs before you could engage him in small talk and he ended up embarrassing himself by telling you a strange fact that you didn’t need to know. You had found it odd, but shrugged it off as him not being sociable, and carried on with your day. Spencer had paced his apartment until he felt like he was leaving grooves in the floor.

He had ignored you since. Not completely, but answered your questions shortly, didn’t engage in small talk, and when you had made cookies for the neighbours, he had returned the plate by leaving it outside your door, no knock, no note. It wasn’t that he didn’t like you, no. It was in fact quite the opposite. That the morning after that interaction by the mail locker, he had been in the line of fire at work when Morgan had noticed his silence after having to call his name three times before he looked up. After some intense, friendly, interrogation, Spencer had caved, and told Morgan about you. His advice was unhelpful to say the least, and so he had been stuck in his head trying to figure out a way to talk to you without coming across as weird. 

The apartment settled around you a little heavier than usual, the door closing behind you sounded more dull than you ever remembered it being. Your feet dragged heavily through the apartment, not avoiding the creaky floorboard like you usually did and immediately regretting it when the sound vibrated through your bones. The couch all but swallowed you when you flopped against the cushions, staring blankly at your reflection in the black mirror of your TV screen. Today was meant to be your three year anniversary. You were more angry than sad, annoyed by the fact that you had found the evidence of Connor’s affair in your own home, angry that you were the one who had to move, angry that you were angry, angry that the cute guy next door hadn’t spoken to you in weeks. You had set out to have a good day today, to forget all about Connor, and the lipstick on his shirt, the perfume on his jacket, the women's underwear under the bed. You booked a nail appointment, took yourself to your favourite coffee shop, treated yourself to an afternoon in your favourite book store and even bought yourself two new novels. But it had still felt empty, and you were angry that doing these things for yourself hadn’t helped you take your mind off the lingering thoughts. The lingering insecurity that came with his infidelity, the shame of not recognising the obvious signs, the humiliation of having to tell friends and family that you had been betrayed in the worst of ways. Your hands pushed through your hair as you leant your elbows onto your knees, letting out a long exhale. 

The knock at the door came when you were almost finished with dinner, about to add the finishing touches to the plate when the sound rattled the door in its frame. Your brow creased, the plastic packaging of the basil rustled as you placed it down on the counter. As you made your way over to the door, you felt your stomach dropping with the weight of apprehension, as if your body knew there was something wrong behind that door. The cold metal slipped in your hand as you turned the handle, only to be greeted with an all too familiar scent that had a lump rising in your throat. The overwhelming smell of Axe body spray almost had your eyes burning when you inhaled, forcing you to take a step back, and clear your throat. 

“You gonna let me in?” Connor’s voice was lower than when he normally spoke, the tone he used when trying to manipulate you into believing him, or into forgiving him. Your jaw tensed at his words, teeth grinding against each other with the audacity he possessed to turn up at your door. 

Spencer shouldered open the door to the apartment complex, a paper bag filled with groceries in the crook of each arm. His breath punched out of him in an irritated exhale when he saw the “Out Of Order” sign hanging on the elevator door. He flicked his hair out of his eyes and began his walk up the stairs, the last thing he needed after a long day in the office. As he trudged up the stairs, the sound of muffled voices grew louder, his brows furrowed as he reached his floor, and heard the voices more clearly, one he recognised immediately as yours, the other remained unknown to him. His chest flared at the waver in your voice, like you were trying to put on a confident front while hiding how truly distressed you were. He stopped on the second to last step, the one that kept him hidden from view, and listened to the conversation, his eyes darting around as he tried to grasp the situation, 

“C’mon.” Connor said, the floorboard creaking underneath his weight as he tried to step closer to gain access to your apartment. “Just wanna talk to ya.” He pressed, bringing his arm up to lean against the doorframe above your head, always trying to dominate your space. 

You folded your arms, hoping that the action would conceal the way your hands were shaking. It wasn’t that you were scared that Connor would hurt you, although you also hadn't thought he would cheat on you and yet here you were. It was more that he was unpredictable, that you genuinely had no idea what he could want from you, and if you would be able to get him back out once he was in. 

“No.” You said, your fingers tightening on your biceps. “We have nothing to talk about.” You nodded, as if you needed the confirmation to yourself that you were saying the right thing, judging by the short exhale through Connor’s nose, he wasn’t too happy with your decision. 

Spencer winced slightly at the quiver in your voice, his eyes dropped to the floor, running over the worn carpet as his teeth worried his bottom lip, feeling his heartbeat pick up to 160bpm, his guess given by the way it was rushing through his ears. He took a breath in and lifted himself onto the last step, bringing both you and the man you were talking to into his line of view. 

“Goodnight.” You began to close the door, but Connor’s hand slammed against the wood, the bang making you jump, your eyes widening as you looked at the way his palm flattened against the door. You swallowed, and his hand dropped back to his side.

Connor’s jaw set, and he cleared his throat as he tried to look past you into your apartment, making you close your door back over a little more, trying to protect the peace you had created for yourself without him. “Nah.” He sniffed once, his fingers drumming against the doorframe, “let me in, we can talk, looks like you’ve done the place up real-”

“Excuse-” Spencer cleared his throat, and your eyes lifted over Connor’s shoulder, seeing your neighbours’ wide, brown, doe eyes through his glasses, and his furrowed brows as he shifted awkwardly, his paper bags crinkling in his arms. “Excuse me,” he repeated, a little firmer this time. “But she said she doesn’t want to talk to you.” 

You inhaled as Connor turned around to eye Spencer, your gaze softened as Spencer looked at you, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly in support. Connor turned back to you, catching the lingering tenderness in your eyes, and his hand curled into a fist at his side. “Who’s this freak?” Connor gestured back towards Spencer without taking his eyes off you, “stalkin’ you or somethin’?” 

Spencer’s head tilted at the insult, more puzzled than offended but he stepped forward towards his own front door as he spoke. “Most stalking cases involve someone the victim already knows. Former intimate partners account for a significant proportion of reported incidents, particularly when there's a history of controlling behaviour or a difficulty accepting the end of a relationship.”  He said as he stopped just outside his door, Connor’s eyes darkened, and Spencer either didn’t notice or chose not to acknowledge it, his eyes moving back to you. “Persistent unwanted contact after someone has clearly asked for space is also one of the behavioural indicators professionals look for when assessing escalation risk.” He paused, his eyes meeting Connor's. “You've been asked to leave twice now.” 

Spencer finally squared his shoulders, standing a little straighter than before despite the tension radiating from the man in front of him. His gaze wandered back to Connor. “Now I believe she made her stance pretty clear?”

Connor ran his tongue over his teeth, taking a calculated gaze between you and your neighbour before he scoffed, a sharp, humourless sound. “You think you’re funny?” 

Spencer didn’t answer, letting the silence linger with a blank look which only irritated Connor further. He took a deliberate step forward, invading Spencer's space until only a couple of feet separated them. "You got a habit of stickin' your nose where it doesn't belong?" Connor muttered, his voice low. "This has nothing to do with you."

"It became my business when she told you to leave and you ignored her."

Connor scoffed. "You don't know what you’re talkin’ about."

"No," Spencer agreed evenly with a tilt of his head. "But I know enough to recognize when someone isn't respecting another person's boundaries."

Connor's eyes narrowed. "Oh, you know enough?" he sneered. "You some kind of expert now?"

Spencer adjusted the grocery bag against his hip, reaching into his jacket pocket for his keys, the movement pulled the edge of his jacket back to reveal the leather badge wallet clipped to his belt caught the dim lighting. Connor's eyes dropped to it as it glinted, his expression changed almost instantly. "...FBI?"

Spencer looked down briefly, as though he'd almost forgotten it was there. "Yes." He answered plainly.

The confidence drained from Connor's face. His shoulders lost some of their rigid tension, though the irritation remained. "You could've said that."

"You didn't ask."

Connor looked between Spencer and you, jaw working as if he wanted one last cutting remark. Whatever he'd been about to say died behind his clenched teeth. After a long beat, he took a reluctant step backwards. Connor's gaze lingered for another moment before he gave Spencer one last wary look. Then, with a shake of his head and a curse under his breath, he turned and stalked back toward his car.

“You okay?” Spencer asked, pushing his key into the lock, not taking his eyes off his hand as the door opened. You cleared your throat, pushing your hair back behind your ears and nodding as you leaned against the doorframe. 

“Yeah.” You said, your voice too shaky to be convincing. 

"He'll probably come back." He said, glancing up into his apartment before finally looking at you. His expression softened when he noticed the colour drain from your face. "I don't mean immediately," he clarified gently. "But people who are used to getting the last word, or controlling how a conversation ends, don't typically accept being told no the first time. Especially if they believe they can change someone's mind." He paused, his tongue pulling his bottom lip into his mouth as if thinking, considering something. "I don't want you sitting in there by yourself if that's a possibility." He said finally.

You looked up at him.

"If you're comfortable with it..." He shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "You can wait in my apartment for a while. We don't have to talk if you don't want to. I was just going to unpack my groceries and make some tea."

You blinked, your grip finally loosening on your arms, and your hands dropping to your sides, the invitation so welcoming that it caught you completely off guard.

"I've got books," he added after a beat, as though that might somehow make the offer more convincing. "And... statistically, it's safer than you being alone if he decides to drive back."

A breath of laughter escaped you despite yourself, and Spencer looked faintly relieved.

"You don't have to decide because I offered," he said quickly. "I just thought I'd rather know you're somewhere you feel safe."

You glanced back into your apartment before looking at Spencer.

"...Tea sounds nice."

The corners of Spencer's mouth lifted into a small, genuine smile.