ᯓ✦

You spot him when you tip your head back after the bag on your head was removed by one of the crooks. They tried to intimidate you, make you cry for the random video but they were quickly scared by the onslaught of growing sirens in the distance. All you wanted to do was calm yourself down - ease the tidal waves of anxiety splashing in your stomach but the red mask above you feels like a damning ripple in the quaint, settled sea.

Just metres above you is a dangling superhero that you’re honestly not overly surprised to see. The familiar red face greets you, but he taps a finger over where his mouth should be to indirectly tell you to be quiet.

He drops softly from the ceiling and shuffles to where your legs are taped to the legs of the old chair. You glance at the busy bodies around you, thankful they’re occupied by the growing noise of police sirens to see the eyesore of colour crouched by your legs. You try not to hiss as he tugs the tape from your legs.

You can’t help but really stare at spiderman because something just feels sickly familiar. The outline of his strong jaw and pointed nose makes a bell in the back of your head start to ring, dinging louder with every interaction you have — with every inch he gets closer.

“Hey! Wait, is that fucking Spiderman!?” A voice yells and breaks you from your trance. You whip your head up to witness the group of men scatter, drawing knives and small guns from their pockets as they storm over to where the crouched hero is. Within seconds your arms are ripped from their ductape bindings and a pained yelp escapes you as the cool air licks are your stinging skin. The masked hero mumbles a faint apology before he’s whisking you from your chair and propelling both of your bodies into the air.

A bullet whizzes past your head which causes you to grasp onto the hero without thinking. Only then do you realise how strong his grip is on your waist and how your legs automatically tangled around his thin, toned waist. There’s no time to really think about anything when the wind is whipping your hair around wildly and you’re clinging onto the suited hero that seems to follow your every thought now.

Your arms cling around his shoulders, eyes wide and full of bewilderment. This in no way matches the time you were gently plucked from the main street and placed in an alleyway - not with the way he uses a strong left arm to crush your waist against his torso as he flies across the skies by a webbed rope.

He webs between buildings without an inkling of doubt, twisting and curling around corners that seem deathly impossible. Your words are caught in your throat as you blatantly stare at the hero.

“You found me, again.” You mumble, eyes dissecting the fabric thin covering his face. He turns his head towards you just by a slight angle and it’s like you can read his face.

I know.

YOU decide against messaging Kai because you know he’ll end up telling you to leave the dirty clothes for him to wash. It feels a bit unfair, despite the fact you selfishly enjoy that he does the washing and drying that he is doing it 99% of the time.

It can’t be that hard right? The beaten line of dirtied washing machines is vaguely more terrifying than what you realise but you fairly remember Kai mentioning that the second machine on the far left seems to be in the best shape.

“Please don’t eat my clothes.” You whisper a plea to the machine as you rip the flimsy door open. The familiar waft of soft clean linen and faint synthetic floral greets your senses as your eyes land on a pile of slightly damp clothes. You wince as you look between your pile of unwashed clothes and the damp, soggy pile.

Maybe if you put it in a dryer the owner won’t realise?

With a quick scan of the room around you and deciding it’s criminally empty, you swiftly begin to pull out the pile of clothes. The clothes slop against the floor with a wet plop, slowly creating a slippery puddle next to your feet.

“Oh.” You mumble as a familiar band tshirt peers at you from the centre of the drum. Even in its dark, dampened state you recognise the flakey scrawled letters and faded imagery on the chest of the shirt. It’s the same shirt Kai wears when he’s just chilling in the house, when he’s being lugged to the gym by Taehyun, when he stays up late to finish university work — the same shirt he wears when you both stay up late eating ramen together while you rant about what woes you have both faced in the last few weeks.

It’s the same shirt he wore when you cried in front of him for the first time and Kai showed you that he is actually a friend and not just a roommate who tolerates your existence.

It then makes you feel bad when you realise you’ve plopped his clothes against the dirty, washing room ground.

The pile of socks that you grab next, you avoid throwing them on the ground. Though, a pile of red that you don’t recognise perks your interest.

You can’t remember Kai wearing such bright colours as the man’s closet mostly contained muted colours and the odd pop of white or grey. You remember the day you cackled when Yeonjun showed you a photo of Kai when he was seemingly 16, dressed head to toe in purple like it was a normal outfit choice. You’ll never forget the sight of purple skinny jeans and how you almost peed yourself as you airily breathed out , “Who the fuck sells purple skinny jeans!?”

Maybe he’s stemmed into colour again? You hum as you tug the peaking fabric out of the pile of dark clothes.

“What the fuck.”

[1] Stalker 𓂃˚₊⊹🍬

 You hear a rhythmic knock on your door, and you already know it’s Kai. First of all, he was on his way, second who else do you know knocks like that?

You shuffle over to the door, your slippers dragging across the floor. You look through the peephole just in case. Who knows, last time it was a DoorDash driver arriving at the wrong door.

 You’re relieved when you see a head of shaggy platinum blond hair, it’s Kai. You unlock both locks, the top one being more stubborn. (You should probably get that fixed sooner or later.) He barges right in, not even a hello. At least he took his shoes off like always. He knows your rules in the apartment and he respects them. And luckily for you, he brought snacks.

  He easily makes himself at home, throwing himself onto the couch, not yet grabbing a blanket but placing the remote on the coffee table in front of him. You didn't even invite him over to watch TV but that's probably where the night is going to end anyways.

“Hello! I’m doing good too.” you say mockingly because he didn’t even acknowledge you letting him in. Men. “Hi, sorry, what’s up this time?” He says in a softer tone than usual. Honestly, you find that adorable how he immediately jumps to ask what’s wrong. “Don’t even, I literally just texted you about this. Also why do you always think something’s wrong when you come over?” He lets out a soft laugh at that. You shoot him a look that immediately makes him apologize. “Sorry, I’m laughing because you’re acting like you actually gave me details.” He really called you out there. But does he really expect every detail if he's just going to come over anyway?

You find yourself a spot on the couch, making yourself comfy as well. You grab a blanket from the basket full of them beside you. You throw one at Kai, so he too can make himself comfortable. After he does, he looks at you, waiting for you to settle and start talking.

 “Okay so, with the thing about my ex,” you say in a tone that sounds bored. “Well, yes that’s the whole reason I’m here.” He interrupts. “Okay anyways…” you pause before starting your next sentence. “So, he keeps making those accounts on every social media platform imaginable and it’s getting creepy. He even tried stalking my Spotify account, who the fuck does that?” Kai giggles. “Really? Spotify?” You scoff. “Yes, Spotify. Anyways, I’ve also seen him around town, and I think he might be stalking me. Like literally stalking me. Following me stalking me. Maybe even watching us right now I don’t know.” Kai’s eyes widened. “He’s following you?” You sigh. “I’m pretty sure of it.” Kai looks like he’s in disbelief.

 “[y/n], this is serious. That’s illegal.” He looks very concerned, he’s usually never like this, always carefree, you’ve never seen him this way before. “I know that’s why I invited you over. I need to ask you something.” You take a deep breath. This might give you the ick to even say it. “What’s up?” He replies. He’s very focused on your talking. “This sounds kind of embarrassing to say or even admit that I thought of this…” you admit. “It’s okay you can talk to me [y/nnie].” You shiver at the nickname. It’s random, but weirdly comforting considering the situation you’re currently in.

 You hesitate before talking, really, what you're thinking is that you should probably have Kai as a fake boyfriend. The thought itself is foreign to you. You don't know how to feel about pretending to date your best friend. You really think about your decision now. It'll be really awkward if he says no, which you're sure he will. You try and shake the nerves off but can't help regretting your decision of inviting him over. “I was going to ask you if we could do something like a fake relationship to get me out of this situation so just maybe he would back off. This does sound really weird Kai, I do admit that, but I really trust you the most out of the rest of my friends, that’s why I asked you. Again, I know you’re probably going to say no because that’s weird but-” you say the words so fast it sounds like a foreign language you haven't yet learned.

“Yes.” He replies. You’re shocked for a second, you didn’t expect him to accept, especially this fast. You look at him confused. He stares back. “What?” He asked, looking even more confused than you, “was I not supposed to say yes, or….?” You laugh. “No, I just didn’t expect you to even accept it, let alone that fast.” He looks at you, but this time it’s a deeper look, like there’s a warm light in his eyes. “I’m saying yes because I care about your safety, [y/n].” You nod your head at that, thanking him for helping you out.

     After that, it’s a little awkward, you guys put on a movie as you usually do. You always let Kai pick. He feels bad picking and wants you to but when you actually pick a movie, he regrets it. You end up sitting through all his movie options whether they’re corny, funny, or boring, because, the movies he picks are always somehow cute. It really shows how much of a nerd he is.

After you finish the movie, you’re half asleep, almost like a zombie. Kai came over at 8, it’s 10:20 something now, and you’re both tired. Kai should get home but he had a little too much to drink, as you pulled out your 12 pack of beer earlier to keep you guys as tipsy as possible to keep your minds off the conversation you two had earlier. You’re still cringing thinking about the way you worded it. You don’t want him driving, it’ll be unsafe. He’s not scarily drunk, but he’s tipsy enough. You don’t let him go. He doesn’t necessarily mind, your couch does happen to be very comfy. Same with the temperature of your apartment, it’s nice and cool. He doesn’t have anywhere to be tomorrow, it’s Saturday anyway.

You drag yourself to your bed, leaving Kai in the living room. He’s also half asleep, making you feel assured that he won’t go through your snacks again. Once you get yourself relaxed in your bed, you realize that you feel quite safe with Kai around. It has been quite hard trying to fall asleep recently, thinking about your stalker. You don’t quite trust your apartment building or locks anymore. And after you’ve seen him for the first time when you went to a cafe alone about a week ago, you realized that all those followers you’ve been gaining was not a coincidence. Your thoughts slowly fade as you become drowsy and fall asleep almost instantly. You are not worried at all with Kai being in your living room.

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist :) again If this looks different it’s because I changed the formatting with new pictures about an hour after it was originally uploaded 😭

You spot him when you tip your head back after the bag on your head was removed by one of the crooks. They tried to intimidate you, make you cry for the random video but they were quickly scared by the onslaught of growing sirens in the distance. All you wanted to do was calm yourself down - ease the tidal waves of anxiety splashing in your stomach but the red mask above you feels like a damning ripple in the quaint, settled sea.

Just metres above you is a dangling superhero that you’re honestly not overly surprised to see. The familiar red face greets you, but he taps a finger over where his mouth should be to indirectly tell you to be quiet.

He drops softly from the ceiling and shuffles to where your legs are taped to the legs of the old chair. You glance at the busy bodies around you, thankful they’re occupied by the growing noise of police sirens to see the eyesore of colour crouched by your legs. You try not to hiss as he tugs the tape from your legs.

You can’t help but really stare at spiderman because something just feels sickly familiar. The outline of his strong jaw and pointed nose makes a bell in the back of your head start to ring, dinging louder with every interaction you have — with every inch he gets closer.

“Hey! Wait, is that fucking Spiderman!?” A voice yells and breaks you from your trance. You whip your head up to witness the group of men scatter, drawing knives and small guns from their pockets as they storm over to where the crouched hero is. Within seconds your arms are ripped from their ductape bindings and a pained yelp escapes you as the cool air licks are your stinging skin. The masked hero mumbles a faint apology before he’s whisking you from your chair and propelling both of your bodies into the air.

A bullet whizzes past your head which causes you to grasp onto the hero without thinking. Only then do you realise how strong his grip is on your waist and how your legs automatically tangled around his thin, toned waist. There’s no time to really think about anything when the wind is whipping your hair around wildly and you’re clinging onto the suited hero that seems to follow your every thought now.

Your arms cling around his shoulders, eyes wide and full of bewilderment. This in no way matches the time you were gently plucked from the main street and placed in an alleyway - not with the way he uses a strong left arm to crush your waist against his torso as he flies across the skies by a webbed rope.

He webs between buildings without an inkling of doubt, twisting and curling around corners that seem deathly impossible. Your words are caught in your throat as you blatantly stare at the hero.

“You found me, again.” You mumble, eyes dissecting the fabric thin covering his face. He turns his head towards you just by a slight angle and it’s like you can read his face.

I know.

YOU decide against messaging Kai because you know he’ll end up telling you to leave the dirty clothes for him to wash. It feels a bit unfair, despite the fact you selfishly enjoy that he does the washing and drying that he is doing it 99% of the time.

It can’t be that hard right? The beaten line of dirtied washing machines is vaguely more terrifying than what you realise but you fairly remember Kai mentioning that the second machine on the far left seems to be in the best shape.

“Please don’t eat my clothes.” You whisper a plea to the machine as you rip the flimsy door open. The familiar waft of soft clean linen and faint synthetic floral greets your senses as your eyes land on a pile of slightly damp clothes. You wince as you look between your pile of unwashed clothes and the damp, soggy pile.

Maybe if you put it in a dryer the owner won’t realise?

With a quick scan of the room around you and deciding it’s criminally empty, you swiftly begin to pull out the pile of clothes. The clothes slop against the floor with a wet plop, slowly creating a slippery puddle next to your feet.

“Oh.” You mumble as a familiar band tshirt peers at you from the centre of the drum. Even in its dark, dampened state you recognise the flakey scrawled letters and faded imagery on the chest of the shirt. It’s the same shirt Kai wears when he’s just chilling in the house, when he’s being lugged to the gym by Taehyun, when he stays up late to finish university work — the same shirt he wears when you both stay up late eating ramen together while you rant about what woes you have both faced in the last few weeks.

It’s the same shirt he wore when you cried in front of him for the first time and Kai showed you that he is actually a friend and not just a roommate who tolerates your existence.

It then makes you feel bad when you realise you’ve plopped his clothes against the dirty, washing room ground.

The pile of socks that you grab next, you avoid throwing them on the ground. Though, a pile of red that you don’t recognise perks your interest.

You can’t remember Kai wearing such bright colours as the man’s closet mostly contained muted colours and the odd pop of white or grey. You remember the day you cackled when Yeonjun showed you a photo of Kai when he was seemingly 16, dressed head to toe in purple like it was a normal outfit choice. You’ll never forget the sight of purple skinny jeans and how you almost peed yourself as you airily breathed out , “Who the fuck sells purple skinny jeans!?”

Maybe he’s stemmed into colour again? You hum as you tug the peaking fabric out of the pile of dark clothes.

“What the fuck.”

You laughed, passing him another bowl. “Poor us, slaving away as usual.”

“Our team work is incredible.” Steve declared dramatically.

You laughed again, shaking your head as you reached into the sink for another glass. Steve watched you for a second longer than he meant to, the way you smiled to yourself, how you tucked a loose strand behind your ear every time it got in the way, scrunching your nose slightly when you focused.

The thought escaped him before he could pause it. “You know, you’re really pretty.” He said quietly.

Your hand stopped halfway to the faucet, blinking up at him. “What?”

Oh no, had he offended you? He just wanted you to know how pretty you were, even in the least moments you expected.

“I just…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I said you’re really pretty.”

Your brain promptly stopped working, a heated blush rushed to your face that made your ears burn. “Oh,” you said breathlessly.

“Yeah.” Steve gave you a small smile.

The kitchen suddenly felt more cramped than it had a minute ago, you stared at each other in silence, your mouth parted.

You needed an escape, anything to ensure you wouldn’t make a fool of yourself right here in front of the pretty boy Steve Harrington. “I…” You took an unconscious step backwards.

“I think Nancy needs me.” You glanced back to the door, when she had in fact not called you at all.

“Oh, Nancy?” Steve raised a brow, but you only nodded rapidly.

Before Steve could question it further, you were already turning on your heel, and speed walking out of the kitchen.

He stared at the empty spot you had been standing in, with a look of utter confusion clouding his features. “…Huh,” he blinked.

The second time you ran away, was because Steve had made the mistake of holding your hand.

The annual Fourth of July Hawkins fair was, in your opinion, the worst place to have a crush. There were too many people crowding the area, which meant too many occurrences for you to accidentally bump into Steve.

He kept smiling at you in a way that made your stomach do flips, and unfortunately for your rapid beating heart, he hadn’t left your side all night.

“I’m pretty sure I could beat all those rigged carnival games, in the end it just comes down to probability.” Dustin announced through a mouthful of caramel apple.

Lucas snorted. “You have a better chance at finding a date than that.”

The group continued bricking as you wandered deeper into the fairgrounds, weaving between families and children darting from one side to the other.

The smell of kettle corn drifted through the warm summer air, music from the carousel echoed in the distance. Someone brushed past your shoulder, then another, leaving you having trouble to keep up.

“Guys, wait up!” Mike called from somewhere you couldn’t see ahead.

The rest of the party slipped through a gap in the crowd before it disappeared again. You hesitated for half a second, searching for a way through the sea of people, suddenly you felt warm fingers wrap gently around your hand.

“C’mon.” Steve called, glancing back at you with an easy smile. “Don’t wanna lose you.”

He gave your hand the tiniest tug, and you felt your heart completely stop. “Oh,” was all you could manage, but Steve didn’t seem to notice.

He simply lead you through the crowd, occasionally pausing to make sure you were still with him. The worst part, was how your hand fit perfectly in his, palm even softer than you’d imagined, his thumb brushing against yours as he adjusted his grip.

You were fairly certain you were dreaming. When the crowd finally thinned again, he still didn’t let go, your eyes darted down to your conjoined hands, then back up to him.

He was laughing at something Robin had said, not even realizing he was still touching you. The thought made your breathing slow, then quicken rapidly. You lasted less than thirty seconds before blurting. “I need a pretzel!”

Steve looked over, his brows furrowed. “I’ll—uh—meet you guys in a second!” He couldn’t even get a word out, and you were already gone.

“I wonder why she keeps running away?” He shook his head.

The third time you ran away was after your first kiss.

Steve had finally sucked up the courage to ask you, there wasn’t any pressure, or awkward expectations, only the two of you figuring things out.

He had taken you to a movie drive-in, where the two of you spent more time whispering to each other on the hood of car rather than watching the actual movie.

“I had fun tonight.” Steve muttered as he killed the engine, stopping in front of your house.

“So did I.” You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face, instead of reaching for the door, you two stayed exactly where you were.

You glanced down at your hands folded in your lap. “What?” You laughed nervously when you caught him staring.

“Nothing.” He shrugged, but it was all too clear it was something.

“What are you thinking about?” You pressed softly, the curiosity getting the better of you.

Steve’s brown eyes twinkled in the pale moonlight. “You.”

Your breath caught, becoming very alert to the way he was subtly leaning closer. Steve stopped just an inch before your face, taking the opportunity, you met him halfway.

His lips brushed yours like he was afraid of scaring you away, the kiss short and sweet.

He pulled back, searching your face. “Was that okay?” He whispered.

You stared at him, your first kiss. Your first actual kiss with the boy who made you terribly shy, with Steve.

Your mind short circuited. “Yep,” you nodded way too enthusiastically.

“Just yep?” Steve laughed, his hand cupping your jaw, sending you further into your demise.

“Uh huh.” Your chest pounded so loudly you were convinced he could hear it. “I should—go.”

You reached for the door handle, Steve smiled. “See you tomorrow?”

“Mhm,” your throat closed up, he watched you through the windshield as you desperately fumbled around with your keys, then immediately slammed the door shut behind you.

The front curtain twitched, and you had completely forgotten he was still outside. The second your eyes met through the window, you let out a tiny squeak and closed the curtain shut again.

“She’s adorable.” Steve laughed to himself.

The fourth time you tried to run away, was because Steve told you he loved you.

The two of you were curled up on opposite ends of the couch, sharing a blanket as you listened to the soft patters of the rain contentedly.

He looked down at your knees touching, then took a deep silent breath. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

You turned to face him. “What is it?”

His warm brown eyes met yours, already crinkling at the corners with affection. “I love you.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs, that had been the last thing you expected to leave his mouth. Steve was always good with showing his feelings, and even better at catching you off guard.

He watched your eyes flicker towards the bathroom, a grin slowly spread across his face when he pinched down on your sides. “Oh no you don’t.”

“What?” You asked nervously.

“I know that look, it means you’re about to run away from me.” Steve caged you in.

“Steve…” you sighed, face aflame.

“You’re not running away from me this time.” He shook his head adamantly.

You groaned, hiding your face in his chest embarrassed he had finally caught you.

“I can’t help it—my brain just—”

“I know.” He wrapped his arms around you tightly and kissed the top of your head. “My little rabbit.” He whispered teasingly.

When you glanced up at him, you were shocked to not find a hint of annoyance on his face, only a wide smile. “I love you too.” You replied honestly. “And I’ll try not to run away anymore.”

You walked into the office, shrugging off the purple cardigan that was slightly bigger than your usual size and draping it over your chair. As usual, you placed your bag under your desk and turned on your PC before settling down, ready to focus for the day. Though, the second you spotted Spencer approaching, you instantly announced your daily fun fact.

“Did you know that peanut butter can be turned into diamonds? Fun fact.” From the corner of your eyes, you saw Emily pause at your statement. Spencer, on the other hand, grinned at your words.

“Good morning.” Spencer placed his coffee cup down on his desk first before coming to your side, holding yours out for you. You carefully took the ceramic vessel from him, muttering gratitude at his kind action. His other hand lingered on your back before withdrawing out of respect for the fact that you were both clocked in at work. 

His eyes soon noticed the clothing item that hung on your chair. 

“Was wondering where that one went,” your boyfriend murmured.

Boyfriend. Even after three months and having grown used to calling Spencer by that title, you still feel giggly at such a term. In fact, your lips curled right then while thinking of the word again.

You took in Spencer’s attire, specifically, the way that his purple button-up (coincidentally) matched the purple cardigan you had stolen from him two weeks ago. For a split second, you considered coordinating outfits deliberately with him, but in subtle ways.

“Hold on a second, peanut butter can what?” Emily double checked.

“I know, right?” you breathed out before reaching under your desk and pulling out an information-packed tome, dropping the heavy object onto the furniture’s surface. 

It was Rossi’s courtesy. A month and a half ago, the old man decided to give you a fact book in hopes you could still win this bet before eight months were up. Unfortunately, his gift was unable to aid you much in your intellectual combat against Spencer, and thus, failed to prevent Rossi’s loss of his bet on a victory before the eight-month mark. 

You carefully opened to the page where you had seen the fact and held it up for Emily to see.

“Well, would you consider having a peanut butter diamond ring?” she joked, though Spencer quickly jumped in.

“Actually, I would advise against it. Oftentimes, the lab-manufactured results are small. So they’re unsuitable for proposal rings.” His words almost felt personal with the way Spencer’s eyes fell to your hand, and you smirked teasingly.

“Why? You think I should have a big diamond instead of a small rock?” Instantly, your boyfriend’s ears grew hot, and you almost laughed at the way he started stuttering. 

“Well, I just—on average, women tend to prefer a sizable diamond ring when proposed to. But also, like—well, I mean—you—”

“Me?”

“With your finger size—”

“How do you know my finger size?”

“Your ring was next to a couple of coins the other day—”

“Oh? And you decided to notice and remember this information, why?” You smirked, enjoying the way your relentless teasing was turning Spencer into a mess. But in all honesty, you were not that surprised. Spencer’s brain often stored information that most tend to overlook.

“Yeah, Spencer. Planning to drop down on one knee soon?” Emily’s added effort to poke at Spencer only made him more flustered, though the genius eventually was able to overcome it and continued speaking.

“With your finger size, the most suitable—preferences aside—would be a 1.0-1.5 carat diamond ring, and the peanut butter manufactured ones would be nowhere near that. Besides, diamonds made of peanut butter are often discolored largely due to impurities such as hydrogen and nitrogen, which are non-carbon components, getting trapped during diamond formation processes that involve high heat. Meanwhile, diamonds are mainly made of carbon atoms.”

“Would you like to know my diamond size preference, Spence?” was your only reply, and those words had Spencer’s face blooming bright red. Once again, he stammered to organise his words, yet a sentence could not be strung together.

Together, you and Emily burst out laughing at Spencer’s speechless state. Though the two of you began shifting to get back to work. Emily returned to her own desk, amusement lingering on her face. Meanwhile, you slowly spun your chair back to your PC, your laughter replaced by a full-on smile.

Yet, Spencer did not move from his spot. In fact, the sight of you smiling and your eyes crinkling had Spencer’s gaze softening.

Eighty seven days since he had told you that you were his favorite fun fact, a title Spencer continued to frequently refer to you as.

Prior to the prospect of you two, Spencer had made peace with a mundane dating-less life, living in a repetitive monotone manner. But now that he has you, that kind of life sounded dreadful. With you, mundane things became highlights of his day and the staples of his boyfriend-adjusted daily routine.

But above all, every day, he got to learn new things about you, like where you like to read in your apartment, how you like to separate your laundry, or your preferred side of the bed. Each and every new detail he discovered folded into the wrinkles of his brain like all along, the organ was made just to hold facts about you.

The genius bit back a smile.

That afternoon, Spencer walked you to your car like always. But instead of saying goodbye and heading off to the metro station by himself like before, the genius got into your passenger seat, and the two of you left the office together. As you were driving both of you back to his apartment, Spencer’s eyes darted to your hand again.

Calling you his forever favorite fun fact instead?

Spencer found himself really liking the sound of that.

The corner of his lips lifted before he looked away.

Maybe someday.

・┈・┈・┈・┈・┈・

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“Small facts lead to great knowing” - Patrick Rothfuss (2011)

“I can’t believe anybody would do something like this,” you commented whilst looking down at the two documents in your hands—your thoroughly highlighted case dossier and your finished report. Every new case always exhibits unimaginable horror and unfortunately, there will always be something worse than your current worst. 

You turned to Spencer whilst perched cross-legged on the edge of his table.

The corner of the genius’s mouth curled at your words. They were the very same ones that sprouted daily despite the nature of your job. But to Spencer, there was a strange comfort in such small repetitive murmurs of disbelief.

“I gotta agree with Rossi. This job really includes some of the worst lunatics out there.” You sighed before straightening up at a sudden thought. “Actually, fun fact…” You noticed the way your words peeled Spencer’s attention from his report. He finally glanced up, eager for the second half of that sentence. 

“The word lunatic was invented based on the belief that mental illnesses were affected by moon phases.” You beamed at the idea of potentially providing your genius friend with new knowledge. 

“Yeah, and it actually originated from the Latin word ‘lunaticus,’ which means moonstruck or influenced by the moon. The word was first used for conditions like epilepsy or overall just madness,” Spencer replied, perking up at the thought of a potential conversation about this.

The excited smile on your face instantly faltered and you groaned in feigned annoyance. Perhaps you should have known better than to think you could out-fact Spencer and say something he had not already known.

“Is there anything you don’t know, Spence?” you glowered jokingly.

“Well, it’s hard when you’re a child prodigy and genius.” You let out a scoff-like laugh at Spencer’s cocky admission, but you knew he was joking. Despite his IQ of 187, Spencer rarely ever announced himself a genius. It was a title dubbed by those around him. You knew if you had Spencer’s brain, though, you would hardly ever stay as humble as him.

“I’ll get you someday.”

Your declaration drew a snort from another work desk and you twisted around to face the source of such a faithless sound.

“You don’t believe in me, Derek?” You arched a brow, your competitiveness rising to the surface.

“Sweet girl, I believe in you for many things, but this is just not one of them.”

“But surely there is one single fact out there that Spencer doesn’t know about.” Penelope piped up from next to Derek, defending you.

“We’re talking about the same Spencer, right? Spencer Reid? Three PhDs and an IQ of Einstein?” JJ spoke as she made her way down the bullpen.

“Actually, there is no way of measuring Einstein’s IQ as he never took the test, so to say that—” Derek quickly interrupted Spencer.

“Come on, pretty boy. She’s backing you up.”

“Sounds like grounds to start a betting pool going,” Rossi spoke up as he approached the whole group, briefcase in one hand, car keys in the other. “$20 says she’ll do it within four months.”

“I think she can do it within three months.” Emily chimed up from her desk.

“I’m placing my bet on eight months,” Penelope added confidently.

“Alright, and if she can’t do it within one year, JJ and I will split the win,” Derek announced before directing his next words to you, “Stakes are on, sweetheart.” He winked.

“Yeah, yeah. I got it.” You rolled your eyes before turning towards Spencer, declaring to him with exaggerated cockiness, “I’m gonna get you real soon, just wait.”

“You’re welcome to try.” The challenging glint in Spencer’s eyes met your own. Again, you knew better than to think that you would know something Spencer did not already know. He was practically the master of facts. But, unfortunately, you were incredibly bad at quitting.

So, let the challenge begin.

﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏

“Did you know that Australia is wider than the moon?” you questioned the second you saw Spencer enter the office the next morning. “Fun fact.”

“Yes, diameter-wise. Australia is almost 4,000 kilometres wide, while the moon’s diameter is nearly 3,500 kilometres. However, in terms of their masses, the moon is still larger.” You sighed dramatically at Spencer’s reply before spinning your chair towards your computer, turning the device on.

“And day one status: unsuccessful,” you grunted to yourself, catching Spencer’s grin from your peripheral vision.

“Oh? It’s gonna be daily?”

“You bet your ass it’s gonna be. There’s a betting pool and I’m unfortunately too competitive for my own good.” You caught the amusement dancing in Spencer’s gaze. 

“Well then, good luck.”

“Won’t need it.”

﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏

“Did you know a cloud can weigh like a million pounds?” You crossed your arms while peering at the cotton candy-like objects floating amidst the bright blue summer sky. “Fun fact.”

Both of you had your bulletproof vests on, leaning against a car while waiting for JJ to finish speaking to the press before driving back to the precinct. Another case wrapped. Another unsub locked up.

Under the nice weather, you had your cap and Spencer’s sunglasses on, having forgotten yours. He had heavily insisted so, even after you had declined a handful of times.

You turned and looked at Spencer briefly. Though, for a split second, your body stilled as the sun played in his favor, casting nice highlights to his woodsy colored locks. The light crinkle of his nose and his squinting eyes made your lips curl, cause once again, it showcased just how self-sacrificing Spencer can be when it came to the people close to him.

“Yeah, because they contain different states of matter like trillions of condensed water droplets and ice crystals. Its weight is equivalent to the world’s largest aircraft working at full capacity. Though despite its heaviness, clouds have lower density in comparison to the dry air around them, enabling them to float in the same way as oil floats on water.” Spencer tried to maintain eye contact with you despite the blaring sun shining into his eyes.

“Hmm…” you pursed your lips before removing your navy blue cap and placing it on your friend’s head. This cast a shadow over his eyes, blocking the harsh sun from blinding his vision. “Beautiful weather to fail at winning this fun fact thing again.”

Spencer didn’t reject the clothing item.

Some time in the history of human beings, the act of sporting others’ clothing items—especially of the opposite gender—had been made to seem important. Spencer has never understood the significance in such a small exchange. But as your hat landed on his head, Spencer felt an added weight that was beyond the small clothing item. 

Neither did he have it in him to adjust how you had left the cap on him, even if it didn’t sit on his head perfectly.

“I still have time to get you,” you continued after a moment of silence.

“359 days left.”

“More than enough.”

﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏

The clock was close to hitting 11pm. The whole team was taking a short break for a fresh perspective. Most were on their phones or taking a quick nap, but Spencer and you were playing a round of cards.

“Did you know ketchup used to be medicine? Fun fact.”

Both Emily’s and Derek’s watchful gaze panned from you to Spencer, anticipating his reaction to your daily shot at winning the bet.

“Around the 1830s, yeah. They marketed it as a cure for various ailments such as indigestion and diarrhea.” 

Emily instantly groaned at Spencer’s reply while Derek snickered. Once again, Spencer already knew the information you provided, just like the 13 previous times.

“See? Not a single thing he doesn’t know,” Derek chirped up, earning him a glare from the co-worker beside him.

You finally placed your next card down, instantly eying Spencer, wanting a read of his reaction to your play. There was a distant look in his eyes, a clear indication that he was taking this game just as seriously as you were.

Your eyes swept over the rest of your opponent. The un-neat edges in his usually tidy work attire and the way his hair stuck in different directions had your lips curling. They were details that only unveil during late work hours after a long day. But strangely enough, there was something endearing about the slight tiredness in his eyes and the way his cardigan hung disheveledly on him. 

“I won.”

Your eyes snapped to the pile of cards on the table at Spencer’s declaration.

“What?! No way. You must have cheated.”

“Now, now, don’t be a sore loser just because pretty boy over here won,” Derek teased you, despite also highly suspecting that Reid had cheated.

“Are we talking about the same pretty boy who is banned from many Vegas casinos because of his expert skill in counting cards?” JJ countered, placing her phone down. 

Your co-workers’ discourse began fading out of your focus as Spencer took out a ticket from his bag and handed it to you with a cheeky grin. With hesitation, you took the paper begrudgingly. You knew you had to hold your end of the deal. You had lost, after all.

You glanced back at the winner of the card game, catching his toothy grin at your sulking manners. Against all maturity, you poked your tongue out in petulance, but such childish action had Spencer laughing quietly in his spot, eyes gleaming with fondness.

“Sore loser.”

“Cheater.”

﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏

Hotch halted in his tracks upon spotting you and Reid in the break room.

Both of your heads were side by side, just a hair short from touching, fighting to have adequate sight of the newspaper that the two of you were sharing. Each of you also sported a pen in hand, scribbling hastily onto the delicate paper with vigorous competitiveness.

The unit chief entered to refill his coffee, though his eyes continued investigating you two. In the narrow gap between your heads, Hotch caught sight of Spencer rapidly filling out a crossword puzzle. Meanwhile, just as fast, you were solving a Sudoku piece that resided on the same page.

“Did you know, like fingerprints, people also have unique tongue prints?” you murmured, eyes still glued onto the puzzle in front of you. “Fun fact.”

“Yeah, humans have unique color, tongue shape, and textural features, therefore making it a great form of identification. However, we currently do not have the suitable technology to capture intricate surface details of tongue prints. Also, switching costs are high partially because the idea of having to stick one's tongue out in public for authentication can be seen as rather awkward, unhygienic, and undignifying.”

You pursed your lips at another unsuccessful day. But such expression vanished when you dropped your pen on the table and declared with unadulterated joy:

“Done!”

Your victory drew a defeated noise from Spencer.

“Imagine though, having to stick your tongue out at airport immigration and place it onto a public scanner or something like that.” You cackled at Spencer's grimace and the way his body slightly shivered from such a mental image. Eventually though, your laugh reduced to a teasing smile.

Spencer’s gaze lowered to the little crinkle that appeared around your eyes as you smiled, before holding eye contact with you. Spencer knew there was no such thing as “eyes twinkling,” but you had him doubting that scientifically established truth for a second. It was lighting and he knew that, but he had to admit that he could finally somewhat understand why poets and writers were so obsessed with dedicating lines towards such a tiny detail. 

Because even though there was no reason for him to, his own lips began to curl, mirroring the smile on your face.

From behind you both, Aaron Hotchner took a sip of his coffee before departing the room. Though on his way out, his eyes glinted a knowing look, while his lips lifted just the slightest bit before schooling back to a neutral expression again. 

﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏

“Did you know that back then, when raising a toast, people would literally drop a piece of toast into their wine?” you blurted out the second you slid yourself into the empty seat opposite Spencer at his breakfast table. Never have you ever skipped free hotel breakfast and today was no exception.

“Well, hello to you too.” Spencer grinned at your straight-to-business behavior. 

He carefully placed the coffee he made for you into your hand—a casual daily routine. You took a good whiff of the comforting aroma before humming at the first taste. It was exactly how you liked it: a dash of milk along with two and a quarter teaspoon of sugar.

To date, Spencer has never asked how you liked your coffee. 

He simply has always gotten it right.

It was not hard to guess that he had learnt your preferences from watching you make your coffee in the past. But you could not help but wonder if he took mental notes on others the same way he did with you. However, like every other time, you dismissed it as an occupational habit. Every member has been trained to be observant and notice little details. Spencer probably knew everybody’s coffee preferences.

“It actually originated from Ancient Rome, and back then, toast was an act to honor the gods and people would pour wine onto the floor. However, the custom evolved in many ways over time, depending on geographic regions. Around the 1600s, it became a common custom in England and this is where people would put a piece of spiced toast into their wine. They did it to improve the flavor of their beverage and also to “toast” to good health.”

Spencer caught your hum of satisfaction at the coffee and instantly felt pleased.

Science has long documented humans as naturally validation-seeking creatures. Your existence often humbled him from thinking he was not a recurring participant in that particular human instinct.

His eyes fell from you to your coffee—a particular mix that has ingrained itself into his memory since your first meeting. Funny that some time since then, he could no longer look at the beverage without ever thinking of you.

Neither could Spencer for the life of him recite the coffee order of anybody else at the BAU.

“36 days down…” you murmured, already picturing yourself rummaging the internet for more fun facts tonight.

“Maybe tomorrow.” The words came out softly, almost encouragingly. You hummed before matching his tone.

“Maybe.”

﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏

“Flies rub their hands as a sanitizing act, rather clean for an insect commonly associated with dirty places, no?” you murmured before peering up from your book whilst curled up in your seat on the BAU’s jet.

“Yes, it’s a self-grooming act. They do this primarily for two reasons. First and foremost, it’s because their legs are their flavour receptors, so they rub their front legs to ensure they can taste when eating. The other motivation is to remove dust and debris, therefore, ensuring survival.”

Your bottom lip jutted out slightly at another unsuccessful attempt.

“I’ll get you tomorrow…” you murmured with a teasing smile before re-immersing yourself in the fantasy world of your current novel.

Reading has become your escapism and method of self-grounding prior to any case. You tried to plunge into fictional worlds while flying to prepare yourself for the terrible realities that accompanied upcoming cases. Though at one point, Spencer started joining in. But instead of having his own book, he would lean over and scan your current page with unrealistic speed while you leisurely let each letter sink in. It became a routine that occupied your journey from Quantico, whereas on the way back, Spencer and you maintained your tradition of engaging in chess matches. 

Spencer spotted your finger flipping the page once more and his eyes instantly swept over the printed words hastily.

Twenty thousand words per minute. That was Spencer’s known reading speed, which meant in merely two seconds or three, he was already done with the two pages in front of you both. As always, you were still reading at your own pace, unhurried. He knew he could adopt a slower speed to enjoy your chosen fictional literature. But lately, he found himself in a hurry, rushing himself to finish pages in a way that made him think maybe he was now above his previously established reading speed. 

Why?

His gaze flicked over to you, mulling over the familiar details that made you, you. He studied the way your fingers trace the fore-edge of the book mindlessly, lingering on the way you tease your lips with your teeth as you registered the adventure that the story was taking you on. Spencer caught the slight shift in the space between your eyebrows and how they slightly twitch according to plot progression, displaying your commitment to your reading content.

Spencer would not classify himself as a people watcher, despite his necessary observant and analytical traits as a profiler. Yet, somehow, watching you had become one of his favorite quiet activities. In your little habits were his comfort. In moments when cases were overwhelming, his eyes have made a tendency to land on you. The spike in his heartbeat would normalize, whilst rapid thoughts would regulate. It was only in moments when Spencer would get caught by you that he would tear his gaze away sheepishly, before attempting to pretend that he was looking elsewhere instead.

The sound of paper rustling pulled Spencer out of his mind, and he instantly plunged himself into the same self-established cycle again.

And despite his fondness for literature, for once, it did not hold a candle in his eyes.

﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏

“Cows have best friends, how great is that?”

Spencer stopped eating his ice cream the second he spotted someone passing the two of you in a cow onesie, giving away why you decided on that particular fun fact. His eyes fell back on you, glimmering with amusement. 

“Yes, cows do have a ‘best friend’ who they tend to share spaces and rest side by side with. Research shows that when separated, these cows would show signs of stress and anxiety with higher heart rates.”

You hummed at that. By now, you were used to his immediate expansion on your facts, no longer surprised or disappointed every time he added onto your words. 

In fact, you fondly looked forward to hearing what he had to say about whatever fact you would sprout. There was a deep sense of appreciation that you have grown for this challenge. You felt like, intellectually, your general knowledge had expanded immensely, both from researching fun facts to tell Spencer and also from the informative responses that you would receive from him.

“You know, cows also can develop what some may refer to as ‘accents.’ Research observed variations in their moos based on different regions and herds.” Spencer leaned closer to you before adding cheekily, “Fun fact.”

“Nuh uh, don’t go stealing my line. You’re not allowed to put me out of business.”

This tore a laugh out of Spencer, and you immediately bit back a smile at such a sound. 

If humans have the ability to bottle noises for keepsake, you know now what sound you would try to capture.

Surprisingly, this was only the second time that Spencer and you had spent time together one-on-one out of work. 

With the working hours at the BAU that forced you and all your co-workers to be in close proximity for an extensive amount of time, you tend to allocate your scarce free time to those who were outside of your work circle. But something about spending time with Spencer today had struck you with an epiphany:

You really, really wanted to see Spencer outside of work more often.

Both your phones started ringing at the same time.

“Penelope, is everything okay?” you answered quietly.

“Emily?” Spencer whispered at the same time into his phone.

After a few seconds, you both ended your respective phone calls before slowly turning to face each other again. You scanned yours and Spencer’s outfit before sighing.

“There’s not enough time to go home and change.” The devastation in your voice was imminent.

“I know.”

A few minutes later, both of you entered the office, and almost instantly, the noise level declined significantly as the whole team paused their actions. You winced, knowing immediately that you two were about to be the butt of many incoming jokes.

“Whoa, what time period did you guys travel back from?” Emily teased.

“We were at a convention, okay?” You huffed, picking up your go-bag from under your desk for a change of clothes.

“And you two are dressed up as…?” Rossi crossed his arms, undoubtedly amused.

The team scanned over both of your outfits. Spencer was wearing a brown fedora hat, an oxblood colored corduroy jacket, and grey pants. Despite the only semi-chilly weather, he also sported a colorful striped knitted scarf around his neck. As for you, you were in an all pink attire, but what stood out was your long pink coat, high pink boots, and long white scarf.

“The fourth doctor and Romana II, from Doctor Who,” Spencer answered, grabbing his go bag.

Derek’s eyes comedically bulged out at that, and he immediately spun his chair towards you. “Blink twice if Reid is blackmailing you with something to make you go to this convention with him.” You laughed at his remark.

“Listen, remember the card game I lost two months ago? That’s why I had to go, but when I actually started the show, I really enjoyed it.” You raised your hands in surrender.

“Oh, we lost another one. She got Reid-ified,” Derek exclaimed dramatically before placing a hand on his chest in jest heartbreak, grinning at your eye roll.

By now, Spencer had returned to your side with his go-bag. Though just as you two turned around to head off and change, an abrupt flash halted you both in your steps. Blinking away the after-effect of the blinding light, you saw Penelope with her phone facing you two and a cheeky grin on her face.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Delete that,” you immediately instructed, hands on your hips while your brows furrowed in fussiness. You then sucked in a deep breath and used your hand to comb through your hair before a smile broke your feigned annoyed expression. “I was not ready.”

Then, with dramatic flair, you posed properly for the camera, grabbing Spencer’s scarf exaggeratedly with both hands while tugging him lightly. 

Spencer was unsure if his knees had buckled due to a slight loss of balance or from your proximity. He glanced at the camera, face slightly flushed, before witnessing another flash go off, evidencing his blush and putting it on record.

Your hands were gone from his scarf like a breeze. 

“Alright, I’m gonna go change now.” By the time Spencer registered your words, you were already gone. All that was left at the spot you previously occupied was his attention. Spencer's eyes eventually moved when he heard a quiet giggle from Penelope, who was indescribably entertained by the dazed look on his face.

The tech expert slowly angled her phone towards Spencer to show what she had captured, and she carefully observed Spencer’s contemplative gaze. His eyes landed on you first, and they softened at the sight of your beaming face. They then traced the slope of your smile and the crinkle of your eyes before reluctantly trailing down to your hands and the way they bossily clung onto his scarf. 

The sentiment of pictures has always been just a concept to Spencer Reid. He does understand the logic behind people’s attachment to colored captures of moments and why people have ‘important’ photos in their wallets or have framed physical copies. But personally, he rarely ever practiced it. Yet, in this precise moment, he suddenly wanted to begin.

Without even looking at himself in the photo, Spencer murmured to Penelope:

“Can you send that to me, please? Thank you.”

﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏

“Where is she?” Derek’s gaze darted up to his friend. One glance at Spencer and the man already knew who he was referring to.

“Garcia said she called in sick this morning. Why?”

“Nothing.”

Derek scanned over Spencer from head to toe properly this time. Realisation flashed through his eyes before the man smirked as he looked back down at his work. 

Ah, the perks of being a profiler.

“Sure, pretty boy.”

“What was that loo—” 

The sound of Spencer’s phone ringing interrupted his question. He took the device out of his pocket, and the phone almost flew out of his hand when he saw your name flashing on the screen. He immediately picked up and placed the device beside his ear, breathing out your name in greeting.

Instead of your usual cheery tone, Spencer was met with a muffled voice and snifflings.

Immediately, his body stiffened.

“Are you okay?” He was by his desk within seconds. His fingers grazed over his jacket, as if prepared to scoop the clothing up and dash out of the office if your answer indicated any distress. 

“My nose is blocked. Both sides. It’s horrendous,” then came a dramatic sigh, “I’m becoming a mouth breather, Spence.”

Your melodrama tore a laugh from Spencer’s throat.

Derek’s lips curled discreetly at the noise.

“Anyway, don’t think you can escape your daily fun fact just because I’m not physically in the office.” Spencer was glad you were not physically with him, because if you were, you would have seen the idiotic grin stretching his face. But how could he not smile at your stubborn resilience, and the cute sound of your nasally voice that was slightly more high-pitched than normal. 

“You’re sick, and you took a day off work, but not off the fun fact thing?”

“In sickness and in health, as they say.”

Spencer accidentally snorted at your words and immediately cleared his throat in an attempt to cover it.

Derek’s brows scrunched at that.

“Apparently, while wired to specific scientific machines and whatnot, two lucid dreamers can have two-way communication in real time. How cool is that?” Spencer hummed fondly at your words before sitting down, his plan to flee from office hours long gone.

“That’s quite a recent fun fact. The study was recently concluded just about two years ago,” his voice came out soft as he focused on any sound that the technological device beside his ear could carry over from your end. 

He caught your hum, though the sound resembled the same one you always did while sitting next to him on the jet as the team flew back to Quantico. The noise that often preceded the soft landing of your head on his shoulder and the way he’d sit straighter up to accommodate you entirely despite his germaphobia-led touch aversion.

“You should sleep and rest,” he whispered, despite wanting to hear your voice for longer. But selflessness came easy when you were in consideration.

Spencer carefully began listing all the things you ought to do later to get better. But halfway through, he noticed the lack of noise from the other end, except for your rhythmic breathing, signaling your sound asleep state. Spencer sighed before removing the phone from his ear. He stared at the device in long contemplation before clicking the end call button.

Finally placing down the device that signified his only contact with you today, Spencer flipped open today’s case dossier. However, he found himself re-reading the first sentence over and over again. His eyes kept scanning over the same words, and he felt the way they slid past his comprehension the same way small external details occasionally would escape his notice whenever he spent time with you. 

Spencer’s mind kept trailing back to the phone call and to you.

It’s familiarity—he tried to tell himself. Humans were, afterall, creatures of habit, and considering you have been swirled into his daily routine like a necessity, it made sense that the lack of your presence had set him off balance. 

Eventually, Spencer got up and went to the break room for coffee. But the second he opened the cupboard and his eyes landed on your mug, he felt his mouth run dry. 

For the past one and a half years, he has always made two cups of coffee instead of one at the start of each day.

His eyes darted to his mug right next to yours. The idea of separating them sent some sort of ache in his heart, even if logically they were just ceramic vessels.

Perhaps he had mislabeled what missing someone meant all along, because your absence was bringing a hollowness that nobody had managed to carve out of him before. It was the kind of emptiness that made him feel incomplete, as if a piece of himself was not with him. Yet, as opposed to the expected numbness that often accompanied such a feeling, Spencer felt every second of your absence with a constant stinging ache that felt too akin to withdrawal symptoms. 

Eventually, Spencer shut the cupboard and returned to his desk, coffee-less.

That evening after work, Spencer made a detour instead of going straight home, missing the way his friends huddled together, exchanging hushed whispers about his departure.

﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏

Twenty two hours, forty eight minutes, and thirty one seconds.

Spencer witnessed as time quietly slipped through the cracks of his remaining strength. 

The whole bullpen lacked the life his work family usually colored in. The janitor had long shut off the main lights, so the only thing illuminating the space near Spencer was his desk lamp. Everybody else had gone home except for Hotch, but the unit chief was in his office, leaving Spencer as the last man standing in the bullpen.

After a few more ticks, Spencer finally tore his gaze from the timing instrument and glided his vision back down to the pen in his hand, forcing it to ink his unfinished report, but words refused to string together. 

Spencer’s free hand began tapping his desk rhythmically in a pathetic attempt to comfort himself.

Twenty two hours, fifty one minutes, and twenty one seconds.

Spencer wanted to say that it didn’t matter. Why should it? But he knew damn well that the answer was because the team mattered to him. 

However, perspective was truly a funny thing. Someone could be your number one priority, and you barely just made it in their list.

Spencer averted his gaze from the unfinished report to the brand new photo frame on his desk, where a captured version of the recent memory of you two as Doctor Who characters resided.

It did not take a genius to see that you two were closer to one another than with others on the team. However, the fun fact challenge had truly unlocked another level of bond. It was the kind of connection that meant he had started placing you above the others, a position that implied he also expected more from you, cause perhaps he thought you had also valued him just as much as he treasured you in his mind. 

So as much as the whole team was the source of his dismay, there was a spotlight reserved for your absence, one that was beyond glaring and punched his guts in ways that others could not.

His eyes traced your face in the photograph again, like they had done every morning since he had gotten the picture framed. 

Oftentimes, you could never be absolutely sure where you stand in someone’s life.

Twenty two hours, fifty nine minutes, and ten seconds.

A resigned breath escaped the narrow gap between his lips.

With more effort than it usually took, Spencer got on his feet, hoping that another cup of coffee would be the cure for his inefficiency. He slowly placed more weight on one side of his body to turn around. At the same time, Spencer began rubbing his face in hopes that exhaustion and melancholy would push themselves aside for a brief moment so that he could finish this impending task. 

When Spencer finally reopened his eyes to navigate the darkness, he froze at the sight that was once behind him.

Eight steps away was you, looking like a deer caught in headlights. 

Then came your escaped nervous laughter, like you were scared of screwing up, but that was only because you were unaware that you could almost never do wrong in Spencer’s eyes. His heart—which Spencer’s brain has been having a harder time controlling lately—provided you with a much larger margin for error than anybody else.

Your gentle tone filled the fragile silence that was intertwined with suspense.

“Fun fact, birthday cakes are traditionally round as an Ancient Greek tradition to resemble the moon for the goddess Artemis.” Your eyes crinkled as your lips curled into that familiar smile that had previously held Spencer powerless on numerous occasions. “Happy Birthday, Spence.”

There you were, cake in hand after a long day of work on a gruesome case.

There you were, with a homemade cake after a long day of him thinking everybody had forgotten his birthday, or more importantly, that you had forgotten.

But maybe his probability was not entirely against him. 

“I know I’m quite late, but trust me, there’s an explanation. When I got to the office this morning, I realized that I had forgotten your cake at home. I was planning to grab it after work, but the case kept us all back so late, and then traffic was super bad because of a concert today. But hey, I got the cake now, and I really hope you like it.”

You peered down at your own baking product and the slightly wonky penmanship before turning your eyes back onto Spencer.

“Also, since it’s your birthday, I’ll give you a bonus fun fact. There are roughly 30,000 people who have their birthdays on October 12th in the States, but…” 

Your voice fell quiet as your eyes diverted back to the cake again. 

“You’re my favorite October 12th.”

And right at that second, all of Spencer’s previous attempts at rationalising his feelings via scientific explanations collapsed. For once, science could no longer shield him, because as much as it was a field built on facts of concrete evidence, there was also an undeniable truth: he liked you.

It might not be rational, but it was still a fact, and that alone terrified Spencer. 

And while he was your favorite October 12th, you were his favorite every day.

Spencer glanced down at the handmade cake and the singular purple candle pierced in the center. The tiny flame provided just enough light for the space between you both. His eyes then flicked back onto you, and they softened.

God, you were so clueless about the effect your actions have on him and his whole world.

One breath extinguished the fire, and grey smoke fluttered into the air.

Then, for the first time since he saw you five minutes ago, Spencer managed to form the only words he felt were worthy enough of your time.

“Thank you.”

Even if the significance behind those words didn’t reach you today, it was okay. But they carry the weight of his whole heart and every unspoken reason behind his gratefulness. 

Thank you for not forgetting about him today. Thank you for always being so kind and paying attention to the details about him. Thank you for being such an important part of his life. Thank you for choosing the exact career path that you did to lead you to him. Thank you for existing. 

And someday, maybe Spencer Reid will gather enough courage to tell you all of this.

﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏

You halted in your step, and almost immediately Spencer followed suit. His eyesight followed yours, and he instantly knew what you were gonna ask from him.

“Come on, can you play for me? Please?” you urged, and it didn’t take more than your pleading face to make him approach the instrument that lay abandoned in the corner of the hotel where the whole team was staying.

Saying “no” became a significantly harder task for Spencer ever since he realised what kind of position his feelings were in when it came to you. It especially felt like an impossible task when your words came in that pleading tone and the smile that had him wishing stopping time was one of his abilities.

You followed Spencer and leaned against the instrument eagerly. You observed as he lightly cracked his knuckles, eying the mixture of ivory and ink-dark keys with a calculative gaze before placing his fingers delicately on them while his foot pressed gently on one of the pedals at the base.

For a moment, you wondered what Spencer would play. Maybe one of the classical pieces he liked a lot. Perhaps Bach? Or—  

A familiar tune overtook the pleasant quietness in the empty hotel lobby, and recognition struck you with every flawless execution of each note.

First off, you knew he was a liar, saying he only dabbled in piano. But what caught you off-guard was hearing the piano version of your favorite song. 

It was things like this that made you conclude that Spencer Reid was one of the sweetest individuals you have ever had the privilege to know. From making you coffee daily to hunting down first editions of your favorite books (the most recent one in which he handed over along with soup the day you got sick and were off work). Now, he was learning your favorite song on the piano. 

Lucky felt like an inadequate word to describe your position in life when Spencer was in the equation.

Only when he finished the very modern composition did you speak up.

“I thought you only listened to classical?”

“I…did,” was all that came out of Spencer’s mouth, but it was enough for you to catch his implication that he had learnt this song specifically on the piano for you.

Spencer sniffled, diverting his gaze from you shyly as he inspected the keys in front of him again.

Ever since his birthday, Spencer could constantly feel the urge to confess right on the tip of his tongue while his lips trembled in self-control to keep them to himself for now. According to the internet and its various articles, he should try to ‘woo’ you first, and hence these actions instead of confessing right away. He wondered if you got his message. He wondered if you could tell this was his version of flirting. However, Spencer also knew that he had accidentally portrayed himself as an extremely sweet friend from your perspective, so thoughtful actions with the aim of impressing you romantically were most likely ruled as platonic gestures. 

You began toying with the ring on your middle finger, the flattery from his sweet action manifested itself through the heat beneath your cheeks. For the first time in your almost three years of friendship with Spencer, you were struck by a minor nerve-wracking sensation. There was also a fleeting stutter in your chest that you decisively ignored.

You moved on with a quiet murmur.

“You know, humans owe squirrels a lot. They have planted at least thousands of trees.” You gave him a soft smile when his eyes met yours again. “It’s accidental, but no less a noble act contributing to the environment.”

“Yeah, they would bury nuts for later usage, but forget their locations. Many forgotten nuts can grow into trees, therefore, contributing to forest regeneration.” 

“Anddd another fun fact failure.” You groaned, though your expression melted into a smile when you heard Spencer chuckle at that. 

“We should head up. It’s getting late.”

You nodded in agreement and began walking, but looked back briefly at Spencer. “But it’s not too late for an episode of Doctor Who, right?”

An outstretched grin spread across Spencer’s face at your words.

“Never.”

﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏

“No way.” You were speechless as you made way out of Spencer’s car, staring at the building in front of you in disbelief. “Don’t tell me…”

“Yeah, it’s for your favorite film,” Spencer confirmed your suspicion.

“So, it didn’t matter that I had lost, huh?”

Shortly after your Doctor Who convention together, Spencer had invited you to this event that was two and a half months after. Though he insisted on keeping the details a secret, relaying only the dress code—smart casual, but whatever you were most comfortable with.

The secretive factor of the whole ordeal had you guessing in suspense for the entire two months, but now that you were here, you fully understood why.

This was the event that you both would have gone to instead of the Doctor Who convention if you had won that game of cards.

An orchestra movie concert of your favourite movie.

Spencer sucked in a deep breath, fingers toying with the loose threads of his cardigan. There he went again, attempting to present to you that he was an option—the best one, at that—and giving signals that he was pursuing you. He has read at least five hundred online articles on the art of flirting in the past week alone. If Derek ever found his online searching history, Reid would never live it down.

“God, this is the best thing ever.” Seeing how pleased you were with his action made Spencer want to physically preen with pride.

Once you two had settled down inside, you took a couple of photos and observed your surroundings. You looked around at your neighboring audiences before averting your gaze to the empty chairs that were soon to be filled by instrumental experts. Your body was flooded with excitement at the prospect of finally being at this event. 

You decided to chime in with your daily fun fact just minutes before the concert was due to start.

“Did you know that there’s a planet that is ⅓ made of diamonds?” you whispered.

“55 Cancri e, right?” he matched your volume, shifting in the chair beside you to make himself comfortable.

“Yeah, that one,” you confirmed, turning your head back to him. “Go on, I know you have details on it.” You encouraged, shifting yourself into a comfortable position as well.

“55 Cancri e is a super-Earth exoplanet, approximately twice the size of Earth, though roughly eight times heavier in terms of mass. First sighted and discovered in 2004, scientists have found that it is a very hot and rocky planet with a molten lava ocean surface due to its incredibly close orbit to its star…”

You were leaning into your palm while listening to him, clinging onto every word as they absorbed into your brain. The space you left in between you both out of consideration for Spencer gradually lessened as he leaned in closer the more he talked. His tone, too, grew more quiet as he went on, as if the information he was telling you did not exist in some cyclopaedia, but a secret passed in full trust. 

The corners of your lips curled at the twinkle in Spencer’s eyes as he detailed out knowledge that previously sat in the corner of his brain, collecting dust.

Spencer’s intellectual rambling will always be one of your favorite things about him. You loved hearing him talk and the way he enunciated each syllable so clearly, as well as his wordings and his tonal patterns. You should have gotten used to it by now, but it marvelled you every single time that you had the chance to listen to him talk about things you would rely on an internet search to know. Just like usual, today was no different.

Spencer Reid was remarkable. It was almost impossible to take your eyes off him when he talked. He was a bundle of many things that made him an individual worth a lifetime of getting to know.

You wondered if you were looking at him a little bit too fondly right now. But how could you not when he was whispering sweet facts to you as if he only wanted you to know of it? It felt almost as if this fun fact challenge had turned into a sacred tradition between you two. 

“Even though it is widely said that the planet is ⅓ of diamond, this is actually still only a theory and yet to be proven. So, to dub it the Diamond Planet when they’re not even sure if there are diamonds on the planet itself is like…suspecting you are a quarter or half French and then introducing yourself as French to people anyway.”

Your laughter burst out unfiltered, and you instantly grounded yourself by clearing your throat and pulling yourself away from Spencer slightly, putting yourself on timeout.

That was kind of embarrassing. 

The joke was slightly funny, but nowhere close to warranting that kind of laughter.

It sort of reminded you of the videos you have seen on the internet about the kind of laugh that people would let out in reaction to their crush’s jok—

Oh.

You subtly slid deeper into your chair as thoughts shot in your mind at a hundred miles per second. Your fingers immediately curled into your palms to dig at it. You could not look back at Spencer in fear that he would notice that something was wrong. 

Oh God. 

But were you really surprised though? 

A part of you had seen it coming, because as much as you adore all your co-workers, you knew in the bottom of your heart that Spencer was the only one you were willing to lessen your sleeping hours to prolong hanging out and conversing with. Also, to be immune to such sweet actions, you would have to be some statue made of stone. For years now, Spencer had intently taken time to know you and go out of his way just to make you happy. If anything, you were grateful that your heart had picked someone so kind and worthy to give itself away to.

You glanced at Spencer from the corner of your eyes, and just the sight of him alone had your heart hiccupping in a way that you had become familiar with for the past month. It was the kind of stutter that you had outright been trying to ignore and written off as nothing. But unlike all the previous times, you knew you could no longer deny that man next to you was the reason for such palpitations.

And maybe it was also time to face it: you like Spencer Reid, your genius of a friend and very much also a profiler.

Your eyes snapped away from him the moment you realized the significance of playing it cool. You could not have him picking up the signs and figuring out that you have feelings for him. But then again, you have seen how clueless he was around women who were hitting on him and failing to pick up their signals. So, maybe he would not notice your current body language either.

Before you could think more on the matter, the lights dimmed and instruments began stringing together in a well-rehearsed manner. It was only then that you began breathing again, relieved that you had two hours to collect your thoughts and come to terms with the newly attained knowledge about yourself.

﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏ ﹏

“Alright, what’s the fun fact of today?” you heard Spencer’s voice before peering up and seeing him behind your chair, hands on the back of the furniture, looking down at you with a shy smile. The sight of his adorable expression made your cheeks heat up, and you had to avert your gaze to prevent him from spotting signs of your flustered state.

The other members just boarded the jet as well, settling into their own spots after a tiring case. You were much less the same, sporting the now more noticeable eye bags that matched Spencer’s. Yet, that does not deter his gaze from the warmth they hold.

You gestured to Spencer’s usual seat right next to you. Once he had settled down, you made your next move on his chessboard, resuming your current ongoing match with him. You could see the instant way the cogs in his brain started spinning. At that, you provided your fun fact of the day, hoping it would serve as a distraction.

“You know, I read that there are more possible variations of chess games than the number of atoms in the universe.”

“Yeah, it’s known as the Shannon number—the number of possible chess games, I mean, which is 10 to the power of 120. Meanwhile, the estimated number of atoms in the observable universe is 10 to the power of 80, to 10 to the power of 82.”

He made his move, catching your discreet yawn in the corner of his eyes.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” The weight behind your eyes turned them half-lidded. They landed on the chessboard, trying to formulate the next best move, but your brain refused to cooperate as a fog of sleepiness overclouded your judgments.

“You don’t have to play now, you know. We can just play next time.”

“No, no. Give me a second, I’ll make my move.”

“You’re tired.”

You slowly turned your head towards Spencer, and there it was again. You caught the concern leaking from his gaze, and it instantly reminded you just how caring Spencer was to those in his life and especially you. Your mouth formed a tired yet grateful smile at his expressed worry.

You felt sorry for those who have never had the opportunity to be the subject of his affections.

For a split second, you pondered the kind of doting that Spencer would do if he were pursuing someone romantically. You have never seen him express interest in any woman during your time at the BAU, despite the advances he has gotten from various good-looking women. But if he was already this sweet platonically, you were fairly certain your heart would give out at what he had in mind as romance.

Your shoulders finally slumped before a truthful sigh escaped from you. “Yeah.”

Unlike usual, where you would fall asleep and land on his shoulder while you were knocked out, he outright shifted to sit up straighter for you, offering his shoulder.

Spencer never admitted it out loud, but he had foolishly started wanting the friction of your skin against his or the fabric of his belongings. It was an impossible he thought would never occur, but here he was, anticipating the next rare moment of physical touch beside the one where his shoulder would become your pillow. 

Of course, he had noticed it—your lack of touch when it came to him. He was devastatingly aware of your mindfulness of his germaphobia, and Spencer was grateful, he really was. However, your reservation to accommodate his tendencies had begun feeling like deprivation. In fact, Spencer could count on one hand the amount of times you had ever touched him deliberately, with the last one being one hundred and sixty three days ago.

But it was that particular initiative factor that Spencer deeply yearned for. He craved and awaited for a touch made with purpose. 

He wanted you to mean it.

You stilled at such a small action, gaze stopping on his shoulder. You did not want to over-interpret such a simple movement, but knowing Spencer, there were implications and significance in that little offering. 

You knew it had become a recurring thing. As embarrassed as you were, you could not help the fact that you were the type to move around a lot in your sleep. You had tried using an airplane pillow, leaning against the wall, and so many other methods. However, most of the time, you would still wake up on Spencer’s shoulder before instantly jolting up and freeing him from the physical touch.

But the certainty on Spencer’s face left your rejection stuck in your throat.

Hesitantly, you began shifting closer, giving Spencer just enough time to retract the offer if he wanted to. But he stayed confidently still as your head started leaning down before finally landing on his shoulder.

One single small action had Spencer questioning how much longer he could go on like this. How much longer could he keep these feelings tightly locked and concealed? Because Spencer was utterly gone for you. Gone in the kind of way where one casual compliment from you about the cardigan he was wearing had him immediately putting the item into his clothing rotation a lot more frequently.

“I’m gonna get you some day, Spence…” Spencer watched as you drifted to sleep before closing his own eyes, all while he wished the flight back would last forever.

Unbeknownst to you both, the team exchanged knowing looks and discreet smiles at the sight they were witnessing. There had been nothing more obvious to them than this, but instead of intervening, they decided to let things play its course. 

Because, despite the uncertain nature surrounding the occurrence of events in life, this was the one thing everybody was sure was inevitable.

﹏ ﹏ ﹏

The jet finally arrived back at Quantico around 11pm. Spencer had finished his report a few minutes before you did, but lingered behind as usual to wait for you. About two weeks ago, he had established a new routine between you both. 

“Ready?” Spencer carefully peeled your bag from your hand, checking his watch to see that it was already past midnight, marking a new day.

“Yeah…” you breathed out tiredly, eager to collapse in bed. “More than ready.”

You like to think you have kept it cool well, in general. But Spencer’s new routine of walking you to your car after work had you a nail tip away from laying all your cards bare and revealing your feelings. Even on days when you finished your report first, he would walk you to your car before returning to the office. But the thing was:

Spencer Reid rarely ever drove to work, which meant he was going to the employee parking lot every day with you for no reason. 

Well, for no reason but you.

The elevator began making its descent from the sixth floor with both of you inside. You were listening carefully as Spencer discussed an academic paper he had read last night. The doors soon jerked open, revealing the fairly empty parking lot. At the sight of your car, you subtly began slowing down your steps, biting back a smile when you noticed him mirroring your change of pace. 

You observed as he animatedly gushed about the methodology of the research paper, paying particular attention to the tiny detail of his body language. The way his hands were passionately waving around, exaggerating certain points Spencer was trying to make. The flutter of his eyelashes as he blinked a bit faster than he usually would—a habit that often occurs when he speaks quickly, as you have learned. The smooth movements of his lips as his mouth tried to rush out words to match the pace of his incredibly brilliant brain.

Now that you were looking at his lips, you have to admit that it was kind of hard to look away.

Suddenly, an idea brewed in your mind, and it felt like the holy grail had finally landed in your lap. Who would have known that a random Thursday would be the day you ought to finally win this challenge and put Spencer in checkmate.

“Spence?” Your lips curled mischievously, observing the way Spencer halted in his steps at your tone. 

God, despite being subjected to harsh and unflattering parking lot lights, Spencer still had the audacity to look good in a way that tugged at your heartstrings. The sight had you questioning if he was capable of ever looking bad. His warm eyes colored with interest as he eagerly awaited your next words. You took a couple more steps forward, wanting to hide the plotting expression on your face. 

“Fun fact…” You paused before peering back at him. At those two words, you instantly caught the anticipation rolling off him. There was also a subtle confidence from him that signalled he was sure he already knew whatever you were planning to tell him. But you knew that this time, things would be different. 

With a competitive glint in your eyes, you finally divulged today’s fun fact, your voice calm and stable.

“I like you.”

Just as you predicted, Spencer froze while his mouth fell agape. No words fell out of those talkative lips, a stark contrast to how fast he was speaking a couple of seconds ago. You practically beamed in victory at such a reaction. You wanted to celebrate, you really did. But you decided not to gloat about your win yet. Instead, you prioritised the better option: teasing your friend.

“I recalled you mentioning once that kissing spreads fewer germs than shaking hands?” You winked playfully, expecting nothing from it. It was simply a joke to make Spencer flustered for your entertainment, and there was zero expectation that he would somehow miraculously confess that he had been secretly liking you too and would actually kiss you at your workplace’s parking lot at 1am.

Because there was no way Doctor Spencer Reid liked you, right?

You observed as his lips slowly curled up in amusement as your words sunk in, and that partially made your shoulders relaxed. Well, at least your joke landed, and your friendship would make it out intact despite your confession.

But then, out of nowhere, that closed-mouth smile stretched into a full-on grin before a chuckle of disbelief escaped from Spencer. 

Now, you were on alert. Instantly, you tried to read his reaction—was he in disbelief that he was finally stumped by a fact he had not yet known of? Was he amused by your clever trick of using your own feelings as a fun fact? But the elation on his face and the awestruck look in his eyes hardly aligned with someone who had just lost a long-term challenge.

Your lips parted as you continued assessing the man, but you caught the way his eyes flickered down at that small movement before he sucked in a deep breath.

Oh…?

Suspicion crept in, but confirmation came quicker.

In the blink of an eye, Spencer had completely eliminated the two steps between you both, sealing you two in a proximity that was closer than you had ever been with him. His palms found your face, and they cupped your cheeks in a careful yet certain way.

Spencer’s eyes darted all over your face, searching for all the clues that you were okay with what he had next in mind. He could see that your pupils were slightly dilated, as well as feel the way you were leaning into his touch and the heat that was transferring from your cheeks to his hands. Though it was only when you did not pull away and instead, had your tongue dart out to wet your lips, did Spencer kill the remaining space between your faces.

His lips slanted against yours in a desperate manner that outmatched his need for oxygen, kissing you like it was long overdue. He swallowed the gasp escaping your throat and the surprised noise that followed. There was an urgency he could not hide as his straining self-control snapped from your green light. 

You began kissing him back just a second or two after, and almost instantly, you heard a sigh of relief. Your lips curled, but any trace of smugness vanished when his thumb began rubbing your cheek fondly. Suddenly, you were aware of just how close you two were. Every point of contact was sending a searing heat through your body, because despite his fears of germs, Spencer was touching your skin like it was a need, rather than an obligation for moments like these. 

You pressed your lips harder against his.

Good lord, Spencer could do this forever. 

He might have been able to count the number of times you have touched him on one hand, but even with the whole team, there were not enough fingers to account for the number of times he had glanced at your lips this week alone.

Your own hands touched the sides of his waist, and you instantly caught the longing noise that escaped from Spencer’s throat, echoing onto your lips. At such an encouraging sound, you curled your hands to the back of his body and snaked them up his back. Your lips smirked against his at the way he arched into your touch. 

One hundred and sixty three days—Spencer reminded himself again, humming in utter satisfaction at the way those numbers spun down to zero. Finally, you were touching him on purpose and with purpose. He practically melted at the way your hands roamed so confidently without any trace of guilt that he was uncomfortable, because he was far from that.

In fact, he eagerly wanted to keep the number of days since the last time you touched him at zero permanently. 

You picked that precise moment to pull away, documenting the way his eyes fluttered open and dawned into existence the unadulterated glimmer of yearning in them. 

You have always thought he was gorgeous, but how he looked right then rendered the word inadequate. It was a vision exceeding all your daydreams, and to be the reason behind the look made you feel like you were an award winning fashion designer who had just invented a magnificent masterpiece. But unlike most, you had no intention of sharing this artwork with the world or with anybody else.

Spencer felt his heart squeeze at the sight of you again. Was it possible to miss someone so badly from not having a visual on them for approximately a minute? Maybe he was more screwed than he thought.

Breathlessly, he finally whispered the confession that he had long to say for a month.

“Despite all the facts I already know and have learnt during my whole entire life, you’re my favorite thing to study and know more about, and have been since you stepped into my life. Nothing I learnt after felt like it could outrank anything I learnt about you.” It was true.  Every speck of information about you gets the forefront of his memory’s line-up, taking priority over every other knowledge. Spencer licked his own lips for remnants of you before continuing, “You’re my favorite fun fact, you know that?”

Your heart tugged at his words. You had no idea how you managed to compete with the vast amount of interesting information that existed in the world, but under Spencer’s stare, you truly could see he meant every word.

“But…” The smile on your face instantly dropped at that single word from Spencer. Good rarely ever followed that three-letter conjunction.

“But?”

“I do have to admit that, uhm…” The familiar sheepish glint in his eyes had one of your eyebrows shooting up. “I kinda already know that fun fact already, that you liked me.” Your hands on him stilled their movement before falling onto your sides in disbelief.

“Oh, come on. You can’t be serious.” He resisted the urge to whine at the lack of physical touch from you. “But you looked shocked.”

“I was shocked you actually said it. I didn't think you’d do it today…or tomorrow…or maybe ever–” You slapped his arm, but he gladly welcomed that contact. Anything was better than nothing.

“I thought you’re like highly oblivious to romantic signals? I’ve seen you being completely clueless and not picking up on the fact that women were flirting with you.”

“I think I wasn’t clueless when it came to you because my eyes were always on you.” Those words came out shamelessly. In fact, Spencer almost sounded proud of himself. You tried not to let his words make you flustered.

“When did you figure it out?”

“That you like me? At the orchestra.”

“How? I barely figured it out myself that I liked you then.”

“Yeah, I could tell.” Your huff drew a chuckle from him.

You finally peeled yourself completely away from Spencer, grabbing your bag from his hand before making your way to your car. As you unlocked the vehicle and swung the driver’s door open, you could hear his footsteps following. You crouched to lean into your car and place your bag onto the passenger seat. You could feel Spencer’s presence stopping just behind you, standing much closer than he had ever before tonight.

As you bent back up and leaned against your car, you didn't miss the way Spencer’s fingers twitched, giving away his urges for physical contact. You crossed your arms before tilting your head back teasingly.

“I’m still gonna get you someday.”

Spencer’s gaze melted to an even softer look than before at your declaration. There was a freeing component in his eyes, showcasing the joy from being able to openly look at you in the way he had really wanted to for a while. His voice lowered to a sweet, promising whisper.

“I’m counting on that.”

With that, Spencer leaned in again, wanting a second run of things before the two of you had to part ways for the night.

You grinned into the kiss and quickly wrapped your arms around him again. Quietly, your mind logged in today’s score. 

Day 187 status: unsuccessful. 

But it hardly matters when you think you’ve already won something a lot better.

link to: epilogue/bonus bit

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