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The first time you meet Aaron Hotchner, you’re ready to hightail it out of the room. Your transfer to the Behavioural Analysis Unit was something done out of necessity—you’d spent a long time in private practice before deciding to branch out and were lucky enough to score an opening with the FBI.

Hotchner was…a lot. Of what? You weren’t entirely sure. You’d been made aware he had a reputation for being a hardass and somehow also one of the best team leaders in the FBI.

He was calm, confident and at times abrasive, but you wouldn’t have gotten to this point if you were unable to work under pressure. He had been strict and clear in his expectations of your role on the team; you were new and had to fight to prove yourself.

“I look forward to working with you Agent.” He had remarked, barely looking up from his pile of papers as he dismissed you from the meeting. If you were any less professional, you would have scoffed but all you did was offer a tight smile and nod.

“I do too, have a good day further Agent Hotchner.”

And that was that.

˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆

The BAU was a learn as you go workplace and you quickly figured out it was also a seemingly do as I say, not as I do environment. If you had a dollar for every time you witnessed one of your coworkers pull some kind of self-sacrificing bullshit—you’re fairly sure you’d never have to work ever again.

You would be lying if you said it didn’t bring some sort of spark back into your life, despite the dead bodies and sadistic murderers—you had found that missing puzzle peace.

The team sat on the plane back from one of their most recent cases, half-asleep on the red eye whilst you had your laptop out, typing away at your report so you’d be able to sleep as soon as you got back.

“You should sleep.” Hotch’s voice startles you despite being barely above a soft murmur. He’s watching you over a case file whilst sitting across from you.

You snort, “Yeah, no chance.”

Hotch frowns, “You having a hard time sleeping?” His tone is concerned and it brings a stiffness to your shoulders. You shouldn’t have said that. You’re completely capable of doing your job and it’s not like you’re the only one on this plane who has a hard time closing their eyes at night and not picturing every other gruesome thing they’ve encountered.

“No,” you smile tightly, shuffling your laptop closer to you as you squint at the screen. “I’m fine.”

Hotch stares at you for a second, as if he’s deciding whether or not to call you out on the blatant lie but instead heaves a sigh, slumping into his own seat.

“You shouldn’t squint like that—it will hurt your eyes.” He reprimands lightly and this time you can’t help the amused raise of your brow as you meet his dark gaze.

“God, you’re old.” You snort, immediately trying to muffle your laugh when his expression turns perplexed.

“Old?” he mutters in disbelief.

“Sorry,” you giggle, slapping a hand over your mouth as you watch him shake his head in fond amusement.

“You’re trouble for a man’s ego.” He points at you with a wry smile on his face as you flush.

You shrug, “Gotta keep em’ humble.”

Hotch flashes his teeth as he grins softly. Silence grows between the two of you as you continue to work on your own respective tasks.

As you continue to write your report, nibbling on your bottom lip you are seemingly unaware of the soft looks Hotch sends you in between his own reading.

˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆

Your relationship with Hotch is complicated. There are times where you’ll catch him staring at you from his office, small smile on his face or there’s times where he inconspicuously accommodates you more than he would someone else.

He’s just being nice is what you tell yourself, because any other option would be ludicrous to even consider. Though there are moments that make you start to question whether those options might be reality.

You’re on a case in Pittsburgh, somewhere near the hospital you used to work at before transferring to the BAU and it’s just your luck that one of your key witnesses is currently being held in the ED.

You’re more than happy to accompany Hotch to the ED to try and get something useful out of the guy and you really struggle at schooling your face of excitement of seeing any of your past colleagues.

It doesn’t slip passed Hotch’s notice who quirks a curious brow at you from the driver’s seat, “You’re quite eager to be meeting a witness.” He remarks dryly but there’s no hiding the humor in his expression.

You grow shy, nibbling on your bottom lip and drawing his attention to your action. “I used to work in the psychology department at PTMC.” You admit softly, wringing your hands in front of you.

Hotch hums interestedly, it’s not often in their line of work that Agents are transferred into the FBI from outside of the academy. He’s willing to take any chance to know the parts of you he’s been yet to discover and visiting your work is what brings him hope that this might just push you both closer together.

You haven’t been outwardly dismissive of his advancements, but he would be lying if he said it wasn’t killing him inside that you weren’t as forthcoming. Sure, it had been a while since he’d had to whip out his flirting tactics—his first and last relationship being well his late wife.

But you were so enigmatic that he just couldn’t help but want to be near you, he’d been making every effort to impress. Well, at least he thought he had, if your blatant obliviousness to his affection wasn’t sign enough.

Hotch had found himself gritting his teeth one too many times after he’d been blatantly flirting with you only for you to respond in your sweetest smile yet most professional tone.

He knew it wasn’t right, that he had no business crushing on his subordinate but Lord help him if you weren’t the only woman who had made him feel things he didn’t think himself capable of.

When Hotch parks the car, you practically launch yourself out of the vehicle to speedwalk your way into the entrance. You’re fast enough that Hotch has to jog a little to catch up to you with a breathy chuckle before matching your strides.

“So, you can run in those heels,” he teases softly, his arm coming back to rest on the curve of your back to guide you to the entrance.

You lift your hand to swat at his chest half-heartedly with a playful scowl that diminishes the moment you step into the bustling ER, the both of you adopting your composed manner of professionalism despite your simultaneous twitching lips.

˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆

You’re met by a blonde nurse whose smile is as wide as can be when she catches sight of you, her southern drawl echoing as she crosses the room, “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes sunshine? Who knew we’d be seeing your face again!” she remarks happily, wrapping her arms around you in a motherly hug.

“Dana, I missed you.” You say softly, hugging her back before throwing a sheepish expression to Hotch who shrugs.

“And who’s this with you?” Dana sizes up Hotch, staring him down something fierce and he feels himself paling a little.

“Uh—” you chuckle nervously. “This is Agent Hotchner, he’s um—he’s my boss.” You say.

Dana turns to you, quirking a brow that makes you roll your eyes fondly. “We’re here on a case, Pittsburgh PD should have called ahead, we’re here to interview a James Harlow? He was in—”

“MVA, Yeah Robby’s got him down in South 12, you remember where that is don’t you? He’s gonna be real excited to see you.” Dana drawls teasingly.

Hotch expects you to laugh and wave off the statement, but he’s surprised to see you fluster, your shoulders hiking up towards your ears as you shove Dana softly.

“Stop,” you chastise her through a whine and Hotch feels like a rock had lodged itself in between his heart and ribcage. Who the hell is this guy?

He has no right to be jealous, the two of you aren’t…anything. You’re both colleagues, he’s your superior but Hotch feels his gut clenching and palms sweating all the same.

He coughs, clearing his throat which draws your attention back to him. You have the decency to look embarrassed but without further mention of it you say a hasty goodbye to an amused Dana who looks like she’s sizing him up and drag the both of you to what he assumes is South 12.

˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆

When the curtain is drawn away, you both are met with the sight of your witness and what Hotch assumes is “Robby” explaining his blood test results to.

“Uh,” your witness mutters awkwardly, gaze switching between yourself and the man behind you. You suppose you must look quite intimidating in your formal wear and FBI badged plastered to your lapels, but you school your expression into something that you hope resembles comfort.

“Sunshine.” Robby remarks surprise as you muster a shy smile and an awkward wave while Hotch behinds you clenches his jaw.

Fuck. Granted, Hotch could’ve rationalised his jealousy if the guy were your age (no he couldn’t have) but Robby must be his age if not older. He’s all crows’ feet and greying hair that Hotch can’t help but measure himself up against.

He hates this. Never once has something so personal jeopardised his ability to maintain professionalism yet you have a way to test all of his boundaries. He hates how Robby is looking at you—like you’re some kind of miracle that he never thought he’d have the chance to see again.

It’s how Hotch looks at you. He knows that look, he wears that look every day with a feeling of pride because up until now—he had no reason to doubt that it was a matter of when not if you returned his affection.

Now? Now he feels the urge to drag you out of this ED and make you promise to never look at another man ever again. But he can’t, so he doesn’t.

“I uh—we’re here to interview Mr. Harlow. We’re with the BAU—we just have a couple of questions about what you saw today,” you murmur reassuringly to the wary man whilst glancing back at Robby.

Hotch’s firm voice startles you slightly when he moves from behind you to stand next to you, effectively acting as a barrier between you and Robby, “We need you to go over anything you can remember from this morning.”

Robby’s gaze turns amused when he notices Hotch’s posturing, snorting to himself as he shuffles out of the room, “I’ll leave you to it.”

You nod meekly, opening your mouth to start the cognitive interview before Robby’s voice interrupts you, “Dinner later Sunshine? Would be good to catch up.” He offers, an easy smile in his place.

Your heart warms, as much as you’ve enjoyed your time at the BAU, the day shift were the first people who made you feel like you were part of a community.

“Yeah,” you offer easily. “I’m working a case right now, but I’d like that. Maybe you could invite the rest—”

“Agent, we’re in the middle of something.” Hotch spits out, his eyes ablaze as he stares you down.

You shrink into yourself, not noticing Robby’s frown at your demeanour though he leaves after you give him a reassuring smile. You give your full attention back to your witness and proceed with the interview.

˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆

You somehow feel like you’ve done something wrong despite the interview being a complete success. You walk out of the room with the feeling that Hotch is…mad at you? Frustrated?

You’re not entirely sure, only that he speaks to you in one word responses if he’s not supplied a grunt of some kind. It gets worse when you confirm your plans with Robby as you walk out, offering for Hotch to go on without you when you notice other Pittsburgh PD officers also  in the ED.

“It’ll give me some time to ask him a couple more questions and you can go over what we already know with the rest of the team, I’m sure the officers won’t mind.” You reassure him.

Hotch fights the growl that wants to burst out of his throat. He minds. He minds that Robby’s been waiting not so patiently to get you wrapped around his dirty little fingers, for you to decide that maybe you don’t want Hotch and instead want to trade up to some fucking ER Doctor.

“No, we came together. I’ll drive you back.” His answer is curt and your confusion doubles. What is his problem?

“But I—”

“Sunshine, my truck’s sitting outside if you’d rather drive that. I don’t mind coming and getting’ it from you later before dinner.”  Robby offers, interrupting your conversation Hotch thinks bitterly.

Of course he drives a truck, and of course he’d offer for you to take it. Any excuse in the book to get to see you again huh? Well Hotch can deal with that.

“That won’t be necessary, we have everything that we need to form a working profile and time is really of the essence here. We need to go. Now.” He orders, leaving no room for misinterpretation as he grabs your arm despite the gasp you let out, sparks shooting up your arm as your dragged out the parking lot.

“What? Hotch—” you squeak out, trying to tug your arm from his hold as he pulls you into the car, lifting you by your hips and plopping you into the passenger seat. You squawk in protest squirming as he adjusts your legs slightly and closes the door, jogging to the driver’s seat and getting in with a scowl still planted on his face.

˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆

You’ve been silent and matching Hotch’s scowl the entire drive back to the precinct, “This is kidnapping you know.” You remark sarcastically, folding your arms over your chest..

Hotch blows out a frustrated breath, “We had to leave, we didn’t have time for you be chummy with your friends.” He growls out, hands tightening on the wheel until he’s white knuckling it.

“Yeah sure, blame me when you’re the one with a stick up your ass.” He hears you mutter to yourself, forcing his resolve to break.

“That’s it.” He snarls, pulling off onto the shoulder of the road. There are barely any cars on this stretch of road, but it still brings a gasp to your lips at the jerky movement.

“What is wrong with you!” you hiss out, clutching at your seatbelt and the handle of the door as your eyes grow wide in panic.

“You’re being a brat.” Hotch growls out, his gaze dark and heavy as his chest heaves up and down in frustration. Your gaze drops to his chest, your mouth growing parched as you shake yourself out of your stupor.

“I’m a brat?” You say incredulously, “I’m a brat when you’re the one who nearly got us into an accident because you were too busy having a temper tantrum over what the fuck ever?”

Hotch’s jaw clicks from how hard he’s clenching it, his glare focused on you, “Well I wouldn’t have been so on edge if you weren’t distracted while on the job.”

If it’s even possible, your scowl deepens, as you unbuckle your seatbelt thrusting your pointer finger into Hotch’s chest with vehemence, “Don’t you dare insinuate that I can’t do my job, I told you I could’ve gotten a ride with a different officer. Hell, even Robby offered—”

“Don’t fucking say him name.” Hotch threatens.

You falter, expression turning into bewilderment, “You’ve got a problem with Robby? You just met him how—”

“Because he was hitting on you!” Hotch bursts out, running his hand over his jaw as he blows out a frustrated breath as he chuckles without humor.

“Huh? Robby? He wouldn’t—”

“Oh, trust me,” Hotch taunts, “He would and he did. I had a front row seat to that entire segment.”

You frown looking as puzzled as ever, “That’s why you were angry? Why does it matter what Robby thinks, it doesn’t impact the case—”

“Fuck, you’re irritating.” Hotch grounds out, launching himself over the counsel and swallowing your annoyed sound with his lips. He kisses you fiercely, his chapped lips borderline bruising your own as he prods at your lips with his tongue, seeking entrance.

He muffles your whimpers with his drawn out groan as he licks into your mouth, his hand coming up to cup your face, angling you to deepen the kiss as he threads his fingers through your hair.

Your hands come up shakily to clench around his t-shirt as you whine into his mouth, lazily licking into his mouth like you’re trying to play catch up with him.

When he draws himself away, you follow his lips unconsciously—your own puckered with a whine as he takes in your dazed expression. He licks his lips watching you, already half hard in his pants from the taste of you.

“I was jealous.” He admits, his voice low. He’s still looking at you, watching for any change in your expression.

Your eyes widen, “Why?” you mumble aloud.

Hotch scoffs a laugh, “Because I like you? Because I wished that I had worked up the nerve to ask you out before that hotshot doctor did? Because I was too much of a wuss because I was scared you’d say no? you take your pick.” He says, smiling without humour.

You frown, your hand hesitantly lifting to cup Hotch’s cheek. You nibble on your bottom lip, drawing a groan from Hotch’s chest.

“I—I like you too.” You admit shyly, your expression growing abashed as you avoid eye contact with him.

“Look at me.” He demands firmly, his hand cupping your chin to force you to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry I lashed out at you, that was unfair of me.” He says softly. You shrug, rubbing your thumb up and down his cheek.

“S’okay, I know you didn’t mean it.” You mumble.

Hotch shakes his head, “No.” he states firmly, “I didn’t mean it but that doesn’t make it right, you don’t deserve to be treated like that. I’m sorry.” He insists.

You smile softly, “Forgiven, you can be so emotional sometimes.” You tease softly.

Hotch can’t help but roll his eyes, “You mean it though? you—you like me?” he asks hoarsely.

You grow shy, nodding softly. “Say it again.” He demands petulantly.

You snort, “What will I get if I do?” you taunt.

Hotch’s expression grows devilish, “Anything you want.” He mutters darkly, gazing at you with heat in his eyes. His dick twitches inside of his pants as he has to fight the urge to thrust up into empty space.

Your pupils dilate, “I like you.” You say breathily and Aaron’s smirk grows wider.

“That right?” He taunts softly, his hand dropping to your thigh and slowly moving upwards.

You shudder softly, your thighs slipping open as you gaze grows heavier. “Is this okay?” Aaron checks in with you.

You nod softly, your own hand coming to rest of his shoulder as you feel him run his index finger over the inseam of your tailored pants.

A sharp gasp escapes you, “Fuck.” Aaron mutters as he watches you squirm.

“Take off your pants.” He orders and you scramble to pull your pants and underwear off in quick succession.

Aaron’s breathing grows heavier as he catches sight of your wet cunt, glistening from its moisture as you spread your legs shyly.

His groan is loud in the car as he runs his thumb over your sticky entrance, pausing to press indecently over your hole softly before running it back up and down through your wetness.

You whimper, grabbing hold of his bicep as you make half-hearted thrusts against his thumb, clenching down emptily on the tip of his thumb each time he teasingly enters your cunt.

“I—oh.” You gasp, feeling Hotch’s thumb start to rub circles on your clit mixed with your wetness. You feel yourself start to leak between your thighs, grinding your hips up into Hotch’s thumb.

“Does that feel good?” he grunts, using his other hand to circle your entrance with his index finger, slipping it in as he rubs your clit and watching in fascination as your pussy swallows his finger whole, clenching down so tightly on him that he can’t help but imagine how tight you’d be on his dick.

“Hotch, I—" you whine as he thrusts his finger in and out, curling it slowly to brush against that soft spongy area inside of you that turns your legs into jelly.

“Aaron,” he orders you. “You call me Aaron while I make you feel good.”

You nod nonsensically, barely even listening as your focus is on the feeling of Hotch’s fingers in you. “Another—want, oh my god, another.” You beg him, leaking all over his fingers as you thrust harder, seeking more friction.

Hotch adds his middle finger easily enough, drawing out a guttural moan from you as you feel yourself climbing closer to the edge. You can feel every callous and groove on Hotch’s fingers and it makes you even wetter.

God you want his fingers inside of you forever, stretching you out and making you cum. “I can’t, close—” you mumble softly, throwing your head back as you clench your hand down on Aaron’s shoulder—you expression scrunching in pleasure.

“Yeah?” Aaron coos, “Cum on my fingers baby—that’s a good girl, cum for me.” He growls, fucking his fingers into your harder as you hurtle towards the finish line.

Your cunt clenching down harshly as you walls spasm around his fingers, your vision whiting out from pure pleasure as Hotch milks you for your orgasm until you’re left twitching and spent on the seat.

“Good girl.” He mumbles softly, laying a soft kiss on your forehead before taking his fingers out of you, bringing them to his own mouth, and sucking as his own eyes roll back into his head.

You’re about to offer to suck him off when you’ve recovered when you notice the wet patch that blooms over his crotch.

The past few months had been like a beautiful dream. Secret coffee runs, elaborate excuses as to why neither of you could join the team for drinks, stolen kisses in the break room. This was all so new, and it had been agreed that you didn’t want to share it just yet. Better to see how things progressed, build a solid foundation before you had the team interrogating you both. Not that your behaviour had gone unnoticed.

Being pulled from his bed to jet across the country was never Spencer’s favourite thing; sleep being quite a rare commodity for him at times, yet here he was. The flight was going to be a long one, and after a briefing and looking over the notes he had found his head growing heavy. Stifling another yawn, Spencer tried his best to keep his eyes from closing, aware of Morgan’s studying gaze on him.

A weight suddenly fell on his shoulder, and he glanced down in surprise, smiling softly when he realised you had nodded off and were now using him as an impromptu pillow. Shifting a little, he made sure you were comfy before leaning his cheek against the top of your head. This wouldn’t be the first time a team-mate had fallen asleep in him, so he figured nobody would be suspicious. As he drifted to sleep, he couldn’t help but smile to himself, feeling reassured by your presence.

Morgan watched the two of you curiously. He was well aware of Spencer’s not so subtle crush on you, hell, he’d teased the boy enough about it. The boy genius seemed to drop iq points around you like a tree in fall, not to mention the stuttering over his words. He had to admit though, that over the last few months, the boy wonder seemed to have got his shit together a little better, though the longing looks across the bullpen and the dreamy smile on his lips had only gotten worse. Penelope seemed convinced that his feelings were reciprocated, but nothing would happen as neither of you was the type to make the first move. No, what you needed was a push; the whole team agreed.

You shifted in your sleep, your arm coming up to rest around Spencer’s waist as you let out a soft sigh. Morgan nudged JJ, nodding at the two of you with a smirk, which was quickly dropped when the two of them witnessed Spencer turn his head and place a tender, chaste kiss to the top of your head. It was a gesture of such familiarity and intimacy that Morgan had to grab onto JJ to stop her letting out an excited squeal. Yeah, it was incredibly cute, but it was hardly a conscious act. It did, however, show promise. Perhaps sleepy Spencer would be more open to making that first move, and that is how the ‘fool proof’ plan came to be.

If felt like the longest day ever by the time the team rolled up to the motel. Early morning flights combined with a full day wading through the horrific atrocities left by this killer meant that everyone was practically dead on their feet.

“I’ve got two doubles and the rest are singles, so fight it out amongst yourselves.” Hotch said tiredly as he grabbed a key to a single room and padded off down the corridor.

“Rossi?” Morgan picked up a key and nodded towards the corridor.

“Seriously? Can’t you share with Spence?” the older man grumbled.

“Oh, hell no! Not making that mistake again.” Morgan chuckled, glancing over at JJ.

“You two don’t mind sharing do you? I just want to talk to Will and maybe do that ‘falling asleep together over video call’ thing?” She looked at you both hopefully and it took everything he had to stop Spencer agreeing immediately.

“Sure, I don’t mind sharing with Spencer. I can always get him to read to me.” You chuckled as you picked up the final key. “Come on then roomie, I get first pick of bed though.”

As soon as the motel door closed, Spencer had tossed your bags into the room and cupped your face with his freezing cold hands. You were about to protest when his lips caught yours in a searing kiss that made your lack of sleep and the temperature of his hands irrelevant. Stumbling over to the bed, still tangled up in each other, it took you a few moments to realise that this room only had one bed.

“Do you think they know?” Spencer asked, looking at you with a hint of concern in his eyes.

“About us or about there only being one bed?” You asked with a growing smirk. “Do you think Morgan and Rossi are having the same conversation?”

“You think it’s a genuine mix up?”

“I think it doesn’t matter. I think that I get to share a bed with my gorgeous boyfriend and the BAU picks up the bill.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

It started with a journal — not as some grand romantic gesture, but something quieter, simpler, something that didn’t demand too much. After prison, words weren’t easy for Spencer, not in the way they used to be. He still talked, of course, still rambled sometimes about quantum theory or 18th-century handwriting, but even those rambles were slower now, more deliberate, like each word had to be checked and weighed before leaving his mouth. Conversation felt like walking across a rope bridge in the wind — possible, but uncertain — and some days, no matter how much he wanted to connect, the space between thoughts and speech felt too wide to cross. So you didn’t ask him to talk. You just left a blank notebook on the edge of his desk one afternoon, nothing fancy, just a soft-covered journal with a post-it on top that read: In case speaking feels too loud today. You didn’t expect him to use it, but two days later it reappeared on your chair, opened to a page written in small, careful handwriting: Do you want to get coffee after work? That was all. But it was enough.

Over time, the journal stopped being just a bridge and became a home for the quiet parts of your connection—the kind of things too soft or too strange to say out loud. You took turns without rules, slipping it into desk drawers or messenger bags like a secret waiting to be found. Sometimes it was practical—grocery lists, book club notes, flight times for a shared case. Other times it was tender: a pressed flower from a walk you’d taken apart but thought of each other during; a doodle of his cardigan draped over your chair with a tiny “missing you” written in the pocket; a smudged coffee ring beside a scribbled line of poetry neither of you could quite finish. It was a slow, careful accumulation of small things—anecdotes, quotes, quiet thoughts in the margins. You looked tired today, but beautiful still. I thought of you when I saw a crow with a limp. This passage reminded me of the way you fidget with your sleeves. The kind of notes you don’t say aloud in case they sound too big or too honest, but that, written down, felt just right.

Spencer stared at the open page for a long time before writing anything. The journal sat between his hands like it always did—familiar, worn at the corners, faintly smelling of lavender and ink. He tapped the pen against the edge of the paper, like the rhythm could pull the words out of him. He’d written so much in this journal—facts and fragments and safe little glimpses of affection—but this felt different. This felt like crossing some invisible line he wasn’t sure he could uncross.

Still, he wrote.

You were humming in the elevator today. I didn’t know the tune, but it stayed with me all day. I think that’s what love does sometimes—slips in without a sound, nestles between your ribs, and makes a home there before you’ve even noticed.

I used to think of you when I was still inside. Not often at first. Just… little things. Your voice in meetings. The way you held a pen. How you always had a hair tie on your wrist, even when your hair was up. I think I was clinging to whatever felt normal, whatever reminded me that the world was still going even if I wasn’t really in it. But somewhere in those small, quiet thoughts, you became a kind of comfort. A light that wasn’t too bright, but steady. Familiar. You were one of the few things I let myself keep.

And now, here you are. Reading my bad handwriting, correcting my book quotes, drawing ridiculous doodles in the margins like it’s your full-time job. And I still don’t always have the words when I need them. Even when I talk, it’s slower now. Softer. I second-guess things I never used to. But you never make me feel like I have to perform. You listen like it’s second nature. Like I’m worth listening to. And that… that does something to a person.

So I guess I’m writing it here, because I still don’t trust my voice not to tremble: I am in love with you. Tell me in ink.

The next morning, he brought you coffee—your favorite, made exactly how you liked it, which he somehow always remembered even when he forgot to eat lunch or where he last put his keys. He didn’t say much, just set the mug beside your hand and lingered there a moment longer than usual. The notebook followed, placed gently on top of the folder you’d been reviewing, its familiar spine worn soft. He didn’t look at you when he left it there—just gave a quiet little tap against the cover with two fingers and mumbled something about paperwork. But his ears were pink, and you could swear he smiled when your hand brushed his knuckles in thanks.

He didn’t expect it back so soon.

But there it was, sitting neatly on his desk that afternoon like it had been waiting for him all along. The cover still smelled faintly like your hand cream—coconut and something citrusy—and there was a tiny yellow post-it stuck to the front, a smiling sun doodled in the corner. He opened to the next blank page and found your familiar handwriting, looping and full of warmth.

Spence, I read your note three times. Not because I didn’t believe it—but because I wanted to feel it over and over again. You don’t know what it means to me that you let me into your heart like that.

I think I’ve loved you in small ways for a while now—like how I always look for your face first in a crowded room, or how I find myself smiling when I see your name on my phone. It didn’t hit me all at once. It was like the warmth of the sun sneaking through a window on a cold day—soft, unexpected, and completely impossible to ignore.

And even if you’d never said it, I think I still would’ve kept writing to you. Because even before I loved you, I liked you so very much. And being liked by you in return? That’s already one of the best things that’s ever happened to me.

So… meet me after work? You can tell me in words this time. I’ll bring your favorite muffins. You bring that smile I like.

And there it was—at the bottom of the page, a soft lipstick mark, right where your signature might have gone.

Spencer let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, his fingertips tracing the edge of the page like he could hold the feeling steady just a little longer.

He couldn’t stop smiling the rest of the day.

But it wasn’t just your laughter that caught Emily’s attention, it was the look Spencer gave you in that moment. His eyes lingered on you, soft and warm. Emily noticed the way his lips curled upward ever so slightly. She sighed inwardly, leaning her head against the seat. She wasn't sure what either of you were waiting for, but she hoped, for both of your sakes, that you would stop pretending like nothing was happening between you.

The next instance was when Emily had had enough.

The moment you and Spencer walked into the bullpen together, Emily's gaze immediately locked onto the way he had a hand resting casually on the small of your back. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. She knew she wasn’t imagining it, there was no mistaking the way Spencer was always hovering just a little bit closer to you, the way his body seemed to naturally gravitate toward yours. 

“Do you want some coffee?” Spencer asked you. You hesitated for a moment as you approached your desk, dropping your bag down with a soft sigh. You glanced at the stack of files waiting for you.

“Yes, I have like 20 files to get through,” you said, shaking your head. “I’m going to need that coffee.” 

Spencer smiled. “I’ll make you one,” he said, his tone soft as he set his own bag down on his desk. He didn’t waste a moment before heading toward the break room, but not before he threw one last comment over his shoulder. “I’ll help you with some of your files later.” 

He didn’t wait for your response, though Emily could already predict what it would have been, a quick “No, that’s fine.”

You didn’t want him to do too much for you, but Spencer had this way of offering help, and even though you would have rather tackled the work yourself, you knew it would have been pointless to argue with him. You bit your lip, trying to suppress the smile that threatened to slip out as you watched him leave. You turned your attention back to the files, your hand instinctively covering your mouth to keep yourself from letting out the giggle that bubbled up in your chest. 

Emily saw her opportunity and took it.

Without hesitation, she walked into the breakroom, where Spencer was carefully pulling two mugs from the cupboard.

One was your favorite, white with a print of Snoopy lying on his red doghouse. Spencer had gotten it for you on your birthday after overhearing you talk about how much you loved Snoopy as a kid. The other mug was his, bright yellow, with an image of Woodstock perched happily on a branch. That one had been your gift to him. 

Emily still remembered the way Spencer had reacted when he unwrapped it, his fingers brushing over the design as realization dawned on his face.

“Snoopy and Woodstock have to stay together,” you had said with a grin, eyes twinkling with amusement.  For a moment, he had just stared at the mug, lips parted as if he couldn’t quite find the words. Then, without thinking, he had pulled you into a tight hug. You had stiffened for half a second, caught off guard, before melting into his embrace. Emily had caught the entire moment from across the room, sharing an exasperated look with JJ. The two of you were so painfully oblivious to what was right in front of you.

Now, standing in the breakroom, she cleared her throat.

“Morning, Spencer,” Emily greeted, reaching for a cup of her own. 

Spencer, clearly lost in his own thoughts, blinked at her before nodding. “Morning, Emily.” He carefully poured coffee into the Snoopy mug first, taking his time, as if it was second nature to prepare yours before his own. 

“Have a good weekend?” she asked casually, watching him with thinly veiled curiosity. 

He glanced at her briefly before continuing his task. “Yeah. I was happy to have some days off,” he said with a small nod, carefully placing your cup aside before starting on his own. “You?” 

“Yeah. Thanks,” Emily replied, swirling her own coffee absentmindedly. She was biding her time, figuring out the best way to ease into the conversation she really wanted to have. 

“Did you do anything fun?” she asked, the question innocent enough but leading somewhere more intentional. 

Spencer shook his head. “Not really.” 

Emily hummed. “You know, you should do something fun.” 

Spencer finally glanced at her, a little suspicious now. He knew Emily too well to think she was just making small talk. She wasn’t one for casual, meaningless conversation. She didn’t say anything else right away, though. Instead, she took a slow sip of her coffee, eyes drifting through the breakroom window, settling on you. 

You were sitting at your desk, chewing absentmindedly on the end of a pencil, clearly lost in thought. Your brows were furrowed as you studied whatever was in front of you, your lips pursed slightly. It was such a small, unconscious habit, but Spencer had noticed it long ago. He had seen you do it a dozen times when you were concentrating, and for some reason, it was something he always found himself captivated by. 

Emily turned her gaze back to Spencer, and, just as she expected, his eyes were already on you. 

And then, just as quickly as he had let himself get lost in the sight of you, he pulled himself away, dropping his gaze back to his coffee as if it had suddenly become the most interesting thing in the world. 

Emily smirked. Gotcha. 

“She’s good for you, you know,” Emily said, her voice softer now. 

Spencer’s grip tightened slightly around the handle of his mug. He stared at her for a moment. Then, just as quickly, he looked away again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered. 

Emily chuckled. “Spencer.” 

He sighed, shaking his head, but Emily could tell he wasn’t annoyed. Just… hesitant. 

“You should tell her,” she said, shrugging. 

Spencer swallowed, his fingers twitching slightly where they rested against the counter. “It’s not that simple,” he finally admitted. 

Emily tilted her head. “Why not?” 

Spencer didn’t answer. Not immediately, anyway. But he didn’t have to. Emily already knew. 

She knew Spencer was afraid. Afraid of ruining what he had with you. Afraid that you didn’t feel the same way. Afraid that, after everything he’d been through, he wasn’t allowed to have something good. 

"She likes you too, you know that, right?" 

Spencer stilled, the metal spoon clinking softly against the ceramic mug as he hesitated. His grip on the spoon tightened slightly before he forced himself to continue stirring his coffee, feigning indifference.

“You don’t know that,” he muttered, his voice quieter than before. 

Emily huffed. “Spencer, you’re a genius. Do you really expect me to believe that you haven’t noticed the way she looks at you? The way she leans into you when you talk, the way she lights up when you’re around?” She tilted her head, eyes sharp as she studied him. “She likes you, Spencer. And you like her. So why are you making this so complicated?” 

Spencer swallowed, staring down into the dark liquid in his mug. “Because… because what if I ruin it?” His voice was barely above a whisper, but Emily heard him. 

Her expression softened slightly. “You won’t.” 

Spencer let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “You don’t know that either.” 

Emily sighed. She could see it now, the self-doubt, the hesitation, the fear that had been planted deep within him after everything that had happened. After losing so much. He was afraid of getting too close, afraid that if he let himself have this, it would eventually be taken from him, just like everything else. 

Her voice softened. “Spence, it’s okay to let her in.” 

He glanced up at her then, his eyes conflicted, torn between hope and uncertainty. 

“She’s already in,” Emily continued. “You just haven’t let yourself admit it yet.” 

Spencer exhaled, his shoulders slumping slightly.

He wanted to believe her. He wanted to let himself have this, have you. But that quiet voice in the back of his mind, kept telling him that if he did, he’d lose you too.  Emily must have sensed his hesitation because she suddenly reached over and took the spoon from his hand, placing it on the counter. 

“Talk to her,” she said simply. “Or don’t. But don’t sit here and pretend like this doesn’t exist. Because we both know it does.” 

Spencer stared at her, then down at the two mugs once again.

Snoopy and Woodstock. A pair that was always meant to be together. 

And then, before Emily could say anything else, he grabbed both mugs and walked out of the breakroom, straight toward you. Emily watched as Spencer placed the coffee in front of you. You barely even glanced at the mug before flashing him a wide, grateful smile as you wrapped your hands around the warm ceramic.

Spencer’s lips quirked into a soft smile, his eyes lingering on you a little longer than necessary. Emily caught the way his fingers twitched at his side, the way he hesitated, as if debating something in his head. Then, as if gathering every ounce of courage he had, he took a deep breath. 

And then, he said something. 

Emily couldn’t hear it from where she stood, but whatever it was made you freeze. Your mouth dropped open slightly, eyes widening in surprise. 

For a brief, agonizing second, Spencer looked like he regretted saying it, his expression shifting into something nervous, almost panicked. His fingers flexed at his sides, waiting for you to react. 

Then, suddenly, your face broke into a huge smile. The kind that made your eyes crinkle at the corners. The kind that answered whatever question Spencer had just asked. 

You nodded. Quickly. Eagerly. Almost as if you couldn’t believe it had taken this long. 

And Spencer, who had been watching you anxiously, grinned. A wide, relieved, genuine grin. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his whole body seeming to relax. His fingers tapped lightly against his leg before he instinctively reached up to push his hair behind his ear, a nervous habit that Emily had seen a million times before.

Only this time, it was different. This time, he was happy. 

He glanced at Emily from the side, as if checking to see if she had seen everything unfold. Emily, still watching, simply smirked and shot him a small, knowing smile. 

 — ꕤ— 

“You’re taking Reid instead of me?” Morgan exclaims, hand over his heart faking offence “Who will slow dance with you?”

“I don’t think you can slow dance to classical music babe” Penelope fires back

“Well it depends on the piece, if we’re talking Beethoven Symphony No. 5 probably not. But I can imagine something like Clair de Lune or Liebestraum” Spencer says.

Penelope shoots a look at him pretending she’s mad that he just discredited her response.

“It’s a fundraiser, nobody is going to be dancing” she tells them matter of factly

“Whatever,” Morgan beams “enjoy yourselves” he pats Spencer’s shoulder as he walks past.

— ꕤ— 

Spencer didn’t actually agree to go, not that he had an option anyway. But two days later he finds himself in a rented suit, fixing his tie and hair on the backseat of a taxi, Garcia beside him with a perpetual smile framing her features.

“Looking good Spence” she says, glancing at him.

“Can’t believe you pressed me into doing this” he mutters

“Correction,” Penelope says holding up her index finger “I didn’t press you to do anything, I politely informed you of our plans for the weekend”

“Right,” Spencer shakes his head “and you also texted me suit options and a tie knot tutorial”

She grins proudly “And don’t you look amazing?”

Before he can respond, the cab pulls up to the venue, – a sprawling building through the windows he can see marble columns,  huge chandeliers cast a warm glow that spills to the street and an entry way that suggests everyone inside considers Versace casual.

He eyes the grand glass front doors warily. “So…what exactly is someone supposed to do at an event of this kind?” 

“Look put together, sip champagne, and smile” Penelope answers as she steps out of the car and smooths her dress. “Oh and clap, there’s a lot of clapping”

He goes to stand beside her with a sigh “Is this your idea of fun?”

She hooks her arm through his. “I’m here to support my friend, but watching you attempt small talk will be an enjoyable bonus”

He just makes a face which makes her laugh and they walk in.

Inside, everything is almost obnoxiously elegant. The sound of glasses clinking, heels clacking, hushed conversations, forced laughter and soft notes of a piano fill the atmosphere. Penelope scans the room, eyes searching for the source of the music. Once her gaze lands on an elevated platform, she smiles. 

A  baby grand piano sits on the centre of the stage and seated on its bench is a woman in a long black dress. Her hair tied low on the back of her head, and her eyes are closed as she plays, her head tilted slightly, fingers moving softly and confidently over the keys. It's as if the piano is an extension of her. Spencer is instantly mesmerized.

When the piece ends, the woman opens her eyes and leans forward  to reach and turn the sheet music. As she does, her eyes fall on Garcia and him. A smile appears on her lips mirroring Penelope’s expression. Garcia waves, the woman responds with a nod before going back to playing.

Spencer just stares at her, how she seems to be playing with her whole body, how her head lowers at low notes and rises at the higher ones, how she barely glances at the sheet music because she seems to know the notes by heart. Her fingers move in a cascade, fluidly – an arpeggio. Spencer knows how technically demanding they are – the wrist movements, finger gymnastics, the precision, the control – but she plays multiple of them in succession like it’s simple. Effortless. Natural. As if she’s doing something as plain as breathing.

Garcia is as captivated at her friend’s talent, she glances at Spencer after a member of the waitstaff dressed in black and white offers them glasses.

“She’s amazing” Penelope says quietly

“Very impressive yes” Spencer adds never taking his eyes off the pianist

When this piece ends, a man in a sharp emerald green suit steps onto the stage, smiling as she approaches the microphone “Ladies and gentlemen I am incredibly delighted by your presence tonight. The evening has begun on a splendid note, so, before we continue, let’s offer a warm hand to our performer”

The woman rises from the bench smoothly and applause echoes through the hall, she nods in acknowledgement then steps off the stage. She’s not even finished going down the small stairs when a small group approaches and praises her.

“You were divine” a woman with an intricate updo says “Absolutely breathtaking” the woman beside her adds. “I felt that in my soul, it was beautiful” an older man says after taking a sip from his champagne flute.

She thanks them politely with a tight smile and gracefully slips through the sea of tailored suits, and sparkling jewelry until she reaches Spencer and Penelope.

Garcia grins and pulls her into a side hug “Amazing, as always” says Garcia “I had almost forgotten how beautifully you play”

“Ah thank you so much Penny, and thank you for coming” She casts a glance at Spencer and adds “The both of you.”

“I’m sorry she dragged you here” she says with Garcia’s hand still around her.

“It was totally worth it, your performance was gorgeous” He says rushedly “I’m Spencer, nice to meet you” he adds not knowing what to do.

“ Nice to meet you, Penny talks about you and the team a lot” she answers with the smile on her lips never fading.

While the man on the stage goes on with his speech, Garcia and her friend fall into the rhythm of a conversation with Spencer occasionally commenting.

Eventually the man finishes his speech and the woman has to go again.

“That’s my cue,” she says taking the last bite from her tiny sandwich “Don’t go without me” she adds over her shoulder, already walking away.

She steps up the stairs and gives a small nod to the man now leaving the stage, he nods back and goes down leaving the stage for her again. Without missing another moment she resumes playing,  just as graceful, just as mesmerizing. Spencer finds himself simply watching again, the rest of the room melting aways with the gentle sounds

“Where does she usually play?” Spencer asks, voice low like he’s afraid of breaking the spell.

Penelope caught off guard, just blinks for a moment “At the little bar at 14th,” she replies then smiles “It’s very your vibe, I think you’ll like it”

“What makes you think I want to go?” he shoots back without missing a beat

She sips her drink, smug. “I know you do,” she says simply. “And because you haven’t blinked in two full minutes.”

He rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches, and Penelope considers that a win.

After you came back from a long shift at the hospital excited to cuddle with the love of your life (or so you thought) but the only remnant of him you found was a sticky note placed on the cover of a book you were reading at the time:

"I'm sorry, I can't do this anymore"

That was all he said before destroying everything you two had built over 3 years, 3 years of love, pain, and learning, 3 years of giving everything for each other, destroyed in less than 24 hours like nothing.

He hadn't been the same for a long time, though—not since prison. You didn't blame him; you tried to understand him, give him space, time, and everything one could need to heal. He was not the same, of course. You weren't expecting the same Spencer to come back, sure, but you also were not expecting whoever he had become: some cold and distant version of the person you used to know.

Your relationship with Spencer is divided into two eras: Before Millburn and After Millburn.

Before Millburn, you guys were somewhat happy. Both of you were overworked and stressed but happy. You would tell him about your work, and he would tell you about his. In the rare times, he got a day off work, he would hug you whenever he could, like he was making sure you wouldn't slip away.

After Millburn, you didn't talk much, not unless it was necessary, he didn't hug you a lot anymore, in fact, the last time he hugged you was when you went to pick him up at the correctional facility, all the emotions running high, you remember thinking he looked and smelled different, you didn't know he would be so different when you wrapped him in your arms, placed a kiss on his shoulder and whispered that everything would be fine. But everything was not fine. It was all so not fine and everyone around you two could tell. Yet you could have never imagined that Spencer, the man who made the hopeless romantic in you thrive would leave in such a disheartening way.

Back at O’Keeffe’s, the team was still at it. The count of how many rounds of drinks Rossi had paid long lost, Emily and JJ leaning suspiciously close to each other, Rossi nursing some unnecessarily extravagant drink, Garcia and Morgan somewhere on the dance floor and Hotch nowhere to be seen. Spencer had gone outside, hoping the sensory overload would ease with the fresh air, it did slightly but the agglomerate of people was no better than the one inside, so many people, reeking of alcohol, walking like zombies, and saying nonsensical things. As he was standing near the entrance, hands stuffed into his pockets, the soft rain dampening his hair, Spencer let his mind wander and it ended up where it always does: him contemplating if leaving was the right decision.

He was so deep in this thought that didn't even notice the man approaching until it happened- a hard shoulder bump that took him away from his thoughts.

"Sorry dude" the man muttered not even caring to glance back as he moved past. Spencer blinked, shocked as he watched the man move swiftly toward a small group of people nearby. A group that included you.

His heart jumped to his mouth. No - not you. But she looked like you, uncannily so. She even acted like you, the way she threw her back when she laughed or how she scrunched her nose in an attempt to put her sliding glasses in place - he could've sworn it was you.

For a fraction of a minute, he actually thought it was you. His breath caught in his throat and he took a step forward before reality sank in and he retreated. It wasn't you; it was never you.

But as he watched her wrapping her arms around the man's neck, as his hands almost automatically moved to her waist, and they both smiled like idiots in love. He couldn't help but feel like he had been stabbed and the knife was being twisted inside him. Was this some type of fucked up joke by the universe? "This could be you, bad thing you lost her" The thing is, he didn't lose you- he gave up on you which was worse because maybe if he had stayed, and tried a little harder, you would still be together.

He staggered back a few steps, and if he hadn't reached the wall, he would've fallen considering he already felt his knees buckle as all the bottled-up emotions from the past five months came crashing onto him; he was overwhelmed by his own feelings, eyes blurry with tears as a lump formed in his throat and the weight on his chest got heavier.

Blindly, almost unconsciously, he reached for his phone in the inside pocket of his jacket. His thumb hovered above your name in the contacts list. The message he typed was brief:

"Are you home?"

He didn't get a reply, he wasn't waiting for one. The moment he hit send his legs were already moving, practically running towards the street to hail a cab. He gave the driver your address, and it came out of his mouth easily, as if he had never stopped saying it.

You were in the shower when his message came through, you didn't pay the loud notification much attention, not even caring to glance at the device when you heard the familiar ding. You prioritized the small occasions you got to take care of yourself when your job is to take care of others.

Now freshly showered and in the kitchen making tea- the next step on your little routine- you hear a knock on the door, a distinct knock, a knock you could never forget, not even a billion years from now. Your heart stopped for a moment, heartbeat pounding in your ears, you didn't quite register you were moving towards the door until it was open and he was standing there, his brown eyes open wide once he registered your presence, reacting as though you opening the door was the last thing he expected. You just stood there for a few seconds, staring at each other until Spencer wrapped you in his arms like he used to, his nostrils flooding with the smell of your shampoo and body wash, smells he recognized all too well, smells that felt like home.

You pushed him away, shattering the brief feeling of happiness he had started to feel.

"What are you doing here?" You asked almost a little too loud in an attempt to hide the hurt in your voice

"I miss you" he replied eyes searching for yours.

You stood there, arms folded, trying to hide how weak those words made you feel. He had no right to miss you, not after leaving the way he did.

Why should I care? You thought to yourself. He made it clear that he didn’t care about you, but you cared, you cared so deeply that it made your heart ache.

You were not going to let him in.

"You can't just stop talking to me and then come here like nothing happened, Spence." You couldn't help using the nickname, your voice falsely steady, trying to hide the pain.

"I know, I just-can I come in?" No reply "Please"

You hesitated, gripping the door handle tighter as a tornado of emotions swirled on your chest. Anger. Hurt. Loneliness. You wanted to slam the door in his face, make him feel a small fraction of what you felt over the past 5 months. But buried beneath all these harsh feelings, there was something softer, something you felt ashamed to acknowledge: the echo of all the nights you stayed up worrying about him and what could happen in his work, all the mornings you woke up without the smell of coffee lingering through the apartment.

You let him in.

You tried to convince yourself that letting him in was about answers- you deserved an explanation, some sort of closure at least. But as you stepped aside and watched him walk past you knew that wasn’t the whole truth.

Because no matter how much he’d hurt you, part of you still longed for the man he used to be.

“This doesn’t change anything.” You muttered, as much to yourself as to him. He gave a slight nod in reply, eyes watering. Damn him and his big brown eyes.

 As you were turning around after closing the door behind you, he captured you in a hug again and you couldn't help but wrap your arms around him too.

★

Somehow, he ended up asleep in your bed and as you gaze at his peaceful resting face, your mind tells you to wake him up, tell him to go home and never come back, tell him that he doesn't get to leave and reappear whenever it suits him, tell him that he can fuck off for breaking your heart like that. Yet, you don't do any of that, because your heart tells you not to.

tysm for reading, likes and reblogs are always deeply appreciated

You hadn’t been long with the BAU when Spencer left the team. It was a sabbatical first, then another… and then he was gone. No proper goodbye, nothing. Just a vague promise to keep in touch that faded before it even began.

Something between you had sparked. You weren’t delusional. The quiet conversations in the break room, eyes that lingered too long… You reminded him of himself in some way - quietly observant, always watching the room instead of taking up space in it. And he just couldn’t stay away.

You understood why he didn’t keep in touch. You did. You didn’t blame him, or hold any grudges against him. But it still hurt, it still made your chest ache when you thought of what could’ve been.

Now, watching your closest friend sobbing over her loss - over a love she lost, you couldn’t help but wonder if your grief had roots deeper than death.

You could feel him behind you, feel his eyes digging holes into you. You knew better than to hold back in front of him.

The service blurred around you, faces and voices melting into static. Your head throbbed with the ongoing migraine you had, making it harder to focus on what was happening. Grief has a way of finding all the cracks in you and widening them.

You slipped out as soon as it ended. You needed air.

The hallway was empty, quiet. A moment of stillness after the storm. You barely heard the footsteps behind you, until his large frame came into your sight.

Spencer.

He hadn’t aged at all. His eyes had the same soft look, his brown hair still tousled like he’d just woken up. The purple scarf around his neck made you feel nostalgic— like a glimpse into a version of him you hadn’t seen in years.

Your chest hurt too much.

“Hey,” He said softly.

You looked at him, eyebrows furrowed with confusion? hurt? Even he couldn’t decipher it. But he definitely knew you were hurting.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“Are any of us, really?” you said in a broken voice. He knew you’d say this.

Spencer knew you had a habit of deflecting your pain, of minimising it so you could stay strong for the others. You didn’t have to stay strong for him, though.

He didn’t answer you at first. Instead, he glanced around, and without a word, he guided you into a small, empty room off the main hall. A quiet and sunlit place that smelled faintly of old flowers and wood polish.

“I know you think you have to be strong all the time. But you don’t have to be. Especially not in front of me, sweetheart” He spoke, gently and kindly. Just like he always spoke to you.

The endearment did it for you. The tears you’d struggled to hide made your vision blurry, and you hid your face in your hands.

He didn’t say anything else right away. He simply stepped closer, and when you didn’t pull away he brought you into his arms. Carefully, like you were something delicate.

You sank into him without hesitation.

The feeling of being wrapped around him— his warmth, his scent… It was all familiar. Maybe too familiar. It made everything crack at once.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there” He whispered, his hand coming to card through your hair. “I should’ve… I should’ve said goodbye. It wasn’t fair to you.”

Your throat felt too tight to answer. You stayed in his arms, body trembling with suppressed sobs. Instead, your hands came to grip the lapel of his coat, clutching at the fabric right where that familiar scarf rested, the one you’d spent far too many nights missing.

“Shh, I’ve got you” he murmured, gently rocking you. Like it was second nature. Like he’d done this before. Or more correctly, like he wished he had done this more often.

You felt it in the way his chin dipped against your temple, the way his hands moved in slow, steady circles across your back. He didn’t flinch when your sobs grew messier. He held you through it, every broken sound met with silence and softness.

His lips grazed your forehead, lingering there before pressing a soothing kiss. In his arms, you felt small—like all the overwhelming sensations from the day were crashing down on you.

When you calmed down a little, Spencer pulled back slightly, just enough so he could hold your face in his hands. His fingers wiped leftover tears from your eyes, handling you with the utmost care.

“Let’s get you home, okay sweetheart?”

You barely nodded, just needing to rest for a moment. He guided you out of the room, his hand resting on your lower back as he led you down the quiet hallway. Outside, the cool air hit your face, but Spencer’s presence was the warmth you clung to.

His car was parked just a few steps away, and without a word, he opened the passenger door for you, waiting till you were settled to slip into the driver's seat. The silence between you wasn’t empty - it was filled with unspoken words, memories, and feelings too heavy to voice just yet.

As he started the engine, he couldn’t help but glance at you every once in a while, his hand finding yours and threading your fingers easily. You looked over to meet his gaze, silent tears falling down your cheeks.

For a moment, the world outside disappeared.

The car pulled up in front of your apartment, and Spencer turned off the engine, breaking the silence softly. “Come on” he murmured, opening the door and helping you out. Your legs felt heavy, crumbling down under your weight. But Spencer held you, his grip steady and firm every time you stumbled a little.

Inside, the warmth of your apartment wrapped around you, but it was nothing compared to the comfort in Spencer’s eyes. He guided you gently to the couch, his hand still holding yours.

“I’ll get you some water,” he said, moving towards the kitchen. You watched him intently, curling up on the couch while you waited.

He returned quickly, handing you a glass. You took it with shaky hands, and he sat beside you, close enough to offer warmth but also give you space.

You didn’t need space right now. You needed his presence. Needed to feel his arms wrapping around your frame again.

Without warning, Spencer reached out to tuck a loose strand behind your ear, thumb brushing against your cheek. His eyes searched for yours, full of care and something deeper. Something vulnerable.

Then slowly, he leaned in, lips brushing against yours in a tender, slow kiss. When he pulled back just enough to look at you, his voice was a soft whisper, full of emotion.

A small tear had slipped down your cheek, this time not from sadness. He wiped it, pressing another kiss right below the spot where your tear had fallen.

“My little dove, why do you cry?”

You didn’t have to answer. The question hung between you, filled with the pain and the hope you both felt. And in that moment, it felt like maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to face it alone.

“Missed you”

His eyes softened even more at your whisper. “Missed you”. The words felt like a confession and a surrender. Spencer received them both with the reverence they deserved.

“I missed you too, my angel,” he said, almost breathless. His hand found yours again, fingers intertwining like they belonged there. “Everyday”

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. “I shouldn’t have left without saying goodbye” He repeated, breath hitching. “You deserved more than that”

You nodded slightly, your voice small when you spoke. “I kept thinking for a long time that- that I didn’t matter”

He stayed silent, waiting for you to finish your thoughts.

“That maybe it was all in my head. The way you looked at me. The way I felt”

Spencer’s heart twisted. He hated that his silence made you question your worth.

“No, no baby. It was never in your head. I’m so sorry I made you feel like that.” He shushed you, pressing another kiss to your forehead.

“You did matter. And you matter now.” He said, his words holding weight. “I thought about you every single day. But once I left… I didn’t know how to come back after walking away”

You looked at him then, really looked at him, and saw the weight he still carried behind his eyes. Regret, guilt, longing. All of it right there, exposed.

“I would’ve forgiven you” you whispered.

“I know that now,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “But I didn’t think I deserved it back then”

A beat of silence passed between you, his scent filling your nostrils. He lifted your joined hands and pressed a kiss to the back of your fingers.

“I’m here now” he whispered. “I want to stay. Let me make it up to you. If you’ll let me”

Your breath caught, but you nodded, the answer evident in your eyes.

He leaned in again, this time slower - capturing your lips in a deep kiss, filled with tenderness. It told you everything you needed to hear. That you were wanted, cherished, and certainly not forgotten. Never forgotten.

When the kiss broke, his lips hovered just above yours, breath fanning over you as he murmured,

“I’ve got you, dove. I’ve got you”