a little bit harder now..

that's what bothered him even more.

"spencer," your voice echoed from the hallway, the sound of his first name pulling him out of his thoughts. it felt like a bucket of ice brutally poured over him. you never called him that.

sure, you were here.

litteraly, you were.

he wasn't alone anymore, gazing at the sky through the jet’s window while he thought of you, or waking up from a nightmare in a shitty motel room, the squeaky mattress nothing like the one he usually shared with you.

in a way, there was no reason for him to be sitting there, creases under his eyes highlighted in the dim light.

spence, come to bed.

you have a week worth of cuddles to make up for, genius.

in another universe, that's what you would've said.

"don't let the light on if you fall asleep" you said instead.

because in this universe, he messed up.

put the role of agent first without realising it, and before he could get a chance to apologise, he'd traded romantic dinners for briefings, and late night conversations for additional hours.

the stars aligned, the entire universe participated in the series of events that led you to him all those years ago, so much that he'd unintentionally started to take it for granted.

you.

as if a constellation could be any less majestic on this day, for the simple reason its discovery went back thousands of years.

as if you didn't shine as brightly now, hair falling over your nightgown, with a sleepy expression that revealed pent up exhaustion, than you ever did.

"i won't," he croaked out in an embarrassingly weak voice.

he left, he was the one to be blamed.

cowardice, a sin. one he'd taken from his life's blood, dangerously repeating his father's actions unconsciously although he’d never admit the resemblance.

to a woman's love and honesty, a relationship built on trust, he responded with scribbles on a sticky note left on the bedside table before going away.

case out of state. love you.

"okay..."

he'd forgotten you were here, too busy analysing the lack of a crucial vowel he omitted. maybe that's why you were acting so cold. because he didn’t properly say those three words.

"i'm going to bed."

pushing yourself from the doorframe, you informed as you turned back around.

"wait-"

his hand reached out in the air, in a way that would appear romantic if it was just another day. the air in the room shifted, and it wasn’t from the cold breeze of the night that his throat closed.

your head tilted, spencer’s lips parted.

"could you... come here ?"

the space next to him felt like an invitation as he scooted over, a little spot he gestured at with the back of his hand. it was embarrassing enough for him to say the words out, to admit he needed you close.

but all the arguments in the world be damned, the files were the last things he wanted next to him right now.

you saw it.

a subtle shift in his eyes. the way his brows scrunched, searching for your reaction. he looked younger under this light, innocent, even.

"we don't have to solve this today,"

"no, this isn't about... that"

in a couple of long strides, you were at his side. lowering yourself onto the couch close enough that you could touch him if he asked.

"i don't wanna talk." he shook his head and stammered "i mean yes ! i do, i know i messed up... i just... need you to be next to me right now."

there it was.

the hint of the smile he loved so much. it threatened to show in the way your lips almost curved upwards, but you just nodded.

your voice was softer. "okay."

thankfully he didn't have to make the first step. quietly, anticipating his demand, your fingers laced together and interlinked, resting on top of his thigh. he welcomed your touch with a relieved breath.

"not ready to sleep just yet ?"

he shook his head. the nightmares clouded his mind, lingered around him in the posture of his shoulders and the way his clenched jaw stuck out in the darkness.

"no, not now."

you knew, so much that he didn't need to say a single word.

it was more than a simple hand holding situation. reassurance, comfort. the sleepiness you felt earlier dissipated instantly and you melted deeper into the couch, watching the way his curls lazily framed his sleep etched face.

"i'm not angry, yknow," you played absentmindedly with the fabric of a pillow, the cotton offering a distraction from the way his head tilted to find your gaze. "not that angry anyways... i missed you too much to care about fighting."

‘’you won’t look at me since i came back and you almost flinched when i touched you earlier" he recalls matter-of-factly, like his heartstrings didn’t tug when he felt you stiffen in his presence. ‘’i can tell when you’re angry,’’

"and..." he reminds you "i get it. you have every right to be"

across the room, you could swear the framed pictures were staring at you – nagging looks of the gallery of your love, displaying different moments of your shared story that now appeared distant.

‘’it’s just easier to be angry than to miss you while you’re away. then i can pretend not to care about whatever dangerous situation you put yourself in again.’’

his eyes trail to were yours are and land on a particular cherished memory.

to anyone else, that picture woud’ve appeared unworthy of being exposed. it’s far for perfect, from the angles that weren’t quite right to the blurry background, revealing how unintentionally perfect it turned out to be. The shot was owed to penelope, probably, hence why nothing other than your smile and spencer’s matching one seem to be taken into account.

it shows you, laughing after one too many drinks in rossi’s garden. same glint in your eyes, but younger features. innocent in the way that shows life hadn’t quite revealed all its tricks on you yet. and by your side, with a hand carefully draped around your hip like the world would fade without your anchor, is him.

soft, adoring.

looking at you like you hung the moon and completely falsified his of gravity, altering the chemistry of his neural pathways in a way that could never be undone. at this very moment, when you laughed at something he said - that must’ve involved statistics and unintentional rambling, like it always did - nothing else mattered.

‘’not for me," he counters in a low breath, like it pains him to admit it. "you might've gotten a couple of days of denial while i was away-"

impossible to tell him that no, you didn't. spending ever waking moment hoping he'll return and yell at you, fight with you again, or critisize your coping techniques with fancy psychological vocabulary that would've been once again way too accurate.

"-but it hurt me to know that we were on bad terms."

"why thank you, genius. that's so kind of you"

genius.

he took it like a punch to the gut. the kind of nickname related to teasing, playful banter about his immense incomparable knowledge you were so fond of. now, it only sounded insulting.

"i left. we fought and i had to leave. and i-" spencer's voice faltered for a second, anxiety creeping in. there was a truth he hated to admit, words we couldn't bear pronouncing out loud in fear they'd come true.

"i couldn't forgive myself if those were the last words i ever said to you."

there it was.

the dagger being held over him, the possible hypothesis that had made him shiver beneath the thin motel sheets. the covers were so harsh he'd closed his eyes and imagined the heat of your soft skin instead of the empty spot next to him.

right now on the couch, your lips parted. spencer was never scared, he'd grown into a confident agent whose weakesses never showed, hidden away in the secret garden of his that ony he had the key to.

you ducked your head shamefully.

he gets up in one swift motion, cearing his throat as to erase his confession. "i’m gonna make some tea"

just like that, the moment dissipated.

he gets to the kitchen before you could react and there's nothing for you to do but look at him from the couch, maneuvring behind the counter with a surgical precision that should make up for his crumbled facade. you see him grab two mugs carefully, the whistle of the kettle drowning out the leftover tension in the open space.

as the water got closer to reach the point of boiling, spencer was too busy replaying the conversation to hear your socked feet against the tiles.

until he felt your touch.

hesitant at first. your arms slide around his middle from behind, and the fact that you can't see his face doesn't keep you from catching his reaction. his body language speaks for itself.

shoulders sag in relief, and you carefully draw yourself closer until your forhead mets the cotton fabric of his shirt, soft and smelling of him from the years of wearing it.

"i'm sorry you felt like i wasn't there for you," your arms tighten their grip on him and you admit.

he shakes his head, hands stilling against the counter. steam lazily curls over the mugs and he adds. "no. i'm sorry i wasn't there for you. physically. emotionally."

he turns around, to wich you can finally tilt your head up and met his eyes. for the first time tonight, and he counted, your enchanting irises turn to him.

"we should talk to eachother more." it's honest. the kettle clicks. "statistically, is a major factor when it comes to reasons for divorce, the numbers sometimes reaching seventy percent-"

"we're not married" you remind him, unable to suppress a twitch of your lips.

spencer only shrugs sheepishly, though heat creeps up his cheeks.

"better be prepared, i guess"

you giggle fully this time. and it reverbates in the tiny space illuminated by nothing but your smile and the faint light over the stove.

"i need to find a better balance between you and the job. to be... okay with not always being dr reid all the time."

even in those moments, the quiet conversations between two individuals too trusting to hide parts of themselves from one another, he was honest with you. the struggle between this shift of identity wasn't new, no, it was what he got for putting others before himself and dedicating his life to helping the world with the use of his intellect.

but you never saw him as dr reid.

the diplomas and PhDs and FBI rewards he'd accumulated were nothing but mundanities that came with your boyfriend. spencer. the one whose casual and relaxed side only you got to see once he came bck from work, or during his rare days off.

"i just need you," you explain, your hands flat on his chest. "to be yourself. to be a boyfriend. a best friend."

to be there. alive. happy.

that's what he knew you were thinking. "i will"

the promise feels real this time, sworn with not only words but sealed by a kiss. he leans into you hesitantly, only to grace your lips when he feels you melting into him.

"you're-" you breathe out, smiling and kissing the corner of his mouth again, because how could you resist after going so long without his touch. "crazy- to think i know how to keep my mind of you"

spence meets you halfway, aiming for another kiss. a smaller peck this time. the grip of his hands tighten around your waist and he gives you a heartwarming dopey smile brighter than anything.

"i'd apologise for that, but it wouldn't be very honest.... i like to know you think about me..." he explains, brows scrunching telling you he's searching for the right words. "it makes me feel nice to know there's someone waiting for me when i come back."

after all, coming back to an empty apartment was all he'd known for years. dust collected on the shelves for however long the case had lasted, and the feeling of sudden emptiness in his heart matching with... well, the one in his fridge.

here, he was wanted, expected, needed. and most of all, loved.

"smooth," your nose bumps against his playfully. "but i won't settle for just words, baby. i need actions."

he nodded solemnly. baby again, not just first name basis.

you pinch his side, aiming for the skin beneath his prominent ribs. the efect is immediate, followed by a sharp gasp.

"-hey !"

"i'm serious," you warn, pupils getting visibly smaller like a cat about to hiss. he can't take you seriously like this, the flames of your pretend anger are nothing more than a modest spark. you're not even mad at him anymore, you just want him to smile again.

"you need to find a way to distance yourself from the BAU sometimes. it would be healthier for you to leave cases and bad guys away from, well," you vaguely gesture to the kitchen space with the two long forgotten mugs behing him.

"i perfectly know how to do that-" he retorts in a high pitched voice that betrayed his words.

"my files and all other aspects of my work life," he says, pointing to the coffee table in the living room space. "are over there. and you, my personal life, are right here."

your brows raise in amusement, shifting the attention away from the smile that threatens your lips. "seriously ?"

spencer shrugs. "i have established a boundary between work and life - that boundary being defined by the kitchen island."

"oh, dear" you sigh, shaking your head. the tea has gone cold when you grab your mug and his eyes don't leave your figure moving gracefully under the dim light. "you've got a long way to go."

"but i'll help you"

his head tilts up, hopeful. he's not alone anymore, really, he never was. not when he has a home - not just a flat, a real home - warm and full of love he shares with a woman who can read him like the back of her hand.

"you will ?" spencer's words linger in the air, promises untold he yearns for you to confirm. you nod, handing him his own mug to match yours.

"yeah, because i love you. and also, i can't sleep without you next to me" you add honestly. being home lone had never felt so boring than when it involved spencer leaving. apparently, you didn't need social battery to spend time with him.

he plants a soft kiss on your temple, a brush of his lips that leave you grinning.

and the next morning, you wake up by his side with limbs completely tangled and trapped in a form hold, that same smile is on your lips. the shine filters through the curtains, casting hues of gold over the angelic figure of a deeply asleep spencer. the pent up exhaustion from the past weeks events finally released, he looks the most relaxed you've seen in a while - and you let him rest.

because even without words, without meaningful eye contacts or grand gestures, you know he loves you too.

and the sticky note on the bedframe proves your point.

the sentence is carefully etched on the paper this time, elegant letters written in the peculiar handwriting you've learned to recognize after seeing it in letters and work files you sometimes got to see. three words, he got it right this time.

i love you, with an i. always have and always will.