After the episode Spencer had thrown in the office after the case, you had offered to take him home instead of having him walking around DC in the dead of night fuming from his ears.
But when you had walked him up to his apartment, he was dead-set on you coming in.
“If I got caught up like that, I can’t imagine how you must be feeling,” he states.
“I lived with it for most of my life. I’m used to it,” you lie.
“I’ve never seen you get emotional like that before, Y/N,” Spencer admits.
“Then that makes two of us,” you snicker as you shake you head lightly and turn your gaze away.
“Let me just brew us some coffee. It’ll be warm, and we can sit in silence and cool down,” he says lowly.
The coffee did sound nice.
“Alright. But just ONE cup,” you emphasize.
Smiling in triumph as he quickly unlocks his door, you step into his apartment that had practically been deemed your second home, sighing as you walk over to his couch and sink yourself slowly into it.
The case had been so emotionally taxing that you weren’t aware of how tired you had become until you had finally gotten off of your feet.
And your felt your eyes steadily begin to droop.
“So, I went out and bought some of that weird creamer stuff you drink in your coffee. They didn’t have plain caramel but they had a caramel macch-”
But when he turned back towards you, he smiled lightly to himself as his eyes danced along your body, contorted on the couch with your head fallen forward and your light snores escaping through your nose.
The two of you were profilers. There were no words that needed to be spoken when it came to how the two of you felt. The two of you knew when your friendship turned a corner into a best friendship, and the two of you also mutually understood when that best friendship had divulged into something greater…
His mother loved you, and so did he. And while there was never a definitive point where your relationship changed, the thing that he loved was that it never did.
With you, it always just was.
But when this case had happened, and it had revealed a life that you had lived that, up until this point, you had never talked about, an anger and a jealousy rose within him that he didn’t believe he was capable of.
Anger that people could have treated you that way, and jealousy that they had you at such a vulnerable time and not him.
If he had a chance, he would have turned back the wheels of time, found you when the two of you were teenagers, and never left your side. He wanted all of you: your past, your present, and your future. He wanted your hand in marriage, your heart forever, your children to call him “daddy”, your body to meld to his in passion, your wrinkled hand in old age as the two of you laid in bed and dreamed about your younger, more youthful years.
Neither of you needed words to express any of it.
But maybe it was time a few were spoken.
Turning off the coffee pot as he makes his way over to the couch, he shifts you down onto the cushions as your head lobs off to the side, his fingers dancing along your cheek as he slowly brushes the lightly greasy tendrils from your eyes.
Pulling a blanket down around your body, he tucks you in before leaning in and pressing a long, warm kiss into your forehead, and it caused you to stir lightly as you grunt and groan with your shifting.
“I love you, Y/N,” he whispers into your ear.
And he smiled when your soft, pillowy, tired lips croaked, “Love you too, Spencer.”