Inner team relationships are strictly prohibited in the BAU. You know it, your team knows it, and nobody has stepped out of line and started a relationship despite that rule. But you feel like you're getting awfully close to tiptoeing that line.

Why? Spencer Reid, of course. The man who spits out the most obscene of facts, who somehow manages to be the smartest and dumbest in a room, who has completely enraptured you since the moment you met him.

You like to keep your personal life very separated from your work life. You're friends with your coworkers, sure, but it's a workplace friendship, you know? You don't disclose too many details, and you certainly try to put on a more happy persona when around them. Even if you're having a bad day, you'll force yourself to smile, to act your very best, to look put together. And you think, somewhere during all this, Spencer noticed.

He started coming to your hotel room or apartment late at night, with the excuse of having some thoughts about a case. You didn't mind, so you'd let him in. Of course, he'd talk about the case with you, make breakthroughs occasionally, but you always kind of noticed that it was almost like he was waiting for more. Studying you to see if you were still just pretending to be okay.

It was easy to fake it early on, but the more often he came, the more often you'd disclose more about your personal life with him. And he'd listen, so attentively, his eyes never leaving you, never wandering, because he truly wanted to know everything there was to know about you. It was foreign to you, someone wanting to listen to the uninteresting memories you've gathered over the years. Maybe that's why you kept telling him, kept opening up, because he made you feel like you didn't need to pretend.

One night, while you guys are hitting another small lull in the case, you glance over at the clock on your bedside table, seeing how late it is. Nearly 3 in the morning. And yet he's still wide awake, waiting to hear more about you. And it really made your stomach feel funny. You turn to look at him again, about to suggest that he go back to his apartment and get some sleep, but the words refuse to be spoken.

"Who are you when you're not performing for anyone?" He asks gently, genuinely. He wants to know you. Who you are outside of work, outside of the wall you've built up between you and others. And who are you to refuse to tell him, when he's looking at you like you hold the world in your hands?