You may have been a behavioral analyst, but you were also a bad liar. At least, to Spencer, you were.

Every few minutes, you switched between stretching your back, gingerly touching your stomach, and pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes. If you weren’t doing any of those things, you perpetually wore a slight grimace. Spencer knew you were on your period––more than that, he knew you were in pain, despite your insistence that you were fine. He understood your stubbornness––after all, he didn’t like being percieved as weak either. He knew that he, your best friend, was not the person you probably wanted to talk to about your period.

Instead of asking again how you were, he appraoched your desk with some chocolate and ibuprofen, smiling softly as you look up in surprise.

“What? I have a sweet tooth and chronic migraines. I’m just sharing some of my stash.” He says with a little grin.