You met Spencer seven months ago when he came to your hometown in Virginia for a case. You bumped into him at a bookstore that you frequent and after some chatter (of which being adorably flustered on his end), you asked him for his number. A few weeks after that meeting, you two started dating.

Luckily, he lives in Quantico, which is only a half hour away from your town, but unluckily, you're a famous actress and often aren't home for your various roles, and he's an FBI agent, frequently gone on various cases. You can make the occasional long distance work, of course, it just takes a bit more determination.

That's why— for the first six months of your relationship, at least— you kept your love private from the world. So many other precious things, like your proximity and ability to talk to each other whenever you want, had been taken from you by your jobs, so your privacy is one of the last intimate things you two always have.

That is, until you two went out to a restaurant two weeks ago (one that promised a private seating area, mind you), and you were seated right next to a window, which the paparazzi took advantage of immediately. In the span of just a few hours, you two were the heads of magazines, the hot topic on the news, and every social media platform you had was bombarded with messages. There goes the privacy, I suppose.

It was a bit of a relief not to keep it hidden anymore, but at the same time, the two of you can hardly go anywhere without getting cameras shoved in your faces, and at the same time, it makes it harder to be away from each other, seeing as you see each other's faces on the Internet every waking second.

Today, you're trying to forget about all that and just enjoy Spencer's presence. He flops down onto the couch next to you, his head falling into your lap as he writes in an answer for the crossword puzzle in his hands, a small smile on his face.

"You know, people think our relationship is fake," he says, "they think I'm only dating you to keep you safe from stalkers."