It was that time of year again — the dreaded end of the semester — and with it came the mountain of work every professor had learned to both expect and resent. Exams to hand out. Exams to collect. Exams to grade. It was all fun and games until you were staring down a pile of 200 test papers from the 200 students you taught across three different classes.

You could’ve taken them home. Most professors did, but you hated bringing work into your apartment — hated the way it invaded your space, how it made your home feel less like a sanctuary and more like an extension of your job. Plus, you knew yourself too well. You’d get distracted. Put on music. Maybe cook something. Maybe nap. And before you knew it, you'd wake up at three in the morning with ungraded papers stuck to your cheek.

So, you’d stayed behind. University halls were quiet after hours — eerily quiet, sometimes — but you preferred it to the chaos of trying to be productive in your living room.

Spencer noticed. The two of you were… friends, technically. Colleagues, yes. Friendly, sure. But it was more than that — not that either of you ever said it out loud. The other faculty members had long since picked up on the tension that hung between you like static in the air — the kind that made people glance twice when you two were in the same room. Even some of the students had started to notice.

But neither of you ever talked about it. Maybe out of fear. Maybe out of respect for whatever unspoken thing you had. You knew enough about Spencer’s past to tread carefully — knew he had been part of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, that he’d done time for something he didn’t do, that he’d lost someone once — a woman he had loved, though no one dared speak her name. You never pried. That story was his, not yours to claim. So you never pushed. You’d rather have him in your life as a friend than risk losing him altogether. But God, he liked you. And it showed in the way he looked at you — in the way he always noticed.

And he noticed now.

It was after 8PM. The building had gone quiet hours ago, most professors had gone home. But your office light was still on, glowing soft and steady in a corridor now dark and empty. Spencer had finished his grading already — of course he had. The man read faster than most people could think. He told himself he was just stretching his legs when he left his own office but he found himself walking toward yours, pulled by habit, or instinct, or something he still didn’t have the courage to name.

He spotted the light first. Your door was open a few inches. He knocked on the wood gently — not because he needed to, but because he wanted you to look up and see him. And you did.

“Hey,” he said softly, stepping in when you met his eyes. Hazel, warm, a little hesitant. “You’re still here.” it was a ridiculous thing to say, and he realized it the moment it left his mouth. Of course she’s here, Reid. The light is on. She’s sitting right there. You can see her.

You smiled, and it melted something in him. “Yeah. I’m not a fan of taking work home. Mostly because I know I’d fall asleep on top of it.”

He chuckled, a quiet sound. “Fair. But it’s… pretty empty around here. And dark.”

“I can handle it,” you said, a playful edge in your voice. “I’m a big girl.”

“I know.” He said it without hesitation, his voice soft, sincere — but then he added, quieter: “I know. But I still worry.”

You didn’t respond at first, surprised by the sudden vulnerability in his tone. Spencer crossed the room and eased into the chair across from your desk — the same chair you’d seen him in countless times, but somehow now it felt different. Closer. More intentional.

“Maybe I should stay until you’re done,” he added, hands folded loosely in his lap, trying to sound casual.

You tilted your head, eyeing him. “Spencer, you don’t have to stay with me.”

“I know I don’t have to,” he said. “I just... want to.”

There it was — just a sliver of something unspoken, rising to the surface.