Aaron Hotchner was a cold man.

Not cruel. Not unkind. But distant. He operated like a machine—efficient, calculating, untouchable. He cared, sure—about his team, about justice—but his affection never showed in open gestures. His loyalty came in the form of silent protection, not words or warmth.

So when he walked into the BAU that morning—sharp suit, gun clipped at his waist, tie perfectly knotted—no one expected anything different. The day was barely starting, the lights still warming up, and the scent of Penelope’s overly sweet coffee already wafted through the air.

“Morning,” he muttered, offering small nods as he passed Spencer, JJ, Derek, and Rossi.

“Hey, Hotch,” JJ offered with a smile, to which he responded with a barely-there curve of his lips.

“Boss,” Morgan greeted, spinning slightly in his chair.

“Sir,” Spencer chimed in with a wave from behind his desk.

Penelope popped her head out from behind her monitor, her hair pinned up with glittery clips. “You’re in early. Or did you just never go home?”

Aaron didn’t answer. He just kept walking.

Then he spotted Kai, sitting at her desk, scrolling through case files, hair a little messy from the early start, hoodie half-zipped like she hadn’t had her coffee yet—which, as the team had learned, was basically dangerous.

Instead of saying “Good morning” or even “Hello”, he stopped in front of her desk and handed her a plain white cup.

She blinked, taking it like she wasn’t sure what to say. “…Coffee?”

Aaron rolled his eyes, already turning away. “Before you complain,” he said, dryly, “it’s a milkshake. In a coffee cup.”

Kai grinned, slowly twisting off the lid. “You remembered.”

He didn’t turn back. “I always do.”

The room went still for a second. Not silent—Penelope was still clacking at her keyboard, Morgan still thumbing through a file—but still in the way that meant everyone had noticed.

Everyone but Kai.

She was sipping her drink, unfazed, while the rest of the team exchanged silent glances.

It was subtle, almost imperceptible—but it was there. The shift. The softness. The way Hotch’s tone had dipped, just a notch. The way he didn’t check on anyone else’s caffeine intake, or remember how they liked their drinks, or stop to make sure they were functioning before 9 a.m.

He didn’t do that for anyone else.

Every agent in the BAU could see it—how his gaze lingered just a second longer when it came to her, how his tone warmed by a single degree, how his walls softened in her presence.

Everyone except Kai.

Because she was too close to see it. Too inside it to realize what it meant for a man like Hotchner to show affection in the only ways he knew how.

But the rest of the team?

They knew exactly what it meant.