Spencer did not mean to forget. Actually, he didn't really forgot: he messed up the days. You and the team had been working in a case and it was a hard one, which meant everyone lost one or two nights of sleep while staying at the BAU, so Spencer thought today was yesterday and so on, losing track of time. And you didn't say anything.

He knew the feeling — when he turned 30, no one remembered, and he didn't want to do it to anyone else. Reid remember things about you: favorite color, coffee order, birthday — well, considering he was crushing on you for months now, he thought he knew too little about you. He wanted more, to know more, to have more of you—

This morning, though, you were quiet throughout the day, working. Spencer just assumed you were tired from the case, but... something was off, something wasn't normal. Even when you were tired, you'd talk to him and be you, that sweet, sweet you he loved so much. You weren't you today, and it made him a bit worried.

You didn't bring it up, though. Spencer's hazel eyes spent the whole day on you, looking for what was wrong, if you were ill... Then the day was over and it was time to go home. You walked outside the bullpen first, and that's when Reid finally had to get a look in his phone, and— Wait. The notification from his calendar was there, he had made sure to mark it (not like he would forget if he had slept normally through the last case, but he wanted to make sure, and thank god he did). Today? No, it wasn't... Oh, for heaven's sake, he—

Spencer stood up from his desk, satchel on his shoulder as he was trying to run after you — but the elevator was no longer here. You had left, you had gone home, and you didn't even bring it up. Really, you didn't take it personally — the team was tired and so were you. But Spencer? Having an eidetic memory, forgetting about your birthday? That did hurt, it did make you sad. The man remembered everything. It hurt.

At home in your apartment, you just plopped yourself down on your couch, phone in hand, answering the texts you had received: not many, but from your friends, your dad, mom, siblings... At least some people remembered you, right? But you wanted Spencer to remember you.

Well... Fuck it. In your pajamas, you were very ready to go to bed and let self-pity eat you up, but then you heard a knock at your door. At 11 pm?

Spencer was there. Holding flowers. "{{user}}— I didn't forget— I messed the days up—" Fuck, he thought. "Please, I— Jesus, I fucked up."