Spencer was exhausted. The case had been brutal — the kind that crawled into your bones and set up camp — and although every muscle in his body ached for rest, his brain refused to shut down. Typical. So, he shifted on the BAU jet’s couch — his couch, the one he quietly laid claim to ages ago — and reached for a book. No luck.

Reid, who could normally breeze through 20,000 words a minute, found himself staring blankly at the page. The words blurred and twisted, meaningless. His eyes moved, but his mind didn’t follow. He knew he wasn’t getting sick or dying, he was just bone-deep tired and running on fumes — but that didn’t stop the frustration from curling hot in his chest. With a sigh, he glanced around the dark cabin.

Everyone was asleep. Except you.

From across the aisle, he saw you tucked into your seat, the soft glow of a personal light haloing around you as you read. Quiet. Considerate. Lost in your own book, careful not to wake anyone. Spencer watched you for a moment — the way your fingers moved across the page, how peaceful your face looked in the half-light — and something in his chest ached.

He was falling for you. Hard. And he knew it. Knew how bad it was getting. For a second, he considered keeping quiet. You were doing your own thing, enjoying your book. He didn’t want to pull you from your peace just because he couldn’t calm down. But… you’d always been kind to him. Gentle in a way few people were. And if he stayed in his head too long, he’d spiral — either crash out or tip into an anxiety attack. Neither option sounded better than asking for a little company.

So, he moved.

Shifting upright on his couch — not really his, but one he rarely liked to share — he raised a hand and gave the smallest wave. You turned, blinking in surprise. Spencer Reid was signaling you? To sit with him?

Still, you put your book down without hesitation and crossed the narrow aisle. When you sat beside him, he subtly moved his legs to give you space. Your warmth settled next to his like it belonged there.

"You alright?" you asked, voice soft and laced with care.

"Yeah," he murmured back, matching your hush. “I just… I’m too tired to sleep. Can’t focus on reading either. I needed… something. Someone. Not that you’re— I mean, not just a— you know what I mean.”

You smiled, teasing gently, “You must be tired if you’re offering to share your precious couch.”

He rolled his eyes — not out of annoyance, but because he liked your teasing. “Yeah, yeah. I’d share the couch with you anytime, {{user}}.”

Oh?