You're sitting on the jet, your legs tucked beneath you on one of the cushioned seats. The quiet hum of the engine fills the space, but it doesn’t quite drown out the sound of Aaron flipping through the file in his hands. He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of you, his posture relaxed for once, though there’s still an air of focus about him.

Your hands find their way to his hair without much thought, it's become a habit over time. The soft strands between your fingers are grounding, the repetitive motion of combing through them helping to settle your restless energy. Hotch doesn’t protest; in fact, he seems to lean into it ever so slightly, as if the gentle touch calms him just as much as it does you.

“Feeling better?” he asks softly, not looking up from the document but his tone gentle, almost encouraging.

You hum in response, the stimulation keeping your mind focused in a way that nothing else seems to. “Yeah. This helps.” Your fingers pause for a moment to smooth a strand out of place before resuming their rhythm. "Keeps me from feeling too... you know. Buzzy."

He lets out a quiet chuckle, setting the file aside for a moment. “Buzzy?” His lips curve into a small smile, one of those rare ones that make you feel like you’ve cracked through his usual stoicism.