The bullpen was quieter than usual—paperwork stacking high, fluorescent lights humming overhead, the faint scent of burnt coffee lingering in the air.

Spencer sat hunched at his desk, long fingers worrying the edge of a file he hadn’t actually read in ten minutes.

Across from him, Derek leaned back in his chair, boots propped casually on the edge of his desk, watching him with open amusement.

“She fell asleep again,” Spencer muttered.

Derek lifted an eyebrow. “In the middle of one of your genius rambles about obscure 18th-century poetry?”

Spencer frowned. “It wasn’t obscure. It was relevant to the cognitive pattern we were discussing.” He hesitated. “And yes.”

Morgan chuckled. “Pretty boy—”

“I just don’t understand.” Spencer’s voice softened, frustration bleeding into something more vulnerable. “I’ll be talking and she’ll get this look. Like she’s drifting. And then her head tips against my shoulder and she’s just… out. Completely asleep. I mean, statistically speaking, if someone is consistently falling asleep during shared activities, it’s an indicator of disengagement.”

Derek dropped his boots to the floor with a quiet thud. “Or.”

Spencer blinked. “Or?”

“Or she feels safe.”

Spencer stilled.

Morgan leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “A sleepy woman in your presence isn’t bored, pretty boy. She feels safe around you. You just regulate her entire nervous system.”

Spencer’s brow furrowed, already processing. “That’s not scientifically precise.”

“It is where it counts.” Derek’s voice softened. “You know how her home life was. You’ve told me enough. Always on edge. Always waiting for the next argument, the next slammed door, the next thing to go wrong.”

Spencer swallowed. He did know. He knew the statistics on hypervigilance. On chronic stress. On how the amygdala can stay in overdrive for years after the danger is gone.

“She’s used to bracing herself,” Derek continued. “Muscles tight. Brain wired. Heart racing for no reason.”

Spencer’s hands stilled completely now.

“But around you?” Derek said gently. “Her body finally gets to power down. That’s not boredom. That’s her nervous system going, ‘Oh. I can rest here.’”

Spencer stared at the floor.

He remembered the way she curled into his side on his couch, fingers hooked loosely in the fabric of his cardigan. The way her breathing would slow, deep and even. The way her forehead would press lightly against his collarbone like she was anchoring herself there.

He’d thought she was tolerating him.

He hadn’t considered she might be… trusting him.

“There’s research on co-regulation,” Spencer murmured faintly. “When one individual’s autonomic state influences another’s. Heart rates syncing. Cortisol levels decreasing in proximity to a trusted attachment figure.”

Morgan grinned. “See? You said it yourself.”

Spencer’s lips parted, something fragile shifting in his chest.

“You think she’s bored?” Derek asked quietly. “Man, if she was bored, she’d be checking her phone. Fidgeting. Looking for an exit.”

Spencer thought about the way she melted against him instead. The way her hand would tighten briefly in his shirt like she was afraid he might disappear if she let go.

“She falls asleep during movies,” Spencer said softly.

Morgan smirked. “That’s prime cuddle real estate.”

“She fell asleep once while I was explaining eidetic memory encoding.”

Derek laughed outright. “Okay, that one might’ve been risky.”

Spencer huffed a quiet breath despite himself.

Then Derek’s expression turned serious again. “Listen to me. She’s not bored. She’s exhausted. And when she’s with you, she doesn’t have to be on guard. That’s huge.”

Spencer looked down at his hands, long fingers flexing slightly.

Safe.

The word settled deep.

He’d spent most of his life feeling different. Out of place. Too much. Too intense. Too strange.

And somehow… she slept best with her cheek against his shoulder.

His throat tightened.

“So,” Derek added, nudging him lightly with a file, “stop overanalyzing it. You’re not losing her.”

Spencer gave a small, uncertain nod.