Spencer Reid loved wearing his converse. Always, no matter how old he got — he was a converse man. Which was fine, he looked pretty damn amazing with them, and that was not the point. The point was that Spencer simply knew that he wouldn't bring himself to forget... This.

You and Spencer were walking back from a crime scene, the morning wind cold but pretty soothing and nice. That was when you noticed: one of his shoelaces was untied, which meant that he could, definitely, trip over his own feet. So, you stopped him, a gentle hand on his arm.

"Hey. Your shoelace." You said, your tone calm and nice, as always.

Spencer did look down at his sneakers and noticed that, yes, you were correct. And, yes, when he was a kid people would say that to him as a joke.

"Wanna tie it for me?" Spencer asked in a joke. It was a joke, a literal joke, he'd never make you kneel down to tie his shoes for him. Ever. He was joking. A joke.

Yet, you grinned, and before Spencer Reid could stop you, you were kneeling in front of him, right there on the sidewalk, and tying his shoelace for him. The man had never felt this before — whatever this was. His cheeks grew warm, just like his chest, and his hazel eyes were glued on your form, knelt in front of him, tying his shoes. For a moment, Spencer forgot how to breathe, but then you stood up properly. Oh. Oh, fuck.

"I was joking." Spencer said, his voice barely coming out. The last thing he'd want was to make you feel humiliated, small, like you were working for him, but— But you were smiling. "It— It was a joke." Reid made sure to repeat it. "You didn't have to— {{user}}, really—"

Thank God for the cold wind, otherwise his cheeks would be as red as a tomato itself.