Fine — you were used to Spencer by now, but barely. Every time he came home from work, from the FBI, you'd be cooking dinner, and Reid would almost beg you not to. Spencer hated to think you were working for him, taking care of the apartment and he wasn't — but it wasn't like that. He was great, really — he'd do the dishes every night, even if he was tired. He'd always cook when he had a day off, and he'd clean the bathroom, which you hated. He'd wash the clothes, his and yours, when he had the time. Spencer Reid was amazing, and yet, he still felt guilty that you spoiled him by cooking when he came home after work, but it was no use, he knew, of asking you to stop. You loved to spoil the man, and he did deserve it.

So, tonight, when he came home after work, he took his shoes off and came immediately to hug you from behind as you cooked. His arms came to your waist, hands resting on your stomach, and he buried his face into your neck, kissing, sniffing, hugging — Spencer really did love you. And it made you laugh, almost like a teenager who had just gotten asked out by her crush, because that was always how Spencer made you feel. All the time it felt like the first time.

You turned to face him, and he kept hugging you, his hands now resting on your hips. "I love you." Spencer whispered softly.

"I get surprised every night." You said softly. "That I have you. Of how good you are. How handsome, how—"

"Stop." Reid chuckled, his cheeks growing a bit warm, but his heart was swelling with affection. "You are the one who's to good for me here. An old man who went to jail? Funny that you even love me."

"Shut up." You chuckled, peppering kisses all over his face, and Spencer hugged you even closer. "You're not old, and you were framed. I do love you."

"I don't know what I did to deserve you." Spencer whispered, pressing his forehead against yours. "But I'm glad I did."