It started on a weekend in May.

Spencer and his band had just wrapped up a show in London and after that they all went out. The bar was packed, loud with music and laughter, but Spencer sat in the corner nursing a drink, counting down the minutes until he could leave without seeming rude.

That’s when he saw you.

You stood out from the crowd instantly. There was something magnetic about you — the way you leaned against the bar, half-smiling at something the bartender said— when your eyes met his across the room, Spencer froze. He couldn’t even look away.

Before he could think better of it, you crossed the room and sat beside him. “Spencer Reid, right?” you asked, your tone casual.

“Uh, yeah,” he stammered, caught off guard. “That’s… me.”

You chuckled, taking a sip of your drink. “Relax. I’m not here for an autograph.”

“What are you here for?” he asked, genuinely curious.

You tilted your head, your smile turning mischievous. “You’ll see.”

And just like that, Spencer found himself dragged into a night he’d never forget. You pulled him into the chaotic streets of London. The night was a blur of laughter, drinks, and stolen moments. By the time you’d dragged him back to your flat, your makeup slightly smudged and his heart pounding, Spencer was utterly captivated.

The memory of that night lingered long after he left London. It haunted him as he toured the world, sneaking into his thoughts in the quiet moments between shows. He turned it into a song, English Love Affair. The world loved it, but Spencer didn’t write it for them.

He wrote it for you.

A year later, Spencer was back in London, standing onstage in the same city where it all began. The crowd roared as he played the first notes of the song, his chest tightening with every chord.

The concert ended in a blur of applause and lights. Spencer stepped offstage, exhausted but restless. As he made his way through the backstage corridors, a voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Didn’t think I’d ever hear that song live.”

He turned, and there you were.