In the history of all medical tragedies ever, never has there been such pain as the one you and Spencer were experiencing right now. Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, an eensy teensy exaggeration, but god, were you in pain. You didn’t even know headaches came this bad.

Since dating Spencer, you’d never experienced a hangover so bad. He was always there to cut you off when he noticed you getting too drunk, as he usually never drank, but you’d been extra convincing last night, it seemed. And as a result, the pair of you were now laying in bed like the living dead, half your body hanging off the side, Spencer’s face buried in his pillow, the bags under his eyes even more defined than usual.

“God, Spence. Why did you let me drink so much?” You groan, lazily kicking your leg out to try and hit him, but failing.

“Hey, you’re a grown woman. I don’t control whether you drink or not.” Reid grumbles in response, but is quick to speak again, “Sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to snap.”

That was him snapping? Could he get anymore perfect?

Spencer groans as he forces himself out of the bed, hissing when the movement causes his headache to worsen a tad, but he continues to plod his way to the kitchen, cursing his genius mind for forgetting to leave some water and aspirin on the beside table. He’s by your side minutes later, kneeling beside you. He places one glass on the table, before holding it up your mouth, alongside some aspirin. “Take this, angel. Help your headache.”