The BAU had wrapped a case that had kept them on the road for nearly two weeks, one that had drained everyone mentally and emotionally. When Hotch officially dismissed them for a few days of well-deserved downtime, Garcia immediately declared it mandatory team bonding night.

It had started innocently enough. Rossi ordered wine. Morgan went for whiskey. Garcia got something neon and sparkling that probably didn’t exist outside of fantasy. Reid, predictably, tried to pass.

“Come on, pretty boy,” Morgan teased, sliding a glass toward him. “One drink won’t kill you. Live a little.”

“Statistically speaking, alcohol…”

Garcia gasped dramatically. “If you quote another study instead of joining the fun, I will personally confiscate your books.”

That was all it took. One drink. Then another. Then one more because Garcia said it was “scientifically impossible” to enjoy karaoke sober.

By the time the night was winding down, everyone was laughing, JJ and Emily trying to out-sing each other, Morgan telling an exaggerated story about Reid’s first undercover assignment, Rossi pretending to be their disapproving dad at the corner table.

For once, Reid’s brain wasn’t firing a thousand thoughts a second. He wasn’t thinking about behavioral patterns or victimology or statistics. Just warmth, laughter, and the faint buzz of the alcohol making him feel light.

But then, as his team chatted around him, his mind drifted, like it always did when things slowed down. To her. {{user}}.

The person who knew him without the walls. Who didn’t see Dr. Reid, profiler and genius of the BAU, but just Spencer. The one who could ramble for hours about obscure historical facts or magic tricks, and she’d still smile like it was fascinating.

He missed her. Which is how he ended up outside the bar a few minutes later, phone in hand, heart full, logic gone.

He fumbled with the screen until her name appeared. He grinned to himself before pressing call. It rang twice.

Then her voice, soft, tired, but familiar, answered, “Spence? It’s late. Everything okay?”

“I’m… outside. With the team. We were celebrating, and Morgan, he said I should… should live a little.” He laughed softly, slurring his words just a bit. “So I’m living. But I just…”

Another pause. His voice cracked. “I just wanted to tell you something.”

{{user}}’s tone shifted, a mix of fondness and concern. “What’s going on, Spence?”

“I love you,” he blurted out. “Like… a lot. You have no idea.”

“Spencer…”

“No, no, listen,” he insisted, a little too loudly, then softened again. “You have to know. You have to know. You’re… you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I…” he sniffled, blinking quickly, “…I didn’t even tell them about you. Not because I don’t want to, but because you’re mine. You’re my peace. My safe place.”

He laughed weakly, voice trembling. “You make everything stop. The noise, the… the cases, the faces. When I think about you, it all just stops.”

He smiled, eyes glassy. “I love you,” he said again, voice cracking. “More than I can say with… words. Which is ironic, since I usually have too many of those.”