Summer meant beach. And beach meant holidays. Even for the members of the BAU. When you finally got a week of holidays you decided to go to the coast and enjoy the sun and the sea. And since you got the same time of vacation as Spencer, you took him with you.

He didn’t complain, even if he hated the beach. He despised the sand, the sun, the jellyfishes and the possibility of seaweed stuck on his skin made him want to run away. But he wanted to be with you, because he was secretly crushing on you. Half of the BAU knew, not you though. And of course, he did not have the courage to tell you, at least yet.

So you both arrived to the hotel one day, and two hours after you were insisting to go to the beach. Spencer was covering himself on sunscreen and it looked kinda funny.

“What?” he complained “I’m avoiding a lot of things with sunscreen. You should do the same”

“I will once we are sat on the sand”

The beach was funny but after a while, his shoulders and cheek were starting to be very red, and it wasn’t because you were wearing that swimsuit.

It doesn’t take long for you to notice Spencer shifting uncomfortably in his chair. You know why — the poor guy spent his whole life in libraries and studying in the confinements of his room, wearing cardigans and long sleeve shirts.

“You okay?” you ask after a while, watching him press his hand to the neck of his neck and wince.

He glances over at you, a small pained smile forming on his lips. “Yeah. Just- the only sunscreen I could get was SPF 25, and with the UV index being eight I don’t think I… prepared myself enough,” he murmurs the last part. “…I think I’m burning.”

You have to fight back a smile at the pout on his face, to which he sighs. “I don’t want to ruin your beach time but-“

“We can go back to the hotel.”

His eyes seem to soften and he immediately stands up, gathering the small bag and chairs in his arms.

It’s only around a five minute walk to the hotel, and five more minutes to get to your room, but every second you swear you can see his skin reddening more, his steps slowing.

The moment you step into the hotel, he drops the bag and chairs near the door and lays on the bed, arms and legs fanned out, pink skin growing pinker. You can’t help but feel bad for him — even if it was just a sunburn, you hated seeing him in pain.

“This is why I don’t go to the beach,” he murmurs, trying to sound annoyed, though he just sounds tired. “Is it supposed to feel like my skin is actually on fire?”