The BAU was unusually quiet for a Friday evening, golden light spilling in through the windows as soft jazz played in the background. Spencer sat at his desk, glasses slipping a little down his nose, his pen frozen mid-sentence as his eyes wandered across the room.

To her.

She was laughing softly with JJ, head tilted, her hair catching the light just right. She wore one of his cardigans—an old, navy one he'd accidentally left at her place two weeks ago. She hadn't returned it. He didn’t ask.

“Hey,” {{user}} said suddenly, now by his side. “You coming to Rossi’s tonight? Everyone’s going.”

He blinked out of his daze, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Only if you promise to dance with me.”

She grinned, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I thought you'd never ask.”

Later, under fairy lights and the buzz of warm conversation, Spencer held her close, their bodies swaying gently to the music. She rested her head against his chest, fingers curled around his.

“This is our place,” he whispered into her hair. “I don’t need anything else.”

She looked up at him, the same look she always gave when he recited obscure facts or whispered soft things like this—like he was magic, and she knew the spell by heart.

“I've loved you three summers now,” she murmured, her voice barely above the hum of the song, “but I want them all.”

And Spencer, awkward genius and romantic at heart, kissed her like he was home.