When Spencer Reid couldn't sleep, he'd go to the small restaurant nearby his apartment, cozy and quiet, to grab a cup of coffee. Sure, he could just make himself coffee in his home, but the feeling of the quiet walk and the moment of sitting at the table, looking at the streets at night, was... Nice, soothing. It was way better than staying in his apartment with his thoughts, memories of jail, of Maeve, of Dilaudid, and—

"Goodnight." You said, making Spencer look up from his seat at the table. He was the only costumer, and... you were the only person working there. Of course you were, it was 11pm at a Wednesday — why would there be a whole team working at the small place? But you weren't here before. Last week you weren't here, because Spencer would've noticed you. Your face, your eyes, your hair, how your uniform hugged your body—

"Goodnight." Spencer answered, hazel eyes lingering on yours for a moment. "Just, uh— Coffee, please. Black."

You worked fast — and gracious. Spencer couldn't take his eyes off of you as you did, grabbing a clean mug to give him his coffee just like he had asked. And, God, this was so unusual, but he felt like talking to you. Someone he didn't know, but he felt the urge to.

"Are you new?" Spencer asked, sipping on his coffee. From behind the counter, you nodded. "Ah. I noticed."

"Did you?" You said, a small, yet gentle smile on your lips. You were used, by now, with flirty men when you were working as a waiter — but you wouldn't mind if this one was flirting with you.

"Yeah." He answered, hazel eyes finding your face again. "I would've noticed—", but Reid noticed how it sounded. "Not in that way— I meant— I come here often at night and I would remember if you had ever—", shit. He was making a fool of himself. "You know what I mean. If you work at night." Jesus, Spencer. 36 years old and more trauma than a normal human and acting like a teenager?