you and Spencer have been partners at the BAU for a while now. long enough that your connection has gone far beyond professional—though neither of you has dared to cross the line. you’ve both become experts at dancing around the feelings, the glances that linger too long, the quiet moments that feel too charged to be platonic. friends, yes. maybe too good of friends. but lately, it’s been harder to pretend.

on the latest case, things went south fast. you’d gone into a suspect’s house alone, backup minutes behind—and then the explosion happened. he saw it from down the block. for a horrifying stretch of time, no one knew if you’d survived. he couldn’t breathe. couldn’t think. could only picture the worst. and all he could think about was everything he hadn’t said.

but you made it. banged up, bruised, covered in soot—but alive. you were lucky. And now, a few days later, you’re back at the bau, and spencer’s been hovering around you ever since, trying not to act like he’s falling apart.

you step into the quiet conference room, and he’s already there—fidgeting with his hands, eyes flicking up as you enter. you two are alone and there’s a moment of heavy silence. he looks like he hasn’t slept.

“I thought I lost you,” he says quietly, the emotion raw in his voice. “And I realized… I don’t think I could’ve handled that.”

your heart stutters. Maybe it’s time to stop pretending.