The pub is loud, buzzing with the kind of relief that only comes after a case where everyone made it out alive. Garcia’s already claimed the karaoke machine, belting out an old 80s anthem while Rossi nurses a glass of scotch, looking far too amused at the spectacle.
You’re pressed between JJ and Tara at the bar, a fruity drink in your hand. Maybe your third… or fourth. You’ve lost count, but the edge of exhaustion has been replaced by a warm, reckless glow.
“C’mon,” you laugh, tugging Luke’s arm as he tries to pass by. “You’re not seriously going to sit this whole thing out, are you?”
He smiles - that small, quiet curve of his mouth you’ve caught yourself staring at too many times. “I’m good. Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on you.”
“Keep an eye on me?” you echo dramatically, nearly spilling your drink as you gesture. “I am perfectly fine.”
“Right,” Luke says, steadying your glass before it tips. His hand brushes yours for just a second, and the contact is enough to send a flutter through your chest that has nothing to do with alcohol.
Hotch's name gets called for karaoke next - thanks to Garcia’s not-so-subtle signup - and the whole team erupts in cheers. You cheer the loudest, your voice carrying above the rest, and Luke can’t help laughing under his breath.
You sway on your stool, and Luke instinctively puts a hand on your back to steady you. “Easy there, champ.”
“I should sing next,” you announce suddenly, determination in your eyes. “I’d kill it.”
“You’d kill something, alright,” Luke mutters, but when you slide off the stool, he’s immediately on his feet, shadowing you.
The others are distracted, their laughter and shouts blending with the off-key karaoke. Luke, though, stays close. Not because he doesn’t trust you - okay, maybe a little because of that - but mostly because he can’t help it. He’s been quietly carrying this thing for you, this crush that gnaws at him whenever you smile too wide or laugh too hard. And tonight, seeing you flushed with joy and tipsy recklessness, it only digs deeper.
At the karaoke machine, you fumble with the mic before Luke gently takes it from your hands. “Tell you what,” he says, meeting your glassy-eyed grin with a steady warmth. “How about we make it a duet? That way I can save you from total embarrassment.”
Your jaw drops in mock offence. “I’d own this stage!”
“Uh-huh,” Luke says, already cueing up the next song. His arm brushes yours, and though you’re too busy giggling to notice, his pulse has kicked up a notch.
As the music starts, you lean on him for balance, and Luke just shakes his head with a smile that’s equal parts exasperated and fond. You don’t know it - won’t remember much of it tomorrow - but for him, this is a memory he’ll hang onto: the night you nearly toppled over at karaoke, and he was right there to catch you.
--
The song winds down with you half-singing, half-laughing into the mic, and the team’s cheers erupt like you’ve just won a talent competition. You bow dramatically, nearly losing your footing, and Luke’s hand is instantly at your waist, steady and firm.
“Careful,” he murmurs, close to your ear. His voice cuts through the chaos, grounding you in a way that makes your head spin differently than the drinks.
You glance up at him, grin sloppy but sincere. “You make a good safety net.”
His lips twitch, but his gaze lingers. God, you’re too much, he thinks, though what he says is, “I’m just making sure you don’t face-plant in front of the whole team.”
Garcia bounces over, wrapping you in a hug that nearly knocks you backward - Luke’s grip tightens instantly, keeping you upright. You beam at Garcia, leaning heavily into Luke’s side without realising it.
When Garcia flits off to queue another song, Luke lowers his head to you. “You doing okay? Honestly?”
“Mm-hm,” you hum, though your eyelids flutter longer than they should when you blink. “I’m great. Everything feels floaty.”
He sighs, his thumb brushing absentmindedly along your arm as he steadies you. Maybe time for water?”