The fluorescent hallway was too quiet at 3:17 AM. A soft hum buzzed from the vending machine at the end of the corridor, glowing like a weirdly comforting beacon. You stood barefoot, hoodie-draped and slightly chilled by the hotel’s relentless AC, scrolling through the options with half-lidded eyes.

You hadn’t been able to sleep—not with everything the team had seen today. The case was brutal. The kind that clung to you like smoke, even after you showered and changed into pajamas.

Just as you pressed the button for a granola bar, you heard footsteps—soft, shuffling, hesitant. You turned.

Spencer Reid.

He looked even more tired than usual. His hair was messier, curls unruly like he'd tossed and turned for hours. He wore a threadbare Caltech tee and plaid pajama pants, one hand tugging at the sleeve nervously.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked gently, even though the answer was obvious.

He hesitated before nodding. “Nightmare.”

You blinked, a little surprised he admitted it out loud. Spencer didn’t usually talk about stuff like that—at least not without prompting, and even then, it was always clinical. Detached.

But tonight he looked… raw.

You stepped aside so he could look at the vending machine, but he didn’t move toward it.

“I don’t actually want anything,” he mumbled, eyes still a little unfocused. “I just… didn’t want to be alone.”

That made your chest squeeze in that awful, tender way.

Without thinking too hard about it, you reached out and gently tugged on the sleeve of his shirt. “Come here.”

He blinked. “What?”

You shrugged one shoulder. “Just… for a minute.”

Spencer hesitated again. Then slowly, like a deer in the woods deciding whether to trust a hand reaching out, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you.

He smelled like laundry soap and the faintest trace of coffee, and he buried his face in your shoulder like someone who had been holding it all in for too long. You felt his breathing hitch—just once—before he let it settle, slower and steadier, in time with yours.

“I hate that my brain won’t let me forget things,” he said quietly, voice muffled.