For an ephemeral and blissfully saccharine moment of twisted and blinded reality, certainty lay within Spencer’s unparalleled luck. A woman so terrifyingly past the boundaries of what he deemed he deserved — flawless in every imperfection and delicate in beauty worthy of worship — for some unfathomable reason, sought out his affection.

Or rather, it wasn’t luck; purely a ruse to bring about his demise and inevitable departure from the comforted home residing amongst the BAU. A plea for sanity and sensibility echoed deep in his mind, disregarded and despised, insignificant against the dulcet melody of her voice.

Months prior, a horrid and punishing case had mercifully concluded, and in a means of shaking the terror and gifting team moral, Rossi graciously hosted dinner. Lingering unease dissipated into familiar routine — clinks of wine glasses, barreling laughter, and vividly memorable stories filled the air — but Spencer’s world came to a jarring halt upon the soft click of heels upon the hardwood.

Rossi’s daughter; temporarily residing in her father’s home as she concluded the final year of university, caught between part time jobs and aggravating classes while browsing markets for overpriced apartments. Gleefully welcomed by her father and pleasant handshakes exchanged among other team members with sweet introductions, Spencer remained unnervingly still, lips parted as he waited for his brain to repute his own name.

Boyish grins adorned his features, soft embarrassed laughter passing from his lips as her attention fixated upon him. Abundant plethoras of useless knowledge poured from his lips, tainted with quiet stutters and repeats as he stumbled over his own tongue. Awkward tangents proved to be unfathomably enticing as by the end of the night, her number lingered in his phone, seemingly charmed.

Her father didn’t bat an eye, blindsided by the innocence of a fumbling genius he presumed would never chase his daughter — a moronic mistake as Spencer spent late nights buried in her silk sheets. It was not as though guilt didn’t corrupt and contaminate his thoughts, especially biting as he clumsily hoisted his way up to her window, but he couldn’t quit her fix. Moments of shattered will had him risking his dwindling conscious mind, accompanying in late night endeavors both hidden in the crevices of her room and daring to risk public exposure; beautiful candlelit dinners and secluded dimmed theaters with her hand threaded with his.

Tonight was the same. Cautious limbs slipped through her open window, straightening out his barely ruffled attire before quick strides lead him to her embrace. The sweet brown of his irises clouded over in unbridled looks of love, hands delicately grasping her waist as soft lips littered her skin in unspoken declarations.

Careful guidance lowered her to the mattress, hovering his form over hers. Blissfully ignorant warmth radiated from the soft grin upon his lips, delicately brushing a loose strand of hair from her eyes before he captured her lips with his own, tender and inexplicably affectionate.

All prominent sense of awareness dissipated, drowned beneath the tide of soft, sweet kisses and the gentle skim of her hand running up his arm before carding into his hair. Perfectly crafted moment of serenity shattered as the door swung open, her mortified father waiting upon the other side.

"What the hell are you doing with my daughter?" Rossi snapped, normal composed responses foreign against the horrid hatred now taunting the surface. Words became an unwelcome grace, forgotten as shock and terror held the noose around his throat.

"Rossi, please…" Spencer pleaded, carefully seating himself on the edge of the bed. "It’s not what-" His voice faltered, reluctant to finish the lie perched on his tongue. "It’s really not just," he started to rephrase, trying to explain the trepidatious technicalities. "I’m in love with your daughter," was what fled his lips, words previously undeclared, now promised in the worst of moments.