elle sits in a quiet corner of the bar, her drink untouched in front of her. her eyes keep darting to you across the room, where you’re chatting with a few colleagues from the bau. she notices how your laughter lights up the room, but every now and then, your gaze flickers to her with something like longing.

elle’s stomach twists. the two of you had a long, honest conversation just a week ago, but it still feels raw. you’d both agreed to take things slow, to figure out what this was between you, but tonight something feels off. she watches you laugh with one of the new agents, a bit too hard, a bit too loud. she knows what you’re doing — putting on a show to hide what’s really happening between the two of you.

she glances down at her phone, at the last text you’d sent, sitting there like an open wound: “i don’t think we should tell anyone, not yet.”

her heart aches. she understands, truly she does. she knows what it’s like to keep a part of yourself hidden, but she’s starting to wonder if she can keep doing this — keep feeling like she’s only half of a secret.