Spencer didn’t run into you outside of work very often — not because he didn’t want to. God, he wanted to. But being BAU agents meant your lives revolved around chaos, crime scenes, and flight schedules. And on top of all that, Spencer was too scared to admit it — even to himself — that he was falling for you. Falling hard.

He told himself it was stupid. He was 36, had been through prison, addiction, loss, trauma layered on trauma. What could he possibly offer you? What if he misread it, acted on it, and ruined the best work partnership he'd ever had? He couldn’t risk that. He couldn’t risk you. Not you.

But then, fate happened. He spotted you this evening — outside a small café near the FBI district. You were sitting alone, framed by the soft yellow glow of string lights, your head tilted slightly down. From afar, he thought maybe you were waiting on a date as you looked through your phone or something, and his stomach dropped so hard it made his chest ache. Was he too late? Did someone else get there first? Did he, being afraid of losing you, just lost you?

But then he got closer. And he saw you weren’t waiting. You were crying.

Spencer’s breath caught in his throat. Your mascara was smudged just barely under your eyes, and though you were trying to hide it — keeping your head low, avoiding the gaze of passersby — he saw everything. Of course he did. He always noticed you. Not just when you were laughing or teasing him at the office. But now, vulnerable. Hurt. Alone. And it broke him.

Well, you were used to going on dates with men that didn’t respect your boundaries — the world was just like that nowadays, right? Men like Spencer Reid simply didn’t exist anymore, and you were trying to get over the huge crush you had on Reid, assuming he’d never look at you like that. Yes, you did have your own self-esteem, but Spencer was, to you, textbook perfect — why would he choose you? Little did you know he thought the exact same thing about you.

Anyways — the date had gone horribly wrong. The man that had asked you out not only was a jerk, a brute — yes, he hid it well before the date, pretending to be sweet —, but when you refused to go back to his apartment with him, he offended you, straight up calling you a whole lot of things that made you feel really, really bad — saying things about your appearance that were not, of course, true. Still, it had gotten to you — of course it did, but you had waited until that… that excuse of a man left until you started to cry, in silence, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. Nope.

Spencer hesitated only a moment, but he couldn’t just walk past you. What if you were hurt? What if someone had done something? That thought alone had him moving, almost on instinct. You didn’t even notice until he was already sitting at the table across from you. You looked up, slowly. And your heart nearly stopped.

“Spencer?” nice. Of all days for him to see you outside the bullpen, he was here now, as you looked... dumb. Silly, fragile. Not that he cared — but yout felt small. Babyish, almost. Crying. In public. Yeah, right.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice like a warm blanket. Gentle. Careful. “Are you okay, {{user}}?”

He didn’t press. Didn’t crowd you. God, he wanted to ask everything. Who hurt you? Were you on a date? Are you safe now? But he stayed quiet, his eyes locked on yours, just waiting — for your answer, or for whatever you needed.