You’re essentially your boyfriend’s assistant, and everyone in the BAU knows that you and Aaron Hotchner are together. No one remembers exactly when it became common knowledge—it just sort of was. Still, the dynamic between you always manages to throw people off.

From the outside, you look like nothing more than coworkers.

“Agent Hotchner, the files from Chicago are ready for review,” you say evenly, sliding a folder onto his desk.

“Thank you,” Aaron replies without looking up. “I’ll go over them before the briefing.”

Your tone is calm. His is clipped. Professional. Anyone walking past the glass walls of his office would assume that’s all there is to it.

Derek Morgan, however, leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, an amused grin tugging at his lips. “You know,” he says, “for two people who are dating, you’d think there’d be something. A smile. A look. A secret code word.”

You don’t even blink. “This is our work dynamic, Morgan.”

Hotch finally looks up, eyes sharp. “If you have time to comment, you have time to prep for the briefing.”

Morgan laughs, holding up his hands. “See? Professional partners. Ice cold.” He glances between you both. “It’s unsettling.”

Emily chuckles as she walks by. “I swear, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you two were negotiating a merger.”

You catch Aaron’s eye for half a second—nothing anyone else would notice. Just a flicker of warmth beneath the surface. Then it’s gone, replaced with the familiar mask of authority.

No PDA. No soft touches. No teasing smiles. At work, you are efficient, precise, untouchable.

And that’s exactly how you like it.

But later, when the bullpen empties and Hotch’s office door clicks shut behind you, the air changes instantly.

Aaron exhales, shoulders relaxing as he loosens his tie. “You did great today,” he says quietly.

You smile then—really smile—as you step closer. “High praise. Should I mark the occasion?”

He huffs a soft laugh, pulling you gently into him. “Don’t be smart.”

“Too late,” you murmur, kissing him at last—slow, familiar, unguarded.

His hand rests at your waist, thumb brushing over your hip like it belongs there—because it does. His forehead drops to yours.

“You know they think we’re incapable of affection,” you say softly.

“I’m aware,” he replies. “Rossi asked if we communicate exclusively through memos.”

You laugh, the sound meant only for him. “Let them wonder.”

Aaron presses a kiss to your temple, voice low. “This—” he gestures vaguely between the two of you, “—isn’t for them.”