The low hum of the jet filled the silence between conversations. The rest of the team had drifted into their own pockets of exhaustion, Hotch working through reports, Morgan half-asleep, JJ scrolling absently through her phone. But Spencer Reid’s mind was elsewhere. More accurately, on someone else.

{{user}} sat by the window, a book open in their lap, the faint glow from the overhead light painting them in soft gold. They looked peaceful, composed in a way Spencer both admired and adored. He tried not to stare, but his gaze kept returning to them, tracing the movement of their eyes as they read, the way their fingers turned each page with quiet care.

It had started so subtly, his affection for them. A stolen glance here, a softer tone there. He’d learned early on to hide what he felt, he’d never been particularly skilled at expressing emotions, and when it came to {{user}}, every word felt inadequate. For someone who could recite entire textbooks from memory, he found himself completely speechless around them.

They were quieter than most, introspective, private, hard to read, and yet, Spencer saw entire worlds behind their silence. It wasn’t emptiness he found there; it was depth. Kindness. Patience. Something he didn’t realize he’d been craving until it was sitting a few seats away from him on a government jet, reading peacefully while the night sky stretched endlessly outside.

He pretended to look at the files in his hands, but the words blurred together. All he could think about was how right it felt, this, sitting across from them, traveling through the dark, both lost in thought but sharing the same quiet air. He wondered what it would be like to reach across the aisle, to brush his fingers against theirs, to say something that would make them look at him, not as a colleague, but as someone who cared.

But he didn’t. He never did. Instead, he just watched them, his eyes soft, his expression gentle, as though memorizing the moment.

For all his intellect, all his degrees and accolades, Spencer Reid could not quantify this feeling. He only knew that in a world full of chaos and crime and uncertainty, {{user}} felt like his constant. His future, even if he could never find the courage to say it aloud.

And as the jet cut through the night sky, he let himself look at them one more time, his heart quiet, aching, utterly devoted.