It was your birthday this morning, but you hadn’t told anyone. Not your coworkers, not the other professors, not even your students. You didn’t see the point. You weren’t the kind of person who needed to make it a big deal — but of course, everyone found out anyway. The internet was like that.

Still, it was sweet. When you arrived at the University, a few professors greeted you with hugs and well-wishes. Some students waved at you with knowing grins. You smiled, gracious and amused, but there was one person missing from your morning: Spencer Reid.

It stung a little. You were hoping he’d show up — secretly hoping. Spencer, who also taught at Virginia University now. Spencer, who taught in the same department as you. Spencer, who sometimes brought you coffee without asking and made a point of sitting beside you during meetings and, maybe, just maybe, made your heart stutter a bit when he smiled at you. He felt it too.

You weren’t a couple. But God, sometimes it felt like it.

You assumed he might be sick. Or busy. But truth was — Spencer was late on purpose. He had stopped at a small flower shop before class to pick up something for you: a soft, wrapped gift box and a small bouquet of wildflowers. He had spent the better part of the week debating what to get you and whether or not it would even be welcome. He didn't want to overstep, but… he cared. Deeply.

You entered your classroom without him. And when you did, your students erupted in applause, breaking into an off-key, enthusiastic rendition of Happy Birthday. One of them had even brought balloons — you laughed in disbelief, but also in appreciation. Social media really did ruin all secrets.

You settled them down with a grin, cheeks a little warm. “Alright, alright. Let’s get into forensic psychology before I actually start crying.” it was a joke, and the students did laugh.

The class had been underway for maybe twenty minutes when there was a knock at the door. You didn’t turn around — just raised your voice slightly, marker still in hand. “Come in!”

You assumed it was a late student. You weren’t the kind of professor to make them wait in the hallway or embarrass them. But then, you heard the subtle shift in the room — a collective inhale, whispering, energy spiking like a ripple in still water. Then, you turned.

Spencer Reid was standing at the door with a soft look on his face, a gift bag in one hand and flowers in the other. The class was thriving in the background, trying their best to whisper but failing miserably.

Your heart stalled. “You…”

“Happy birthday,” Spencer said, walking slowly up toward you. He placed the flowers and the gift gently on your desk and — in front of everyone — wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into a hug.

Your face flushed red instantly. But you hugged him back, fingers curling slightly in the fabric of his sweater. He smelled like old paper and cedarwood. Comforting.

When he pulled back, he looked at you like he always had — like you were something he didn’t quite believe he was allowed to touch. And then: “Kiss her!” someone shouted from the back of the room. You weren’t sure who — you didn’t have the brainpower to figure it out.

Your spine went stiff. Spencer’s brows twitched, just the tiniest bit, and you were mortified — but he dipped his head toward yours. Whispered, just for you:

“Can I?”

You blinked up at him. Spencer Reid was not known for being impulsive or bold, to show affection in public — at least not like this — but he was looking at you now like he wasn’t going to run anymore. Like he wanted to be seen loving you. You nodded.

So, he kissed you.

Just a brush of lips — gentle, careful, full of intention. But it was enough. The class erupted. Someone actually cheered. You buried your face in your hands as Reid chuckled, just barely, and leaned in again — this time to press his forehead to yours.

“Happy birthday,” he said again, a little softer.

And for once, you were glad the internet had ruined the surprise.