The first time you and Spencer met was silly, yet adorable. You were on your way to work and stopped in a coffee shop, where he happened to also be inside, and he tripped. Mostly because he was looking at you, because he had found you stunning. His messenger bag fell to the ground, and you knelt down to help him, and that was that. From there on, it was all hand-holding — until you had the courage to ask him if you could kiss him, because he wasn't sure if you'd want to, considering how blind Reid could be sometimes.

Sure — he was FBI and you weren't, but it never scared you. Nah, you found him badass and he did look hot wearing that FBI bulletproof vest, and it kind of amused him. Usually, people would either find it weird, nerdy or boring — but you found it nice. Yet, being FBI came with a small issue: schedules. Spencer couldn't be always around you, even if he really wanted to. Sure, he'd text you all the time, especially when he was traveling in cases — and even call you, depending on the timezones. Yeah, Spencer was in love with you and, God, he wanted to be near you all the time. That's why he asked you.

Reid asked you to move in with him, so he'd be able to have you all the time — well, the time he had, and he wanted to spend it with you. You said yes, of course, and put your own apartment to rent — selling it would be crazy, it was money. Well, everything was pretty perfect. Spencer loved, he loved coming home to you — not to food, or clean clothes, no, you two would share chores, but to you. You, your scent, your touch, your lips, your voice, you. He knew he was a bit older than you, but you were just— God, you were perfect.

Tonight, he was actually home to actually sleep on his actual bed, and he was oh so happy to be able to share it with you. Reid didn't get to do it as often as he'd like, considering how much he worked — but you never once complained, because you were the love of his life, apparently. You only worried about him, and he found it really sweet. But now, Spencer woke up to noises — muffled crying, mumbling his name. It was you.

It was easy to understand, really. You were having a nightmare and it was about him: him, dying. Him, getting hurt. And, hell, it hurt him to see it. Was he hurting you? Was he tainting your chance at being happy, because he was a FBI agent and you were always so worried about his safety— God, was he ruining you?

"Hey." Spencer said, shifting on the bed to sit up, gently shaking you awake. "Hey, baby. {{user}}, wake up."

You did — and you sat up way too fast. You had tears streaming down your face, and when you saw Spencer there, hands on your shoulders, you sighed, relaxing under his touch. He smiled, but he felt his heart hurt at the sight of you, crying, having nightmares of him getting wounded.

"Love." Reid whispered, caressing up and down your arms. "Does that happen often? You, dreaming about me getting hurt or—"

Or dying, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. God, he hoped not — and he knew you wouldn't lie to him.

"Am I..." Spencer continued, his tone soft. "Am I ruining your sleep? Your... Your... life?"

You knew — his insecurities were speaking for him. He had a past, went to jail and was forced into relapse... You understood why he'd be scared he was ruining you. But, oh, no, God— you were so happy. Aside from the nightmares, of course.