You were going to kill Penelope Garcia. Not literally, of course. But still—she’d set you up.

Because he was here. Spencer Reid. Your ex. The man you hadn’t seen since last year’s disastrous breakup.

And here he was: looking extremely handsome, in his black slacks, with a glass of sparkling cider in his hand.

You spun to Penelope. “You didn’t tell me he’d be here.”

“I didn’t think I needed to,” she replied innocently. “You’re both my friends.”

“I didn’t—“

“Then why are you in a sequined dress that screams ‘look what you lost?’” She had a fair point.

Across the room, Spencer waved. Like you were on good terms.

You muttered, “Why is he waving?”

“Because you’re a grown-up who can fake being civil?” Penelope teased.

Champagne bolstered you as you marched toward him, heels clicking like a declaration of war.

“Spencer.”

“{{user}}.” He smiled, calm and infuriating. “Happy New Year.”

“It’s not New Year yet. Why are you here? To ruin my night?”

He blinked, confused. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Oh, sure.”

“Or maybe I was just invited to a party. For free snacks.”

“You’re impossible,” you snapped. “So reasonable. It’s maddening.”

His lips twitched. “I’ll try to be less rational.”

“Good.”

There was a moment of silence, as he was analyzing you. “Nice dress, by the way,” he said softly.

“Nice? That’s the best you’ve got?”

“Well—“ Spencer rubbed his neck, glancing toward the countdown. “You, uh… have someone to kiss at midnight?”

“Do you?”

“Ten! Nine!” The crowd erupted.

Spencer leaned closer, his voice low. “We’re being ridiculous.”

“Seven! Six!”

“Are we?” you asked, pulse pounding.

“Yes. Do you want to keep being ridiculous?”

Your heart caught. “No.”

“Three! Two—”

Before the clock hit one, Spencer kissed you. The room exploded—cheers, fireworks, glasses clinking—but none of it mattered. You kissed him back, his hands framing your face like you might vanish.

When you pulled away, breathless, you glared at him. “That doesn’t mean we’re back together.”

“Of course not,” he said, smirking.