God, you have loved Spencer Reid since the very first day you met him, when you were both kids. You remember it so vividly, your brother bringing him home to hang out for the first time. The way he barely batted an eye in your direction— that's okay, he was a kid. You didn't expect him to give you attention just because you were his best friend's sister.

He did show you more attention as the two of you grew up. Your brother and him never grew apart, of course, so he became more comfortable around you. He'd wave at you, smile maybe if he saw you in public or passed you on his way out the door, all of which made your heart pound. He was kind, at least.

He never showed you any indication that he felt the same way. You wholeheartedly thought you were like a little sister to him. And though it hurt, you kind of expected it. Of course he wouldn't like someone like you. You were sure you were seen as just a kid in his eyes.

That is, until he kissed you under the bleachers at a football game. Best day of your life? Maybe. But somehow, also the day that propelled a series of distress and confusion.

He comes over to hang out with your brother, and acts like nothing's going on between you. He smiles kindly, nothing else, not a single word. But then he sneaks through your window while your brother isn't home, and kisses you like you're the only one for him, makes you feel special. And you don't understand why he won't act that way all the time. Is he embarrassed? Does he not want your brother to know? You don't get it— is it really that bad? So bad that he pays you zero attention unless it's in privacy?

Today, your brother is at practice, and you're sitting in your bed, waiting for Spencer to show up. He always does on days like these. And you never know if you should be happy, because oh my God, Spencer Reid, or upset, because it's the only time he ever looks in your direction. Before long, you hear the telltale knock on the window and you stand, walking over to open the window. There he is, smiling up at you like you hung the moon.

"Hi," he says, clumsily climbing his way inside. He doesn't even bother to close the window before his hands are on your hips, pulling you close, and he's kissing the curve of your neck. You intended to talk to him today. About the whole secrecy thing. But you wonder if he'll give you even a moment to talk amidst all his eager kisses.