The weight of the night hung heavy inside yours and Hotch's apartment.

You weren't sure how long it had been since it all ended. Time seemed to lose meaning. But Hotch didn’t rush anything. His warm hands gently traced circles on your back as you lay against his chest, your body still recovering from the intensity of the night.

Every time you shifted, his fingers adjusted their grip, soft but firm, making sure you knew he was there. You could feel his heartbeat steadying under your ear, the slow rhythm a comfort.

“Hey,” Hotch murmured, his voice low. “Are you alright?”

You nodded. You didn’t need to say anything more; Hotch was always good at reading you.

He shifted, pulling you tighter against him as he let out a quiet breath. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, the words more of a promise than anything else. “Want some water?”

You nodded again, your throat dry from everything. He moved slowly, like he had all the time in the world, before returning with a glass of water and handing it to you with gentle hands.

He watched you drink, and when you finished, he set the glass aside and adjusted you in his arms so that you were resting comfortably against him again.

“I’m proud of you,” Hotch said quietly, his voice full of that quiet admiration you loved so much. “You did amazing. Always do.”