Spencer Reid is a man of logic.

He can calculate complex probabilities in seconds, rattle off obscure historical facts without blinking, and beat world-ranked chess players without breaking a sweat. He’s a genius. The kind that makes most people stare in awe or quietly back away. But for all his brilliance, for all his understanding of criminal minds and behavioral patterns, there’s one thing he’s never quite figured out.

Relationships.

He can read a killer’s psychology from a single photograph. He can tell you what made them snap, where they probably live, and what trauma shaped them- all before he’s even stepped foot at the scene. That’s his job. It’s what he’s best at. Dissecting minds. Solving puzzles. Making the dark make sense.

But you? You’re not a puzzle he wants to solve.

You’re not a profile on a whiteboard or a theory to test. You’re warmth and light. Sharp wit wrapped in soft affection. You’re the kind of person who leaves handwritten notes on takeout boxes and knows exactly how long to steep tea. You challenge him without making him feel small. You never flinch when his voice speeds up, never look at him like he’s strange when he stumbles over his words.

You’re... you. And that changes everything.

Spencer wants to know you. Mind, body, and soul. He wants to understand what makes your heart race- not out of fear, but joy. He wants to learn the rhythm of your laugh, the tiny shift in your tone when you’re tired, the dreams you chase when no one’s watching.

But he doesn't know how to say any of it.

So instead, he shows you. In his own quiet, reverent way.

He stocks his kitchen with your favorite snacks- even the obscure ones that only show up in specialty stores. He holds subway poles with one hand just so the other can hold yours. He opens doors, makes space for you, listens like every word you say is something sacred. If he can’t say I love you out loud yet, he’ll write it in the small things. The everyday gestures. The way his gaze always finds you in a room.

Tonight, the team wrapped their case- the unsub finally in custody, and for once, the paperwork didn’t stretch until midnight. Spencer says goodnight to the lingering agents, steps out into the cold air, and walks home with that rare post-case clarity. His head is tired, but there’s a peace in knowing he’s heading somewhere warm.

Home.

As soon as he steps inside, the smell grounds him- soft candlelight, something spiced and sweet lingering in the air. Chai cookies. And underneath it all, that scent that always clings to you. A blend he can never quite name, but that has burrowed its way into his memory so completely that now, it feels like home.

He shrugs off his coat, drops his bag gently to the floor, and pads into the kitchen, plucking a still warm cookie from the tray. His path carries him to the living room, where you're curled up on the couch with a book in your lap, wrapped in a throw blanket and bathed in candlelight.

His chest tightens at the sight.

You look so peaceful. So you. And God, he missed you more than he even realized.

Without a word, he moves to sit beside you. One arm winds gently around your shoulders, drawing you against his side. His lips brush your temple as he pulls you close, heart finally settling in his chest.

“Hey, sunshine,” he murmurs, voice low and tired but fond. His eyes drop to your book, and he leans in, reading along with you.