Chapter Text
It’s just turned Halloween, and instead of sleeping, resting up for when the neighbor’s kids would come knocking on your apartment door, you’re dressing up at almost 2 AM, getting ready to spend time with your Mr. Paul Dano. You stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror, trying to pick out any imperfections that would’ve been too obvious at the eye to be ignored, tilting your head left and right to examine yourself.
‘Please, let this be a normal field trip,’ you think, smiling at the thought. See, you technically didn’t know Spencer Reid, so the realization that you had just agreed to go on a night alone with him kind of freaked you out. So much so that you called your sister about it. She’s just as concerned as you are, a little more tired though, because you woke her up.
“So, like, you meet this guy… and you’re talking about how *weird* he is… and now you’re going out at *night* to meet him.”
“I never called him weird.”
“Okay, fine, but you DID watch Red Eye, right? You know what happens when you mess around with guys who seem nice?”
Damn, right where it hurts.
“He works for the FBI, he wouldn’t hurt me.”
“Yeah, and I’m the president of the fuckin’ United States.”
“Do you mind?”
“Text me when you get in that car. I’m serious. The minute you get in, the minute you start driving, the minute you get out. If I don’t get those texts I’m calling the cops and telling them you’re missing.”
“Okay! Fuck, fine!”
“No, you don’t get to be stomping your feet at me. You know Mom told you about that Alicia Kozak girl, you *know* what happens. He took her right here in Virginia- did all of that fucked up shit.”
“I promise you, I will be very cautious. I’ll bring a knife with me or something.”
“Okay. Uhh… we need a word.”
“Huh?”
“Like… if something goes wrong and you need an excuse to leave or something? If you need a ride home? You text me a word and I’ll get someone to drive you.”
Actually, you don’t think that’s a bad idea at all. You hum, conspiring up a safe word for the both of you to agree on. A couple words come up, but they’re too much for you. Are you picky about saving your life? Yes. Yes you are.
“Uhhh… okay, Bridget Jones.”
“What?”
“Like… ‘Bridget Jones’ Diary.’ The movie we watched last Christmas.”
It takes you a couple seconds to remember exactly what movie it was, and you tilt your head backwards, trying to not laugh and possibly infuriate her any further. You nod, crossing your arms.
“Okay. Bridget Jones. BJ.”
“…Just say Bridget Jones.”
“Why?”
“Just… just send Bridget Jones.”
The minute you’re about to protest, you hear a knock on your door. Your heart, to put it frank, dropped all the way down to your knees. You turn to the noise of concern but your sister snaps you back to earth.
“Hey. Remember what I told you. Text me when you get in that car, when you st-”
“Yeah, yeah. I will! I promise, pinky and toe. I love you.”
“Okay. I love you too.”
You hang up on her, sliding your phone into your pocket and patting yourself to make sure everything you needed was on you. Chapstick, phone, keys, you’re set. You fly around your house, trying to find your wallet, which you forgot in the bathroom- God, calm down! You can feel yourself bouncing off the walls, your stomach starting to churn in your body. Your feet make their way to the door, unlocking it and taking a peek, making sure it was him. It was, you don’t feel any more copacetic knowing. You let the door swing wide open, standing there awkwardly.
“Hi,” he said, scanning the inside of your apartment briefly. Thank god you cleaned. “Uh, how are you?”
“I’m good! How are you?”
“Fine.” He gave a closed lipped smile, and looked down at the ground. His hair was still a tad wet, it reminded you of a dog almost. Ha, a yorkie. Cute.
You’ve got to stop saying ‘cute.’
“You wanna go now?” He asks, which earns a sweet nod from you. The two of you make it down the apartment stairs, over to his car, and inside. Neither of you really said anything much than simple chit-chat, the other worrying that they’d overwhelm the situation too much. As he starts up the car and starts getting out of the parking space, you pull out your phone and quickly shoot your sister a text. ‘Inside. Driving now.’
You get a text back, ‘Don’t b stupid.’
-
He’s asking you about your day. He’s probably had the worst day ever, and yet he’s still asking about your day. The only reason that question sets you off so much is because you haven’t been doing anything but waiting, waiting for something to come across you. You don’t really go out and make your own plans, you just do your own thing until someone offers you something, lays it out flat on the table for you. Your self deprecating comments really crawl out of the shadows at night.
“Hm?”
“Oh- what’d you say?” You ask, squeezing your eyes and getting ready for a teasing remark.
“Oh, uh, I asked what ‘nothing’ was.”
You smile, shrugging and crossing your arms. He glances over as you and swallows, his adams apple bobbing.
“Ummm… just… trying to finish that damn book. I dunno, it’s just boring. I still don’t get it.”
“Really?” He smiles, waiting at the red light as he eyes you. “No, there’s no way. Do you like it?”
“I mean…” You shrug, letting your arms relax as you adjusted yourself in the seat. “Kind of? Not really? It’s okay, actually. I dunno, it’s just not… sinking for me.”
He nods, turning back to the traffic lights and letting his free hand go limp on the dashboard. He pulls it back, putting it in his lap. God, driving with one hand? For a man who raves about how dangerous it is to do simple things- like going swimming or going to the gym- he’s quite a hypocrite! Does he want to get you killed?
“Cool.” Woah, where’d he learn that from?
You turn to him, your smile growing larger.
“When’d you start using ‘cool?’”
“Huh?”
“Nuh uh, you don’t use that lingo. Did you get a facebook or something?”
The light turns green, he starts driving again. There’s a dumb, stupid, insanely stupid, oh-so-stupid grin on his face. You giggle, turning back to the front window.
“The term ‘cool’ has been used for decades- if not centuries!”
“Nooooo, you’ve been doing your research!”
“You’re so attentive, what’s your problem?!”
“Man, how do you work for the FBI but you can’t even lie right? I can taste the lies from your teeth!”
He licks his lips, shaking his head. “You’re a librarian who doesn’t understand Rad Bradbury.”
Oh, he’s fucking brave.
You turn to him, gasping dramatically as you started to play the role as someone who’s been betrayed.
“You’ve got the damn gall to be saying that to me Spencer-Freakin-Reid!” He starts to laugh, his nose crunching up. “Do you want to fight me?! We can take this outside!”
For the rest of the car ride, the two of you laugh and pretend to be upset at each other, you trying to shuffle away from him as much as you can. When he realizes this, he uses his free hand to grab your arm and bring you closer, which you oblige to. Then, after a bit more chatting, you both pull into a 7/11, which makes you realize that you had no clue where the hell you two were going the entire time. You feel your little army men inside your head trying to build up walls, walls made out of styrofoam and glue sticks. He parks the car, turning to you briefly and then smiling.
See, the nice part of you wanted to tell him that you didn’t bring a wallet. The sibling part of you kept your mouth shut.
-
He said you could get whatever you wanted, no biggie. Sweet. Your choice of a drink, chips, and some candy took up space in your palm as you walked through different aisles of the gas station, trying to find where he was. When you spot him trying to dispense coffee into a cup, your eyebrows shot up like fireworks on a hot night.
“No, no. Spence-“ You immediately rebutted, without him even putting up an argument first. You sped over to him, shaking your head and taking the cup from him, wanting to put it down the drain before you realized there was none. He looked over at you, feigning confusion and innocence. You held the coffee up higher, shaming him. “It’s like, 2 AM. You won’t be able to sleep.”
“It’s my favorite drink! I’m not sleeping after this, I might have work to do soon.”
“It’s Halloween! I thought you have holidays or something?!”
He took the cup from you, biting back a smile. “Crime never sleeps.”
“The h- no, you wouldn’t be with me if you had a case right now. You’d be asleep. You don’t need this coffee.”
“You wouldn’t be with me if I told you I had a case tomorrow.”
You raise your hands, earning songful laughter from him as you rolled your eyes at his words. “No, we can drink a slush instead. Matter fact, I don’t think I’m letting you drive after this! You’re probably exhausted!”
You put the coffee near the dispenser, not bothering to find a place to drain the cup. He took the cup away from it, swearing to you that he’d buy it (just to not waste it), and drink it cold in the morning. Ew, cold gas station coffee. When the two of you get to the slushie area, you ask him what flavor he wants. He chooses wild cherry (or, in other words, red). Although you already have a drink, you ask to get a small blue slush. He doesn’t even think twice about your offer, it’s fine.
After buying all your items (and an additional pack of sour strips that he snuck into the mix) the two of you walk back to the car, but you suddenly remember your words from before. You look over at him, having the plastic bag in one hand and offering out the other hand to him. Confused, he shines his eyes at you, standing there oddly.
“Keys.”
“Oh my gosh, you can’t be ser-“
“Yeah, yeah, I am. You said what- ‘being awake for over 24 hours is equivalent to getting drunk’ or somethin’? And you’ve been awake for how long?”
“Actually- about one in 200 drunk drivers get arrested.”
“Well, if I drive that possibility cuts down to 0.”
“My apartment is probably 20 minutes from here, 14 without traffic. I can just drive you home- drive myself home, all of that.”
“How long are we gonna be hanging out for?! By the time you start to drive home it’ll probably be over 24 hours!”
He starts to smile, looking down at the ground shyly, as if he was withholding himself back from something. You don’t know why, at first, or at all really. Must’ve been something you said. “What?” You ask him, and he shakes his head, whispering “nothing” as he takes his keys from his pocket. You take them haughtily, getting in the driver’s seat. “Where are we going, to your place or mine? Or somewhere else?”
“Uhh… I dunno.”
You start the car, scoffing. “Okay. Mine then.”
“Woooah, that was way too quick.”
“What are you talking about?” You said, backing the car out of the driveway. “Worse come to worse, I fall asleep, you crash at mine. You’re not falling asleep behind the road.”
“Wheel.”
“Yeah, fuck you too.”
-
Thank God you cleaned.
It doesn’t smell like Lysol and Tide, but it’s as tidy as you needed it to be. He scans over the whole parlor, taking in the clump of shoes near the front door and the annoyingly neat stack of books you had on your TV stand, walking closer to it and getting on his knees to look at your collection. You sigh, locking the door and dragging your feet over to the couch, putting the drinks on the coffee table and laying down on the couch back first.
“Didn’t know you were so into Seamus Heaney.” He comments, turning back to you, amused at how quickly you laid to rest. You glance over at him, nodding. “Yeah, yeah. Cool guy.” You leaned over, closer to the coffee table and grabbing your blue slush, taking small sips out of it to avoid getting brain freeze. “How’d you come across him?” You ask, which he shrugs and chalks it up to just measly research. He shuffles over to you, leaving some wrinkles in your rug as he creeps closer to the bag, going through it and taking out his sour strips. You pout, keeping your eyes on him as he tears open the plastic and takes a strip out, tearing it into two. He puts one piece into his mouth, turns his head, and holds the other closer to your mouth, letting you take it from him without any hands. The two of you chuckle.
The silence, mostly of you both excluding the wrappers, doesn’t really bother you that much. Actually, you wanted to be quiet. You wanted to lay there, thinking about nothing as he rested his head on the couch, just near your chest, eating his candy. He’s faced away from you, and without seeing his face, you wonder if he’s also stuck in the same mental space you are. You bring up your arm, poking his head and touching his hair. He groans, acting as if it was the biggest inconvenience to him, but you knew him well enough to know he was just being bratty. You slide your pointer finger in his hair, before bringing a full hand to envelop him. He says nothing, but you hum, trying to keep the situation light still. You break the silence.
“I like your hair.”
He struggles to breathe for a second, “Mm.”
The two of you share whispers, a more intimately idyllic conversation than usual. It shows that the two of you just wanted to keep it simple, peaceful. You keep your fingers in his hair, just lightly scratching as you used him as a makeshift fidget, occasionally leaving longer strides of motion as you thought about an answer to one of his odd questions. When the questions become too easy for you, he leans his head closer, trying to get the same touch he got before.
“What?”
“Hm?”
You stop scratching him altogether, leaving your hand flat on his scalp. He turns to the side, the direction where you are, but only peering from the corner of his eyes. It takes a lot for you to not grin. “Mm?” He asks, in replacement of ‘what’s up?’. You don’t answer, just because. It’s that silence again.
“…You’re nice.”
You look over at him, watching how his gaze hit the ground so suddenly, a nonverbal expression of shame. You stay a little more silent, but you respond.
“Hm?”
“You’re really nice. Really.”
You smile, nodding at his words and taking your hand off of him completely, letting it hang slack off the couch. “Yeah.”
“You know you’re nice?”
“…No, but I believe you.”
He turns to face you completely, looking at you. It’s like he’s examining you, trying to get something out of you. It’s making you sweat, and realize that your drink on the coffee table is probably starting to melt. You don’t dare move. You’re the first one to break eye contact, and he soon continues.
“I kinda… didn’t expect for you to take up my offer today.”
Is this an interrogation or a genuine confession? You shrug. “I didn’t have much to do. You’re cool to talk to.”
He nods, looking away. “So, what’s your costume then?”
You snicker, shaking your head. “No costume, nuh-uh. I’m just handing out candy this time.”
“Oh, that can’t be true. I thought someone like you would love Halloween.”
“Okay, well, I don’t hate it! I just don’t want to wear the same costume for 3 years in a row now!”
He looks back at you, smiling. “What costume?”
Ugh. Damn it.
“Caitlin. Like, the 6teen show.”
He opens his mouth, letting out breathy chuckles. “Really? Her?”
You protest, trying to defend yourself but he stops you mid sentence, shaking his head. “Noo, no, no, it’s cute! I like it. Do you have a picture?”
“It will be a cold day in hell before I ever let you see that.”
You both share laughs, him pleading as you repeat ‘no’ all over again. He grabs his slush from the table, drinking from it as you watched him. He catches your gaze, bringing the straw closer to your lips. You drink from it, a smirk running up your face as he watched you. Uncannily, he didn’t smile back with you, his curved lips drooping lower as he just watched you drink from it- from which you soon stopped to look at him. You could tell that the whole thing was starting to get heavy, but you couldn’t tell where the weight was really coming from. Curse you for wanting to lean closer. Curse you for not doing anything. Curse you for letting him clear his throat and shift away from you.
To try and lighten the mood, and stop him from apologizing and potentially shutting the whole thing down, your voice flicks up an octave as you speak. “Did you want the drink or something?” Jesus, you regretted the joke immediately. He shook his head, letting a small sigh escape his grin as he wiped his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out of him. “Sorry,” you said, pressing your nails into the couch.
‘What for?’ You expected him to ask, but he didn’t even look your way. Suddenly, the silence was once again the one thing you dreaded the most. You internally shunned yourself, closing your eyes and pretending as if he wasn’t there. God, you and your loose mouth.
“You’re sweet.”
Huh? You open your eyes, staring back at him. You nod, giving a small smile.
“Thanks.”
“…Yeah.”
…
“I wish I met you sooner.” He sighs out, inching back closer to you and putting his forehead on the couch, looking down at the ground as you brought your hand up near his hair, but hesitated, letting your full arm rest on his shoulder instead.
You watch him, licking your lips and blinking back at him. “I wish I met you sooner too.”
“Mm.”
He brings his hand up to your arm- or, really, as close as he can get to your hand, and wraps it around you. He smooths your arm using his thumb, up and down, like he was trying to comfort you in some way. Your breath just barely hitting his ear makes the hair on his neck stand up, you could feel the twitch of his whole body when a chill went up his spine. He raises his head, not to face you, but just high enough to rest his chin on your arm.
No matter what prescription he had on, no matter the different glasses the eye doctors could’ve given him, you were convinced that he didn’t even know how pretty he was. How beautiful, marvelous, and absolutely charming he could be sometimes.
It’s killing you.
And he’s about to finish you off.
He lowers his head and presses his cheek into your inner forearm, breathing in slow, as if he was restricting his airflow from getting the best of him. He tilts his head just ever so slightly, so that his lips were brushing into you, and then he purses them. He kissed your arm. He could’ve gotten away with it, just if he didn’t pull back and look up at you. Your breath hitches, intimidated by the eye contact. He keeps his cheek on you, but every inch of distance between his lips and your arm starts to make you desperate. ‘Please, again.’ You begged silently, using your eyes as a form of communication.
He’s conflicted, he doesn’t know if you’re looking at him because you’re scared, or because you want more. Lost in translation.
Your hand makes its way to the back of his head, urging him closer as he gets on his knees and shuffles towards you. Slowly pulling himself into your tides, you stay still as the tip of his nose brushes on yours, having to awkwardly contort himself to get face to face with you. He hesitates, just briefly, and the tension that waves over you makes you wonder if he’s too busy counting your eyelashes. It’s time you do something.
“It’s okay.” You whisper out, a nearly empty whimper created from his vocal cords, “you can kiss me.”
And he leans in.
Yet he still doesn’t find the courage to kiss you.
He kisses your cheek, leaving a thin film of his chapstick on your face as he then pulls back, giving himself room to cup your face with his hand. His pointer finger runs down the back of your ear, earning ticklish twitches from you and a breathy giggle, and he uses the opportunity to finally- finally kiss you. It’s slow, anticlimactic for anyone else, but it’s so rewarding on your end. Your fingers comb up his hair, and you start to sit up, his lips trying to stay on yours for as long as possible until he noticed how you were inviting him on the couch with you. He climbs up, and you move your legs apart, letting him get closer and on top of you as his cold fingertips (fuck, why is he so cold?) dance over your waist and meet their way to your hips, grounding you into place and massaging tantalizing circles into your body. You hum, trying to signal that you are enjoying the moment, and it takes him a while to find out that was your ‘yes, I like that’ noise.
Your nails drew long, careful strips of scratches into his back, not wanting to hurt him as he rolled himself into you, his left hand skimming up your side and folding over your top a few, leaving a bit of your torso exposed. All of his moves were jittery, you could tell by the way your heads would sometimes clunk together and how he’d apologize every time he bit just a tad bit harder on your lip, until you had to be the one to invite him into a french kiss and pull into him even closer. God, he’s so cute, he’s even terrible at kissing correctly. How does he do it? Maybe nice boys do kiss like this. You slide your hands from his back and into his hair, moving his glasses in the process, and doing him the favor of blindly trying to put them back in place on his face, to which got you a cooing smile from him and a broken kiss, him pulling away from you just a bit to catch his breath.
“Y’know,” he huffed, “I can just take them off.”
“No. No, keep them on.”
“Okay.” He lowly growled out a comply and slotted his lips between yours, starting to get greedy. You’re swapping tastes of blue raspberry and smarties together, his hand meeting your waist and slinking up under your top just to etch at the skin. He moved his lips from yours, shifting you up a bit so that he could kiss your neck and leave you slapping a hand over your mouth, overwhelmed by it all.
Then, suddenly, a booming knock came at your door, sending you both scrambling from each other and separating like the two of you were on the same pole of the magnet. You groan, wiping your eyes and staring at the door.
“Who the fuck is out this soon?!”
“Don’t get that.” He said, almost demandingly. You look at him confused, but you don’t do anything about it. Maybe he knows better than you, FBI agent or whatever. “Let me get it.”
You nod, watching as he went to the door and you groan, dropping your face into the couch cushions agonizingly and rolling off the couch, standing up and fixing your clothes. He opens the door, and it’s a police officer there. The two mutter words for a bit, and you didn’t even know it was an officer until you saw the badge, making you race over at the door to see the commotion.
“What’s going on?” You asked, looking at the officer and then Spencer.
“Um… we got a wellness check from your family? Someone wanted to see if you were okay.” The officer explained, keeping his focus on you.
“Welln- whatthefuck- wellness check? From who?”
“Your… sister, I presume.”
Oh, Jesus H. Christ.
After a couple words with the officer, and no comments from Spencer, he leaves the two of you alone and goes about his business. You close the door. Spencer’s bittersweet stature leaves you feeling guilty, trying to explain it all before he could ask any questions.
“I told her I was going out tonight. She, um, must’ve went crazy when I didn’t call her.”
“Ah, right. So, you were precautious.”
You want to quip back at him, but you decide to give him his crowns. God fucking damn it.
“I’m sorry if I totally killed your n-“
“No, it’s fine. I get it.”
You nod, pouting and rubbing your temples.
“I’m still sorry.”
“Please. Don’t be.”
He steps closer to you, putting a hand on your shoulder and rubbing it. “Well, we had a fun night, didn’t we?”
You nod, giving him a half hearted smile as you sighed. The embarrassment is riled up in you.
“I assume you want me to go then.”
‘Assume,’ christ, only he would use some kind of dictionary words like that at a moment like this.
“Um… no, not really.”
“You want me to stay?”
“Mm.”
“Okay.”
He was going to say more, but decided the best was just to leave it be. He brings you in for a hug, arms wrapped around your waist, you could tell he was trying to not make you feel bad about yourself. Your hands rubbed over the small of his back.
“Spencer.”
“Mm?”
“You want me to make you some coffee?”
…
“Sure.”
When morning came, and he woke up beside you, he asked if you wanted to go out to get something to eat. Two weeks later, you’d guys start dating. You never got over the police call, of course, but your sister believes that she’s the sole reason you both got together. A couple months later, she’d be the one to help move your things into his apartment. You begged her to not share the story about how the two of you would call him ‘Paul Dano-y.’ She said she’d save it for the wedding speech. Dickhead.