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Spencer closed the tab on his computer, a frustrated scowl forming on his lips. For days, he’d been scouring the internet, spending sleepless nights hunched over his desk, searching for the perfect anniversary gift for you.
It was your first year together, and everything had to be perfect. But nothing felt right. Every idea he considered was quickly dismissed.
He shut his eyes, trying to quiet his overthinking mind. You two met at his favorite coffee place, he noticed you right away when he realized you stole his seat. You had yourself perched against the chair nuzzled against the rest of the wall.
And after a week of ogling you across the room he finally got enough courage to start a conversation over a book you were reading.
Then with shaky fingers and some mumbling he finally had the courage to ask you out, suggesting a tour of the city since you just moved. Spencer knew his demanding work schedule wasn’t easy on you. You were so patient, understanding, and kind—perhaps too kind, he often thought. Canceled dinner dates, postponed trips, missed laughs, and missed love were all too common.
Yet despite it all, you always met him with a reassuring smile. “I know you’re busy saving lives,” You had told him once, as the two of you cuddled in bed after the third missed date in a row.
He hadn’t had anything better to offer than a string of apologies, and he feared one day it wouldn't be enough.
“Hey pretty boy, what’s got you so upset?” Morgan asked, his voice pulling Spencer out of his thoughts. Spencer took a moment to collect himself before turning to Morgan.
“I’m trying to figure out a good anniversary gift for her.”
In a room full of profilers he didn’t think they’d be so keen on his social cues, but of course they noticed him constantly fidgeting and sneaking quick glances at his phone. Emily was the first to find out about you.
The teasing lasted months.
Penelope was rushing toward his desk with her tea in one hand and Morgan’s coffee in the other.
“You have to go all out!” Garcia exclaimed, barely containing her excitement. “Chocolates, flowers—oh, please tell me you’ve got the whole day planned!”
“Calm down, baby girl,” Morgan laughed, taking his coffee. “I’m sure our genius over here has something in mind.” Spencer sighed. “I want to make it special since it’s our first anniversary, but I just don’t know what she’d like.”
“Well, what are her love languages?” Penelope asked, ready to unleash her vast knowledge of relationships.
“I think it’s quality time,” Spencer replied, a small smile playing on his lips as he thought about you. “She’s always engaged in our conversations, making strong eye contact, putting her phone away, asking questions. She also lingers after dates.”
He paused, recalling the moments you’d linger on your doorstep after he drove you home, the way you’d breathe him in after a kiss, your forehead resting against his. “She never seems in a rush to leave, like she values every moment we spend together.”
Morgan grinned, leaning back in his chair with a knowing look. “There you go, pretty boy. Think about what she loves, what makes her happy. That’s the key.”
Spencer nodded picked up his phone, scrolling through the list he’d made of all your favorite things. He stopped on a picture of you smiling back at him from the screen, a photo he’d taken during one of your many picnics. Your hair had been flowing in the wind, your eyes crinkled with your smile as you explained the meaning behind one of your favorite songs.
It was the same photo that graced both his phone and laptop backgrounds.
“She loves almost every kind of art,” he whispered, his heart swelling with affection. “Renaissance literature, realism paintings, classic books. And she’s really outdoorsy too.” He whispered, his heart expanding, pumping. thump, thump- laced with love.
He thought about the countless picnic dates, the times you’d coaxed him out of bed for a run or a hike.
His mind wandered to what you might be doing right now—your second class of the day had likely started, and he imagined you taking notes, doodling in the margins. Penelope and Morgan exchanged amused glances, their lips quivering with smiles as they listened to Spencer’s lovesick ramblings.
“Looks like Reid’s got it bad,” Morgan whispered to Garcia, who stifled a giggle behind her hand.
“He really does,” she agreed, her voice barely above a whisper. Spencer hadn’t seen you in two weeks, four days, twenty-three minutes, and fourteen seconds—far too long.
He didn’t want to waste another moment as he approached your door, your favorite flowers in hand. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait another second, as you opened the door before he could even knock.
Spencer’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of you. Every day, he found himself falling for you more and more. You gave him a shy smile, stepping out to wrap your arms around his taller frame. He hugged you back immediately, burying his head in the crook of your neck. When you finally pulled apart, he took a proper look at you, bathed in the soft glow of the afternoon sunlight.
In that moment, and in every other, you were the epitome of beauty—a vision that left him utterly mesmerized.
“These are for you,” Spencer said softly, offering you the peonies. He realized they paled in comparison to you, but nonetheless, he held them out.
“You never forget them, Spence,” you said, your voice equally soft. Spencer chuckled, half-offended that you’d think he ever could—eidetic memory or not.
“I’m glad you like them,” he replied, taking your hand as he led you to his car, opening the door for you. “I have the whole day planned.” “Yeah?” Your head rises of its own accord against the car seat.
"I really want it to be perfect."
It’s already perfect because how much better can it get you thought? You're in his car, your favorite songs playing in the background and his hand never leaves your side.
“It already is.” You say grazing your thumb over his knuckles.
You finally reach the place away from everyone else.
“There’s a trail nearby and a perfect place for a picnic.” Spencer whispers, slipping his hand into yours again.
It fits so perfectly.
You smile, squeezing his hand “Lead the way.”
In a field of daisies Spencer pulls out a blanket, carefully placing his gifts as he pats the spot next to him. You nestle against his taller frame, he smells like sandalwood, coffee, and home.
“What are you thinking about?” You ask him, he smiles down at you playing with your hair absentmindedly.
“You. Always you.” You get the familiar, but nevertheless oh-so welcome kick in your stomach every time he smiles at you.
“What about you?” He asks in return, and you shrug, not able to convey all your emotions.
“I'm thinking that I want my gifts.” You say slightly pouting. With a shy smile, Spencer untangled himself from you and reached for the presents. He handed you a beautifully wrapped package and a small painting, both wrapped with care.
“I hope you like them,” he said, his voice tinged with nervousness. Your eyes lit up as you unwrapped the gifts, revealing a limited edition of Sylvia Plath’s work—a book you’d mentioned offhandedly that you’d been searching for.
Your gaze met his, overflowing with emotions you hadn’t known were possible. You always believed in love, but this? This was beyond anything you’d imagined. It made all the heartbreaks of the past worth it because they led you to him. You abandoned the gifts, flinging yourself into his arms. He laughed, catching you as you both tumbled onto the grass.
Spencer buried his face in the crook of your neck, holding you close.
“They’re perfect,” you whispered.
“Thank you so much.” Spencer’s cheeks flushed. “I’m glad you like them,” he replied, still holding you.
“How did you even find it?” you asked, marveling at the book.
“Brittney Johnson—remember the missing persons case we solved? Her dad’s a book collector. He was really grateful and said if we ever needed a favor, he’d be happy to help.” You smiled, touched by his thoughtfulness.
You’d spent so long building walls around yourself, convincing yourself you didn’t need a relationship. But with Spencer, those walls crumbled before you even had a chance to put them up.
“I also wrote you a card, my handwriting isn't the best, but I know you like words of affirmation” Spencer said, reaching into his bag. But before he could present it, dark clouds gathered overhead, and raindrops began to fall, dampening the ground.
“Seriously?” Spencer groaned, quickly sheltering you with his jacket. The chocolate and sandwiches were ruined, along with your clothes.
The two of you hurried to the car, making sure the gifts were safe, and finally found shelter inside.
“I’m sorry our picnic was ruined, angel,” Spencer said, helping you fix your hair.
“It’s not ruined, Spence. We can have a night in, order some Chinese, and finish a new episode?” you suggested, trying to cheer him up.
“Yeah, sure,” he agreed, though he couldn’t hide his disappointment as he started the car.
Back at your apartment, the two of you hurried inside, drenched from the rain. You kicked off your shoes and quickly disappeared into your bedroom, returning with dry clothes for both of you. You handed Spencer his sweater, the one you’d “borrowed” long ago, and couldn’t help but smile as he accepted it.
“Hey, I was looking for this,” he said, pulling on the warm sweater.
“Sorry I stole it,” You replied, not the least bit apologetic.
He shook his head, following you to the kitchen, where you were setting up takeout containers on the counter. The sweater smells like you and he thinks he should let you keep it. It smells like cherries, winter warmth and like the love of his life.
“I love that you did. I feel closer to you whenever I wear it.” You blushed, grateful he couldn’t see your flushed cheeks as you turned to grab plates.
Spencer wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.
“This isn’t how I planned our anniversary,” he admitted, his voice soft. “I wanted everything to be perfect.”
You turned in his arms, cupping his cheek as you gazed into his warm eyes.
“Spence, it was perfect. It’s not about the flowers or the gifts or the picnic. It’s about being with you.”
Before Spencer could respond, you gently stepped out of his embrace, suddenly remembering you still had his gift to give.
“I have a surprise for you,” you said with a smile, rummaging through the gift bag.
You walked back to him, holding up a beautifully knitted purple scarf.
“My mom’s been teaching me how to knit, and this is the first thing I made. It’s for you. I know you get colds easily, and keeping your neck and chest warm can help reduce the shock of inhaling cold, dry air, which irritates your respiratory tract. I even stitched my name on the end, so a part of me is always with you.”
Spencer’s face lit up as he accepted the scarf, immediately noticing how it carried your familiar scent.
“This is so thoughtful,” he said, his eyes soft with appreciation. “I don’t think anyone’s ever been this concerned about my colds. Although, just so you know, wearing a scarf alone won’t prevent you from catching a cold. Colds are caused by viruses, usually spread through respiratory droplets or by touching contaminated surfaces.”
You smiled at his rambling, finding comfort in the way his mind worked—it was like a love language all its own.
Chuckling softly, you wrapped the scarf around his neck, adjusting it just right.
“It’s the thought that counts, angel,” he said sincerely, his voice filled with warmth. “It’s already my favorite scarf.”
He then brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to them.
It's in the quiet, messy, beautifully imperfect moments like this, spencer thinks: where love is felt in every heartbeat, every glance, and every shared breath.