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Disgruntled. Apathetic. Depressed. Annoyed. All of these words and more describe what you’ve been feeling in the last few days. And Spencer didn’t need to be a profiler to notice it. He could just tell when you were in a negative headspace. Like when you stared off into space with an empty expression, eyes full of mixed emotions that left you feeling conflicted. He knew you were expecting him to immediately approach you when you came into the bullpen looking more tired than usual, assuming he’d pepper you with questions on why you hadn’t texted or called over the weekend as you usually did. But instead, he gives you space.
He’s familiar with the way an autistic person can isolate themselves when they have a lot going on, even if things are going well. He’d lost count of how many times he’s had to explain it to people who don’t understand why he occasionally stopped reaching out. Ghosting, as he’s been told it’s called. And when he wasn’t explaining it to people, he was either forcing himself to interact and push through it (which usually only leads to embarrassing meltdowns in front of people), or he was just locking himself in his apartment at the expense of his friendships.
He doesn’t want to make you feel that uncomfortable peer pressure that you both have grown familiar with in neurotypical society. So, he just gives you time to yourself so you can gather your bearings and start working. He silently scripts a conversation in his head to nail down how he will ask what was going on, since he doesn’t anticipate you approaching him first. But much to his surprise, you end up following him to get a refill of coffee in the breakroom later in the day. Before he can recall the beginning of his script, you awkwardly clear your throat and point up at the box of unopened sugar in the cupboard above you.
“Can you get me the sugar?” You softly ask, and he gives a quick smile. “Sure.” He retrieves the box and carefully hands it to you, noticeably avoiding any unnecessary touching so he didn’t accidentally overwhelm or upset you. You nod your thanks. “Sorry I didn’t message you over the weekend.” You mumble as you mix your coffee. “No, no. It’s fine. You don’t need to apologize for needing time to yourself on occasion. I’d rather you do that than force yourself to engage with me just because you think it’s what I want you to do.”
Even though neither of you are looking each other in the eye much right now, he can hear the relief in your voice as you sigh. “Logically, I know that. Guess I’m just not used to being around someone who also gets it.” Another brief pause follows before he quietly speaks up. “Would a get-together at your place help you feel better? With your favorite comfort shows playing in the background while we do our own things in each other’s presence?” He asks with a sheepish smile. God, how could he be so perfect?
“I’d like that, yeah. I’ll order our safe foods to eat for dinner and you bring a spare hoodie for me to borrow.” He chuckles and nods. “Sounds good. Does Saturday work, so that we both have time to mentally prepare for it?” “Yeah, that’s fine with me.” You say, even though some small part of you wonders if you will be patient enough to wait until the end of the week. So long as there’s no new cases, maybe it can just serve as motivation to get through the next few days.
With a new sense of determination, you get back to work. And as you chip away at your paperwork, you feel just a little bit lighter than before.
The universe seems to be merciful on you, as the BAU doesn’t get any new cases during the week that would push back your plans with Spencer. By the time Saturday evening finally comes, you’re equal parts excited and tired. Ordinarily, this would be bad if you were hanging out with literally anyone else. But Spencer understands completely, and he’s yet to make you feel bad for not always having the spoons to be a proper host or go out for a night on the town. He was fine with having a relaxing night in, and he wouldn’t judge you if you hyperfocus on your video games instead of talking to him. If anything, he would be doing the same thing with books he’s probably read a thousand times over.
Once he finally arrives, he knocks (instead of ringing the doorbell to avoid giving you sensory overload) on your door and gives you a dorky smile when you open it. “Hey. You got the hoodie?” You ask as you step aside to let him in, only for him to take it out of his bag and toss it your way. You clumsily catch it and slip it on while he sets down his messenger bag near the couch.
Right then, the Indian takeout you got for him arrives. You bring it in and plate the food while he sets up his side of the sofa. “So, what should we have as background noise?” You ask as you walk over and set the plate down on the coffee table. He shrugs. “You can pick. Tonight’s about you, remember?” “Since when?” “Since you started dealing with burnout and needed someone to take care of you for one night.” He reminds you, and you falter. While you know that he’s being genuine at this moment and that he can handle tending to you for one night, part of you still wants to do something to make him feel comfortable too.
“You sure you don’t want to at least take turns controlling the tv?” You offer as he pulls a book out of his bag. “I’m sure. Neither of us are going to be paying much attention to the tv, anyway.” He points out, making you chortle in response. “Fair enough.” With that, you sit down beside him on the couch and boot up your Switch while he starts reading. Time blends into the background, both of you so absorbed in your own worlds. But even while you’re both hyperfocused on your own separate tasks, you both have never felt more comfortable. There was no pressure to mask or talk. You both can just be yourselves like two autistic peas in a pod.