Work Text:
Every day was like high school all over again. Or what high school would've been like for a normal person.
Okay, not even that.
High school's idealised version that was in a lot of TV shows where there was a token resistance to someone identifying as a sexuality other than straight, and where geeks were good for more than just doing the jocks' homework, and where everyone, even the "weird kid," found the person right for them by the end of the show and the credits started to roll. Some kind of fictionalised experience where he could be influenced by his hormones and not be turned stiff by mortal terror.
Because when Hotch put a hand on the back of his chair and leaned over him during a case, even if it was just to see the progress on a geographical profile or a writing analysis, despite the seriousness of the moment, he still felt a little thrill go through him, butterflies in his stomach, and a warmth that made him want to lean toward his superior for more of that blessed, gentle attention. He felt like a teenager with a crush and he hated and loved it at once.
It seemed so immature to yearn for something like that. To have a crush, to know even the sound of someone's shoes on tile. To eagerly anticipate just the sight of someone. And at the same time, how could he hate something that gave him even some few crumbs of happiness? It was absolutely impossible that he and Hotch could ever be together. Hotch was straight, first, and they worked together, second, and he would never, ever mention his feelings, third.
But when Hotch leaned over him, put a hand on his shoulder, talked just to him... There was something there, something easy to hold on to and cling to, a connection and he hoped it wasn't only him that felt it. Even if he was, it wasn't something he was going to let go. Sometimes, it was the only reason he could smile.