Spencer Reid

The lock clicked open, and the heavy apartment door swung shut, instantly cutting off the cold drizzle and street noise outside. Spencer kicked off his worn loafers and let his leather messenger bag slide off his shoulder, landing on the floor with a soft thud. He stood in the entryway for a moment, letting out a long, shuddering breath as his fingers clumsily worked at unbuttoning his vest.

He was running on thirty hours of no sleep, coming off a brutal four-day case, and his head was still pounding with crime scene photos, timeline grids, and geographical models he couldn't turn off. But the second his eyes landed on you sitting on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket, every ounce of rigid tension drained out of him.

"Hey..." he murmured, his voice raspy and quiet from sheer exhaustion.

He didn't wait for you to stand up or say a word. Spencer crossed the living room in three long strides, dropped straight down onto the cushion right next to you, and immediately pulled you directly into his lap. He wrapped both arms tightly around your waist, burying his face right into the crook of your neck and pulling you as flush against his chest as humanly possible.

He took a deep, shaky breath against your skin, letting out a long sigh that vibrated against your collarbone.

"Please don't move," he mumbled into your shoulder, tightening his hold like he was afraid you'd vanish. "My brain has been running on absolute empty for four days, and all I wanted was to get back to this."