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throwaway-things · 9 months ago

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In The Silence: part 5

The aftermath hung heavy in the air, lingering in the quiet space between you like a shadow that neither of you dared acknowledge. Spencer hadn’t said a word when he left, hadn’t looked back as he closed the door, leaving you alone with the memory of his touch and the hollow ache that seemed to follow in his absence.

You sat there, naked in the empty room, every nerve still alive with the memory of him—his warmth, his weight, the rare vulnerability he’d shown, if only for a brief, reckless moment. And yet, as you sat there, reality began to creep back in, wrapping itself around your heart and pulling you back down to the harsh truth.

This wasn’t what you’d hoped for. Whatever had happened between you, it wasn’t a step forward. It wasn’t the beginning of something real. It was a fracture—a fleeting break in Spencer’s tightly controlled walls, something raw and unguarded. But even as you tried to rationalize it, a part of you wanted to hold on, to believe that maybe it had been something more.

The morning after felt colder, the silence in your room sharper, cutting through the haze that lingered in your mind. You found yourself waiting, almost dreading what might happen next. Would he come by? Would he talk about it, acknowledge it?

And as the minutes ticked by, each one painfully slow, the answer became clear. There was no knock on your door. No text. No sign that anything had changed. You tried to shake it off, to tell yourself that this was better, that you’d known all along what this was.

But when you boarded the jet later that morning, the weight of his silence felt heavier than anything you’d prepared yourself for. Spencer was already there, his gaze lowered, expression as unreadable as ever. You watched him, looking for any sign that he was affected, that he felt something too, but his face was as composed and distant as ever.

He didn’t meet your eyes.

You took a seat across from him, your heart sinking as you realized that this was how it would be—another unspoken truth, buried and pushed aside, left to fester in the silence between you. And when he finally glanced up, his eyes brushing over yours for the briefest second, the wall was back up, higher than ever. It was as though last night hadn’t happened, as though everything between you was erased, smoothed over by the morning light.

The hours dragged on, each one marked by Spencer’s distance, the subtle way he avoided your gaze, the careful, deliberate restraint in his movements. He was a master at compartmentalizing, at placing things into neat, unbreakable boxes. And you’d just become another thing for him to lock away, another memory he would bury.

When the day ended, you lingered behind, hoping he might stay, that he might offer something—a word, a look, anything to acknowledge what had happened. But he left without a word, without a second glance.

And as you sat there, alone in the bullpen, the truth settled heavy in your chest. This was the price of letting yourself hope, of letting yourself get close to someone who wasn’t capable of giving more. You’d been a moment of weakness, a temporary reprieve in his endless cycle of restraint. And now, it was done, tucked away like it had never happened.

But as much as you told yourself to move on, to forget, the ache remained, a reminder of what you’d felt, what you’d lost—even if you’d never truly had it at all.

The days that followed were slow and stifling, each one marked by the growing distance between you and Spencer. You went through the motions, tried to keep your focus on the cases, on the team, but the tension lingered, a silent, gnawing presence in every shared room, every passing glance that you pretended not to notice.

Spencer had perfected the art of avoidance. He was a ghost in your periphery—always there, yet just out of reach, careful never to be alone with you, never to linger long enough for even the faintest acknowledgment of what had happened. He was polite, professional, as if nothing had changed. And in a way, that was what hurt the most.

Each day, you told yourself you would forget. But the memory kept returning in flashes—his hands on your body, the way his breathing had matched yours, the rare crack in his usually stoic armor. You replayed it in your mind, searching for any sign that he’d felt something more, some clue to reassure yourself that it hadn’t been just a mistake born of guilt or weakness.

Yet he gave you nothing. Not a hint, not a single look to confirm or deny the truth you so desperately wanted to hold onto.

One night, nearly a week after it had happened, you found yourself in the office late, the weight of everything keeping you there even as everyone else had left. The emptiness around you mirrored the hollow ache that had settled deep inside. You stared down at the open case files, words blurring together as the thoughts you’d been trying to suppress clawed their way to the surface.

The quiet click of the door opening jolted you, and you looked up to see Spencer stepping in, eyes widening slightly when he saw you. For a moment, he looked as if he might turn around, leave the room, but instead, he hesitated, hands buried in his pockets, his posture tense.

“Didn’t think anyone else would be here this late,” he murmured, voice quiet, almost wary.

You forced a small smile, but even that felt like a lie. “Could say the same for you.”

An awkward silence fell between you, thick with everything unsaid. You wanted to ask him why he’d stayed, why he’d walked in instead of turning around. But you held back, unwilling to give voice to the vulnerability still raw in your chest.

After a pause, Spencer cleared his throat, eyes flickering down to the file on your desk. “How’s the case coming?”

“It’s… getting there,” you replied, trying to match his casual tone, though your heart was pounding. “Just tying up some loose ends.”

Another silence settled in. Spencer shifted, glancing toward the door like he was already planning his exit. And maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the lingering ache, but you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Spencer,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. He froze, his gaze snapping back to yours. You could see the faint flicker of something in his eyes—apprehension, maybe, or regret.

“I know it didn’t mean anything,” you continued, the words escaping before you could stop them. “I know that’s… how you wanted it to be. But I—” You swallowed, struggling to keep the tremor from your voice. “I can’t keep pretending that night didn’t happen.”

For a brief, heart-stopping moment, you thought he might finally say something, that he’d break the silence that had been haunting you both. But he only looked down, his expression tightening, his jaw clenched.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words so quiet you almost missed them.

You nodded, the bitter truth settling in, pressing heavy against your chest. His silence was answer enough. He wasn’t going to give you anything more—no explanation, no apology that could ease the ache he’d left in you. He’d given you what he could in that fleeting moment, and now, all that was left was the silence.

“Right,” you replied, forcing your voice steady. “I… I get it.”

With one last glance, Spencer nodded, turned, and left the room. This time, you didn’t wait for him to come back. You knew he wouldn’t.

As the door clicked shut, you let the tears fall, the weight of the unspoken settling like lead in your stomach. Whatever you’d hoped for—whatever you’d let yourself believe—it was gone now, buried in the quiet between you. And this time, there was no going back.

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throwaway-things · 9 months ago

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In the Silence: part 4

It wasn’t slow or gentle at first—it was urgent, as though he was trying to push past all the walls you’d built between you. There was no explanation, no hesitation when his lips found yours. Just the taste of coffee and regret, the press of his body against yours, and the tightness in his chest that matched the one in yours.

You didn’t pull away. You couldn’t.

The kiss deepened, became harder, as if he was trying to drown out the tension that had been building between you for so long. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you in closer, the urgency unmistakable.

But even as your heart raced and the heat between you built, you couldn’t shake the question in the back of your mind: Is this really what he wants, or is this just guilt? Was he doing this because he couldn’t stand the thought of leaving things unresolved, or was it something more?

But you didn’t pull away. You couldn’t.

Spencer was a man who controlled everything—the way he spoke, the way he thought, the way he kept his emotions locked away. And yet, now, with you pressed against the door of your room, he was anything but controlled. It was raw, unplanned, and it burned in a way that both terrified and exhilarated you.

His hands moved up to your face, cupping it gently, as if this was some fragile thing he couldn’t quite figure out how to hold. But it didn’t stop him. He was still there, his lips moving against yours, as if this was the only thing that mattered, even for just a moment.

You could feel the change in him now, something had shifted in his gaze—an undeniable shift from the guarded, controlled man you knew. There was no self-restraint left, no defense, only a need that seemed to override everything else.

He didn’t speak, didn’t explain. He didn’t say that it was a mistake or that he regretted it. Spencer was never one to justify himself. He never needed to. And now, you weren’t going to ask him to.

His hands slid to the back of your neck, pulling you even closer, his body pressed against yours in a way that made your head spin. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t what you’d imagined it would be. It was reckless. It was messy. But in that moment, it was real.

You could feel the shift in the air—the weight of his touch, the heat of his body against yours. There was no room for words now. You didn’t need them. You didn’t need him to explain himself. You both knew this was happening, and for now, that was enough.

You didn’t pull away. You couldn’t.

And just like that, you were lost in the haze of it all—his body moving against yours, your hands grasping at his clothes, the world outside forgotten, replaced by the steady rhythm of his breath against your skin.

When it was over, there was no talk. There was no explanation. Spencer didn’t say anything. Neither did you. The silence between you was thick, heavier than any words could ever be.

It was done.

And maybe, just maybe, that was all there was to say.

Pt. 5 and 6 will be a bit longer :)

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throwaway-things · 9 months ago

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In The Silence : part 3

Without another word, you stood, your heart aching with every step as you left Spencer behind, the echo of his apology following you into the empty night.

He watched you go, his chest tight with a feeling he couldn’t quite name. He knew he had hurt you, but even after the apology, even after seeing the raw pain in your eyes, he hadn’t done enough. He hadn’t said enough. He hadn’t fixed anything.

What had he expected, anyway? A happy ending? He should’ve known better. He didn’t deserve that, not after everything. But that didn’t stop the feeling of emptiness gnawing at him, the desire to somehow make things right, even though he knew it wasn’t possible.

He thought of you leaving the bar, that soft, final glance you gave him before slipping out the door. The way your shoulders were tight, like you were preparing for whatever pain came next. He stood there, the weight of the night pressing down on him, and for a moment, he thought about letting it go. About retreating to the safety of his room, where everything was clear and simple and detached. But something inside him refused to let it go. Something urged him to move, to follow you, to make sure you weren’t leaving with more than just a hurt heart.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that you were carrying more of the weight of this than you should have been. He should have said something different. He should have been more careful with his words. But more than that—he should have known better.

Spencer’s heart raced as he made the decision. He wasn’t sure why he was doing it. He couldn’t think too much about it—he just needed to fix this.

You didn’t expect him to follow. Maybe you didn’t want him to. But when you turned around and saw him standing there, just inches away, you froze. Spencer didn’t say anything at first. The words felt too fragile, like they might break the delicate balance between what had already happened and what was yet to be said.

“Spencer…” you started, your voice barely a whisper. There was something different in his gaze now, something that made your heart pound despite yourself.

He stood still, his hands at his sides, his eyes searching yours as though trying to find something to anchor himself to. The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating, until finally, he spoke.

He hesitated, as though searching for the right words, his eyes locked on yours. “I couldn’t just… walk away,” he said, his voice low, rough with emotion. “Not when I could see how much I hurt you.”

There was something different in his gaze now, something that made your heart pound despite yourself.

He hesitated, as though searching for the right words, his eyes locked on yours. "I don't know how to fix this," he said, his voice low, rough with emotion. “I can’t walk away and pretend that everything is fine. But I don't know how to make it right."

You felt a pang of vulnerability, but also the lingering ache of those unreciprocated feelings. You tried to keep a steady voice. “What do you want me to say, Spencer? I told you how I felt, and you apologized. We’re good, right?”

His gaze softened for a moment, and then it hardened again. There was something else in the way he stood now, something more raw and unguarded than you were used to seeing from him. He closed the space between you slowly, cautiously, his movements deliberate, as if trying to keep a grip on himself. “I can’t pretend like it’s just… nothing,” he said, his voice a little more strained. “I can’t just forget how much this matters. How much you matter. But I don’t know what to do with that.”

You swallowed hard, not knowing what to say. The truth was, you had always known he was a man of intellect, a man of boundaries, but tonight, in his eyes, you saw something else—something that felt like surrender.

“I’ve hurt you,” he murmured, his breath hitching slightly as he stepped even closer. “I can’t undo that. But I can’t leave things like this, either.”

There was no apology left to give. No easy answers. But it was as if saying it out loud made the tension between you feel more real, more immediate. Spencer wasn’t sure what had driven him to follow you, to stand here now. But he stepped forward, his hand reaching out in an instinct he couldn’t control. His fingers brushed lightly against your arm, and the touch sent a shiver through both of you, as though this moment was the culmination of everything that had been left unsaid.

When your gaze met his again, it was as though you saw something different in him, something deeper than just the man who had hurt you. There was still a distance between you, but now it felt like there was an understanding, unspoken but clear.

And then he kissed you.

Y'all, when I said I liked angst, I meant in fanfictions—not in my life. 🫠

Anyway, here's part 3, I hope you enjoy it. Part 4 is coming soon! 🩷

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throwaway-things · 10 months ago

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In The Silence : part 2

The case had been brutal, the kind that clings to the mind long after it’s over, weighing heavily on everyone’s spirits. It was close to midnight, and you sat alone in the hotel bar nursing a drink, the dim lighting casting shadows across the room. You had tried to sleep, but rest wouldn’t come—not when you knew Spencer was just down the hall, oblivious to the heartbreak he had caused.

You sighed, the memory of his gentle rejection still fresh, still raw. Weeks had passed since that conversation, and you’d done everything possible to focus on work and distance yourself, to bury the ache of his words and the hollow emptiness they left. Yet every time you looked at him, you felt it all over again. It was as though every shared glance, every professional exchange, only served to remind you of what you could never have.

“Can’t sleep either?” A soft voice broke the silence, and you turned to find Spencer standing a few feet away. His face was drawn, exhaustion settling into the delicate lines around his eyes. He gave a tentative smile, one that you struggled to return.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “I guess tonight’s one of those nights.”

He took a seat next to you, and for a moment, the silence between you grew heavy, thick with unspoken words. You could feel his eyes on you, as if he were trying to read your thoughts. If he noticed the shadows under your eyes, the quiet resignation in your gaze, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he simply ordered a coffee, his presence warm and familiar despite the awkwardness that still lingered.

You wanted to leave, to save yourself the agony of sitting so close to him, of pretending that everything was okay. But you couldn’t move. Maybe it was the tiredness, or maybe it was that last shred of hope that refused to die, that somehow being near him would fill the emptiness inside you.

After a long pause, he finally spoke. “Are you… holding up alright?” The question was so soft it almost got lost in the quiet murmur of the bar. There was genuine concern in his eyes, but it only made things harder.

“I’m fine,” you said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “It’s just… the case, I guess. And everything else.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful. “I understand. These things… they can weigh on you.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to look away from him. The last thing you wanted was for him to see through the thin walls you had built, to notice the tremble in your hands or the way your voice wavered with barely restrained emotion.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice cracking. “It just… sometimes, it feels like too much.”

Spencer shifted closer, his presence a silent comfort. “You know, you don’t have to carry it alone.”

You clenched your fists under the table, the words coming out before you could stop them. “But what if I am alone?”

The bitterness in your tone surprised even you, and you immediately regretted it. But Spencer was watching you, his gaze intent, a hint of something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

“Do you really feel that way?” he asked quietly, his voice gentle.

You swallowed, unable to meet his eyes. “Sometimes, yeah. Sometimes it feels like no matter how hard I try, it doesn’t change anything. Like I’m… invisible.”

The silence that followed was heavy, the weight of your confession hanging between you. You could feel the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, and you blinked them back, refusing to break in front of him. Not again.

Spencer’s hand rested on the table, inches from yours. For a brief, reckless moment, you thought he might reach for you, offer some comfort. But he stayed where he was, his expression somber, his gaze full of understanding that somehow only deepened the ache in your chest.

“You’re not invisible,” he murmured, his voice so soft it was almost a whisper. “Not to me.”

The words were gentle, sincere, and they cut deeper than anything else. Because for all his kindness, for all the comfort his presence provided, it didn’t change the fact that he could never feel the same way. He saw you, but he didn’t love you. And that knowledge was a hollow echo that would haunt you long after this night was over.

You looked down, your voice barely a whisper. “But it doesn’t matter, does it? Not when it’s… not the same.”

Spencer’s face fell, his eyes clouded with a sadness that mirrored your own. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. Instead, he simply looked at you, the weight of your unrequited feelings settling between you like a chasm that couldn’t be crossed.

“I’m sorry,” he finally whispered, and those two words shattered what little composure you had left.

You nodded, your heart breaking all over again. “I know,” you replied, voice shaking.

The silence stretched on, the unspoken truth hanging in the air, painful and unyielding. There was nothing left to say, nothing that could ease the hurt or make things right. And as you sat there, alone in the quiet hum of the bar, you realized that some wounds couldn’t be healed with words. Some things were simply meant to be carried, no matter how heavy the weight.

Without another word, you stood, your heart aching with every step as you left Spencer behind, the echo of his apology following you into the empty night.

I’m so glad you guys enjoyed the first part! This one is a bit shorter, but part 3 is coming soon!

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throwaway-things · 10 months ago

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In The Silence Masterlist

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6 (coming soon)

Part 7

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throwaway-things · 10 months ago

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In the silence

The gentle hum of the BAU office buzzed around you, blending with the rhythmic typing of keyboards and the occasional murmur of conversation. You sat at your desk, your heart betraying a steady pace as you stole a glance at Spencer Reid. He was absorbed in a file, his brows furrowed in concentration, fingers tapping lightly on the edge of his desk. You admired how his mind seemed to race, faster than anyone else’s, solving problems in a way that felt almost magical. And yet, as brilliant as he was, you could never imagine him knowing your secret.

You had been harboring feelings for Spencer for longer than you cared to admit. The connection, at least on your side, had grown deeper over time. He was kind, intelligent, and so utterly unaware of the effect he had on you. You were careful—so careful—never to give any hint, knowing that revealing how you felt could change everything. Your heart was fragile enough without risking his rejection.

But Spencer Reid was not like everyone else. He saw things others missed, read people like they were open books. And though you had perfected the art of hiding, you knew, deep down, that no secret was safe from him forever.

One afternoon, while working together on a particularly difficult case, you noticed Spencer watching you out of the corner of your eye. It wasn’t the usual friendly glance, but something more intense. You tried to ignore it, focused on your work, but the sensation of being scrutinized sent your nerves into overdrive.

"Are you okay?" His voice startled you, gentle yet probing. You looked up to find his eyes—those deep, observant eyes—studying you. He wasn’t just asking if you were tired or stressed. It felt like he was asking about something deeper, something unspoken.

"Yeah," you replied quickly, too quickly. "Just focused on the case."

But Spencer didn't let it go. "You've been… different lately," he said softly, almost to himself. "Your body language, the way you avoid eye contact sometimes, the way your voice changes when you're talking to me— its noticeable"

Your heart stopped. He was analyzing you. You’d been so careful, so guarded, and yet, in that moment, you realized it was pointless. Spencer Reid had already figured it out.

"I… I don’t know what you mean," you lied, trying to hold onto the last vestiges of control. But the tremble in your voice gave you away. Spencer leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.

"You don’t have to say anything," he said, his tone so calm, so gentle. "I know."

It was like the world shifted beneath your feet. The secret you had carried for so long, that you had convinced yourself could never be known, was out in the open. You felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly terrified. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you forced them back. You refused to cry in front of him.

Spencer shifted awkwardly in his seat, his face flushed with discomfort. "I'm sorry," he began, his voice soft but laden with regret. "I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression. If I’ve done anything to make you feel—" He hesitated, clearly trying to find the right words. "I care about you, but… not in the way you might want."

The words hit like a physical blow. You were mortified, frozen in place as the blood rushed to your cheeks. Your worst fear had just materialized—he had figured it out, and now he was apologizing. It was worse than any rejection you had ever imagined.

"I—" you stammered, the words dying in your throat as shame engulfed you. You had never meant for him to know. You had never intended to put him in this position, to make things awkward or uncomfortable. But now, there you were, standing in the aftermath of something you had desperately tried to avoid.

Your heart broke, a quiet shattering that left you feeling hollow. Spencer was kind, as you always knew he would be, but it didn’t soften the pain. If anything, it made it worse. His apology wasn’t cruel, but it was final. You wished you could disappear, that you could take back every lingering look, every subtle sign you thought you had hidden so well.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, voice barely audible. You couldn't bear to look at him, the embarrassment too overwhelming. "I… I never meant for you to find out. I never wanted you to know."

Spencer’s brow furrowed, and for a brief second, you thought you saw a flicker of empathy in his eyes. "You don’t have to apologize," he said gently. "I just don’t want you to feel hurt because of me."

But you did feel hurt. Hurt, ashamed, and humiliated. You swallowed hard, willing yourself not to cry, not to let him see how devastated you were.

Before you could respond, the door to the conference room opened abruptly. Hotch stood there, clipboard in hand, looking between you and Spencer with a slightly raised eyebrow. "Briefing in five," he said, his tone all business as usual. "We’ve got a new case."

You felt a wave of relief wash over you. This was your escape. The interruption couldn’t have come at a better time.

"Thanks, Hotch," you mumbled, quickly rising from your seat and gathering your things. You didn’t dare look back at Spencer, afraid that any more eye contact might make your carefully held composure shatter completely.

As you stepped past Hotch, you could feel Spencer’s eyes following you, but you kept walking, grateful that the professional nature of the job had given you a way out. You needed distance—space to breathe, to process what had just happened without falling apart in front of him.

The hallway seemed longer than usual, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the silence. You blinked back the burning sensation in your eyes, your breath unsteady as you hurried toward the briefing room. There was no time to fall apart now. Work was calling, and you had to focus.

When you entered the room, you were greeted by the usual buzz of the team preparing for the case. Morgan, Garcia, and JJ were already seated, chatting about something you couldn’t quite focus on. You forced a smile and took a seat next to JJ, trying to look as though nothing was wrong, as though your heart wasn’t still aching from the conversation with Spencer.

“Hey, you okay?” JJ asked quietly, giving you a gentle nudge.

You nodded quickly, too quickly. "Yeah, just... a long day."

She smiled sympathetically, but thankfully didn’t press further. You were grateful. The last thing you needed was more questions when you were barely holding it together.

Moments later, Spencer entered the room, taking a seat across from you. You could feel his presence immediately, your pulse quickening as you glanced down at your notes, doing everything you could to avoid looking at him. He, too, seemed more reserved than usual, his expression unreadable as he set his file down.

Hotch began the briefing, and for the next hour, you did your best to focus on the case. It was difficult—your thoughts kept wandering back to Spencer, to his apology, to the crushing embarrassment of knowing that he was aware of your feelings. Every time he spoke, the sound of his voice sent a pang of sadness through your chest, a reminder of what could never be.

The following days passed in a blur. You immersed yourself in the case, using work as an escape from the overwhelming swirl of emotions you were struggling to contain. You avoided Spencer as much as possible, though it became increasingly difficult with every passing moment. The BAU was a tight-knit team, and it was impossible not to interact with him. Each time you had to speak to him or work alongside him, the tension was palpable, the weight of your unspoken feelings hanging between you like an invisible barrier.

Spencer, for his part, remained kind and professional. He didn’t treat you any differently, but the subtle shift in your dynamic was undeniable. He seemed more cautious, more distant, as if he, too, was trying to navigate the awkwardness without making things worse. You wondered if he regretted saying anything at all—if he wished he had kept his analysis to himself.

But it didn’t matter now. The damage was done, and you were left picking up the pieces of your broken heart in silence.

Late one evening, after another long day of avoiding eye contact and burying your emotions in paperwork, you found yourself alone in the office. The dim lighting and quiet hum of the computer were a welcome respite from the chaos of the case, but your mind kept drifting back to Spencer. You had tried to push your feelings aside, to forget about that conversation, but it was impossible. The pain lingered, raw and unrelenting.

Just as you were about to pack up and leave, the sound of footsteps approached from behind. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Hey,” Spencer’s voice was soft, tentative.

You inhaled sharply, your heart racing. "Hey," you replied, keeping your eyes fixed on the papers in front of you, pretending to be busy.

There was a long pause. You could feel the tension in the air, thick and heavy. Part of you wanted him to leave, to let the silence stretch between you until things faded back into some semblance of normalcy. But another part of you—one you hated to admit—wanted him to stay.

“I, uh… I just wanted to check on you,” he said quietly, stepping closer. "I’ve noticed you’ve been… distant lately."

You let out a bitter laugh, finally turning to face him. “Distant? Yeah, well… I guess I thought that might be for the best.”

Spencer’s brow furrowed, his expression filled with concern. "I don’t want things to be like this," he admitted. "I never wanted to hurt you."

Spencer looked at you, his eyes filled with that same empathy, and it only made things harder. "I understand if you need space," he said softly. "But I don’t want you to feel like you have to avoid me."

But you weren’t ready for this conversation. You weren’t ready to confront the tangled mess of emotions that had been suffocating you for days. You couldn’t handle Spencer’s kindness, not now. Not when the wound was still so fresh.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, your voice a little too sharp, a little too defensive. You turned back to the papers on your desk, pretending to be engrossed in work. "There’s nothing to talk about."

Spencer hesitated, clearly not buying your attempt to brush things off. "I know this has been difficult—"

“Spencer, I said I’m fine.” The words came out harsher than you intended, and you winced at the coldness in your tone. You couldn’t look at him, not now, not when the shame was still burning in your chest.

There was a long, tense silence. You could feel his eyes on you, searching for something, but you kept your gaze glued to the papers in front of you, refusing to meet his. You wanted this conversation to be over, for him to stop trying to dissect your feelings like they were just another puzzle to solve.

"I don’t want to push," Spencer said quietly, taking a small step back. "But I can tell you’re struggling. If there’s anything I’ve done—"

“Spencer, please,” you cut him off, your voice almost pleading now. "Let’s just leave it."

You didn’t want to elaborate, didn’t want to give any hint of what was really going on. You were desperate to keep everything vague and impersonal, to avoid the emotional discussion that was weighing on you. You needed him to walk away, to let the moment pass without probing further.

Spencer stood there, clearly not fully convinced but respecting your wish to drop the subject. "Okay," he said softly, his eyes filled with concern. "If that’s what you need."

You nodded, still avoiding his gaze. "Yes, that’s what I need."

There was a heavy silence between you, the weight of your unspoken truth hanging in the air. You could feel his disappointment, the unspoken tension that lingered, but you couldn’t bring yourself to face it. Admitting how you really felt would only make things worse. It would only prolong the pain, and you couldn’t afford that.

Spencer lingered for a moment longer, as if he was about to say something else, but then he nodded quietly. "I’ll let you get back to work," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. You simply kept your eyes down, waiting for the sound of his footsteps retreating as he left the room. When the door finally closed behind him, you exhaled sharply, the tension in your body releasing all at once.

You felt sick. Sick with the weight of your own unspoken truth, sick with the realization that you had just pushed him away. The idea of him knowing—of him seeing how much it hurt—was unbearable.

And so, you sat there in the empty office, your heart heavy with the truth you couldn’t bring yourself to say, knowing that, in the end, you were only hurting yourself more.

The following days were still a struggle. You continued to immerse yourself in work, using it as a way to avoid confronting your feelings. Spencer was courteous but distant, respecting your need for space. Every time you saw him, the old familiarity was tainted by the unspoken tension.

One afternoon, as you were sorting through case files in the bullpen, you felt a presence behind you. You turned to find Spencer standing there, a hesitant look on his face.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Do you have a minute?”

You nodded, though your heart was pounding. “Sure, what’s up?”

Spencer took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for what he was about to say. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m here if you ever want to talk. I don’t want you to feel like you have to go through this alone.”

You felt a lump form in your throat. The sincerity in his voice was both comforting and heartbreaking. You had spent so much time trying to distance yourself from him, but here he was, offering support in the most genuine way.

“Thanks, Spencer,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I really appreciate that.”

He smiled, though there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Anytime.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there with a mixture of relief and melancholy. You realized that while you couldn’t bring yourself to discuss your feelings openly, knowing that Spencer cared enough to offer support was a small comfort. It was a reminder that even though things had changed, there was still kindness and understanding between you.

As you went about your work, the ache in your heart was still there, but it was slightly eased by the knowledge that you didn’t have to go through it entirely alone. The journey of healing would take time, but Spencer’s gesture gave you a glimmer of hope that, perhaps, things might eventually find a way back to a semblance of normalcy.

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