in which spencer comes home late and you dance in the living room like a couple from the 40's... because, y'know. it's cute.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
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.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
it was getting very late, but it's not like you aren't used to it. ever since he started with the BAU, late nights not only plagued him on cases but also you at home. sometimes you find it unusually fitting, how well the two of you mirror the other- even when it comes to getting sleep. the clock was stretching its hand farther and farther, reaching for midnight like it was winning a race. you sat on the couch in an old pair of plaid pajama pants and one of spencer's old sweaters; it was a forest-like green with little yellow patterns, and it was just a bit big on you. you tended not to fit in all his clothes because he's quite the skinny one, and you happen to be more full- but things like sweaters and coats always cloak you nicely, and that's good because you like to feel small in his things. in fact, during the times you doubt your appearance you just slip that sweater on and take a deep breath. it's one of the things he likes most about you, actually. if you asked, he'd tell you that not only are you prettier than anyone that's ever lived and ever will live- simply because he's biased from his love towards you- but he's glad you're not stick thin, because there's more of you to hug. he's too sweet, you think.
the grey plush blanket buried you into the broken-in couch, and you hummed along softly to the music you kept on during the night hours of his absence. whenever he's gone and you feel lonely, you plug in your phone and shuffle the playlist of old songs; he doesn't listen to music much, but when he does, it's always tunes from before his time. frank sinatra, ella fitzgerald, natalie cole- all the classics and then some. he's an old man at heart. ironically, he kind of dresses like one, too. you let yourself get swallowed up to the soothing sound of 'somethin' stupid' by frank and nancy sinatra, and you closed your eyes, hoping he would walk in the door any minute. he called a few hours ago saying he would be back late, and you didn't mind, but you were getting sleepy now and didn't want him to walk in on you and have to wake you up. he always feels awful when he has to do that.
you took a sip of the water on the side table next to you that had turned warm long ago and listened to the lulled mixture of sad little love songs and the creaky silence of your shared apartment, and buried your face in the wooly knit of his sweater and waited. it seems your wishes have been granted, though, because only two more songs later did the lock click and swing open to reveal him. he was quite disheveled and exhausted, but it was him, and you felt like you could finally breathe again.
"spence!"
he dropped his bag on the floor and opened his arms wide as you scurried over, reaching up to twist your own around his neck; you were on your tip toes, but you didn't bother to care. he was there after too many days of being away, and you would stand on your toes forever if it meant he'd hold you like this.
