Chapter Text
"YOU NEED TO LEAVE."
Since when did your life come to this?
You weren't sure what to make of when the words softly left his lips. The words weren't exactly pronounced in a way that the urgency was prominent, but you could still sense the weight of them as you stared into the dark walls of his bedroom, sprawled out across the bed of this foreign man you had spent the past two hours with.
What was his name again? Stephen? Sean? Or was it Sebastian?
It definitely started with an S.
Your eyes slowly made their way toward him, eying his tall figure as he carefully walked over to his drawers. He awkwardly tripped over a piece of your clothing which lay on the floor before mumbling some incoherent words. He shot you a dubious look past his shoulder and turned his body away, quickly grabbing the first thing he saw on top of his pile of clothes.
His sudden modesty seemed amusing to you when it was barely minutes ago you had shared the sex-induced fantasy of sharing body heat between complete strangers. It was as if he wasn't the one thrusting above you, eyes glazed in desire and mouth open in ecstasy, reaching the peak of his high with your legs wrapped around his narrowed waist.
Surely he hadn't forgotten all of that?
You prompted yourself on your elbows and found the piece of clothing he had grabbed in his haste was a pair of brown pants and a nice clean dark shirt. You watched him again and under your scrutinizing gaze, he backed away even further.
His sudden discomfort should've offended you, but it didn't. Somehow it intrigued you how much he was trying to be oblivious of everything around him—the lustful tryst that took place moments ago. The naked woman under his covers. The sudden shrill of his phone ringing on the bedside table.
The latter seemed to catch his attention as he glanced at the source of sound with an alert expression. He crossed the room and quickly answered the call.
"Yes?" There was a muffled reply from the other end before he glanced at you staring at him with curiosity. He cleared his throat again and shot you a look. "I need to take this."
You shrugged. "Sure."
You saw him hesitate for a split second before slipping out of his room, throwing a short reply to the receiving end of his call that didn't go unheard. "Yes, Garcia, I have company." More mumbling. "What? I'm not answering that..."
His words were cut off as he closed the door behind him, leaving you to grasp the situation you had put yourself in.
Having a one-night stand wasn't something you often did. You weren't sure it ever happened again since your freshman year of college when sleeping with a senior at a raging party would solidify your college experience. It seemed right at that time. It was what everybody was doing and your innocent mind believed it was a good idea to expand your nonexistent romantic life.
New place, new experience, new beginnings.
The experience wasn't so bad. Brandon Wallace—who was now happily married according to his recent social media post—wasn't exactly the best lover you had, but he also wasn't that bad. It was the awkward moment after the endeavor that made you avoid any repeated situations with somebody you barely knew.
Which was why you were questioning why you had let that exact avoidance happen tonight, Why you stepped into your favorite bar on a random Wednesday night and laid your eyes on the awkward man sitting a few stools away from you.
Maybe it was the way he seemed out of place. Wearing a crisp blue shirt and a vest over it, he sat in a poised manner while constantly wiping down the bar counter with the napkin he seemed to keep requesting the bartender for.
You were there because you needed the kick of alcohol to calm down the stress from your current work assignment. Jamison, your strict boss who didn't take no for an answer, was starting to make you consider the act of murder. But committing such a heinous crime wasn't exactly nifty, so alcohol was the safe bet.
And thus, what was he here for? The cold beer sitting in front of him was barely touched as he looked around the room in a very uncomfortable manner.
Maybe the fact that you were sitting in an almost empty bar had loneliness wash over you, or maybe it was the alcohol finally kicking in, that you found yourself making your way over to him. You were only going to greet him, introduce yourself, and remark on how he stuck out like a sore thumb when he clearly was trying to keep to himself.
The bar lights cast a golden halo that enveloped his head in their radiant glow. You slid beside him, tipped your drink towards his way, and gave him a simple smile.
He shifted in his seat and turned sideways, throwing you a questioning look. Up close, his features became distinct—his chiseled jawline, the half-hidden intensity in his eyes, and the tousled mass of brown hair crowning his head. It was evident he was uncertain about how to respond to your unexpected presence, but he didn't seem to mind.
You sat there, your lips inching wider at the frown forming on his brows. How could someone be awkward yet adorable at the same time? You were about to introduce yourself when he suddenly sat forward, threw you a hesitant smile, and slowly asked, "Do you have any change?"
The random question startled you. "Excuse me?"
"I... I need to pay for my drink."
You shot him a ludicrous look, not sure you were hearing him right. Was he really trying to ask a stranger to pay for his drink? So much for spending the night with what looked like good company. But before you could counter your disappointment, he extended his hand and, with a swift, almost magical motion, revealed a ten-dollar bill from the back of your ear.
"Never mind.” He waved the money in front of your face and cleared his throat. “Found it.”
You blinked, once, twice, trying to comprehend the past few seconds. Then, a broad grin spread across your face, mirrored by a shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
His attempt at an introduction based on a silly magic trick tugged your heart in a way that had you leaning closer, fingers tracing across his other hand that rested on the table. You didn't know what had impulsed you to be so brazen. It was very unlike you to show interest in the opposite sex, but here you were, touching the warmth of his skin.
But then his breath hitched and your stomach dropped. What the hell were you thinking? Touching a complete stranger without consent as if you were trying to maul him in public.
You shook your head and backed away, an apology already hanging at the tip of your tongue when he suddenly leaned in and wrapped a hand around your wrist. Though the gesture was seemingly innocent, his touch sent a surprising warmth coursing through your skin. You met his gaze, and that same bashful smile lingered on his lips and relaxed at the warmth radiating from his body.
And then the rest was history, to say the least.
Yet even after the travel from the bar to his place, after the haste of removing each other's clothes, and after the post-orgasm that left you both satisfied—although to be completely honest, you would've been more satisfied if he'd given you a second orgasm—you were starting to question your decision.
You finally threw his covers away and slipped out of his bed. You picked up all your clothing scattered around the room and slowly dressed yourself as you carefully tried to listen to the conversation in the other room. But all you heard was muffled voices, and deciding that you couldn't pick out his exact words, you tuned out his voice and smoothed down your hair with your fingers.
Feeling more presentable, you stepped out of his room and finally took in the personal space he lived in. Now that you weren't preoccupied with unbuckling his belt, you realized how dark his apartment actually was.
There were stacks of books lined up on the walls and scattered papers lying around every corner. He clearly wasn't a clean freak. Although he did seem to dislike public spaces, and honestly you couldn't argue with that when your mind considered the sticky, sugary residue that coated the floorboards and every other surface of the bar.
His hushed voice sounded aggravating and you turned to find him standing in what looked like his kitchen, his back facing you. Not wanting to interrupt him, you decided to look around your surroundings, eying the few framed certificates hanging on one side of his walls. There were a lot of certified achievements he was definitely very proud of with his name glorified on each frame.
Dr. Spencer Reid.
His name was Spencer!
A chuckle escaped your lips. Remembering names was never your strong suit. But hold on—doctor Spencer Reid?
Your eyes widened with curiosity, but before you could indulge in it, the sound of approaching footsteps drew your attention. Swiftly, you turned away only to see him entering the room, his gaze fixed on his phone, his expression unreadable.
"Bad call?"
Spencer—it was nice to finally put a name on him—abruptly looked up. Gradually, his expression softened, and he stashed his phone away in his pocket. "Not really, it was a work thing."
You raised your eyebrows. "You still work this late?"
"I don't exactly have a scheduled working hour."
There were a lot of questions you wanted to ask. What kind of work did he have to be getting calls this late? Why was he inside that bar when he clearly looked like he didn't want to be there? Was he really a doctor? And why did he look so adorable with that frown across his face?
There was something strange and hollow in his eyes that you couldn't quite put on as his hand rubbed over the back of his neck. The palpable awkwardness hung in the air between you, prompting you to break the silence.
"So..."
"So..."
You let out an awkward laugh. He, on the other hand, started to fumble with his words as he suddenly spoke, "Did you know that awkward silence is the result of a disconnect between people?" You peered up at him curiously. "When there is nothing to say, or maybe one person feels uncomfortable in a situation and doesn't know how to respond."
You blinked in confusion. But he wasn't finished.
"Statistically speaking, 80% of communication is nonverbal, whereas 20% is verbal. So in a way, silence can also communicate just as much information as speaking does. It is used to express anger, sadness, excitement, and other emotions. It can also create tension in a conversation or release it..." He trailed off before letting out a sigh. "I'm rambling, aren't I?"
"You most definitely are," you confirmed. "Where did that suddenly come from?"
He averted his gaze, a faint blush tinting his cheeks. "I have an incredibly active imagination. It—uh, it leads to a tendency for me to ramble as my thoughts are constantly flowing."
"And you just know all these random facts?"
"I have an eidetic memory."
"You don’t say?" Your sarcastic remark was followed by a deliberate glance at the framed achievements adorning his wall. You then shifted your gaze back to his perplexed expression, letting out a sigh of exasperation. "Look, I'm not better at this than you are. Let's just... I don't know, thank each other? Say goodbye? Shake our hands?"
His eyes lit up as another piece of information filled his brain. "You know, the number of pathogens shared during a handshake is staggering. It's actually safer to..." He trailed off again and suddenly gulped, mentally kicking himself when he realized the fact he was about to share. "...kiss."
A smirk involuntarily tugged at the corners of your lips. "Is that so?"
He absentmindedly nodded as his eyes glanced toward your mouth. You instinctively took a step closer, noticing the tension in his body as he quickly looked away. This man had just flirted with you using an adorable magic trick, had his head between your thighs minutes ago, and reached an earth-shattering orgasm... yet he had the audacity to act all flustered.
You should probably leave. That was what he wanted moments ago, wasn't it? The words came out of his mouth the moment he checked his phone before jumping out of bed at lightning speed to dress his naked body. He needed to be somewhere. He had this somewhat confidential work he had to do.
Yet somehow he was warm and your hands were surprisingly very cold. The heat radiating from his body called out to you and without registering what you were about to do, you softly placed the palm of your hands on his chest.
You were internally screaming when you inhaled a sharp breath, his scent suddenly engulfing your senses. He smelled slightly sweet with a hint of spice; a woody, earthy musk that was mixed with his natural scent of sweat and hormones. You peered up into his eyes, traveling down to his cheekbones before they rested on his lips. A riot of emotion burst inside you as you saw his tongue flicking out and holy shit—you just stared at him, completely, utterly enraptured.
Your focus was on his hot breath against your mouth, his lips a mere inches away from yours. He was so near that you could almost discern the rapid rhythm of his heartbeat. You could feel him everywhere, his hard body flushed against yours, his head moving closer to you, and—
Then his damn phone started to ring again and all your senses went to alert. You quickly took a step back.
Now that was your cue to leave.
And it was a pity because whether you liked it or not, a part of you wanted to stay. But that was not an option. He wanted you to leave and you needed to do just that. You needed this to be a one-time thing.
Because there was never going to be another time. The moment you walked out the front door, you were back to being strangers. You would go back to your life and he would go back to his, probably back to his seemingly not-so-normal job with the way he described his working hours. Or the lack of it, anyway.
As his phone ceased ringing, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He reverted to his usual awkward self, while you tried to maintain your composure. Although your heart raced, and you felt just as flustered as he did, you couldn't afford to let him see it, especially when it appeared he was on the verge of kicking you out once again, for the second time.
You were too busy oscillating between stunned, mortified, and turned on. You refused to blush. You refused to appear even an ounce embarrassed.
His phone rang once more, and he appeared flustered, uncertain about what to do. You helped him decide by grabbing your bag that was conveniently hanging by the couch. "I should probably go."
You knew you were slightly disappointed, but you'd be damned if he knew the truth. Your mother used to describe you as a spiteful person ever since you were young. But then again, was it so wrong to feel that way? You figured you were just evening the misery out. If something was making you unhappy you felt it was your right to bring at least equal measures of unhappiness.
It seemed relatively immature, but you didn't feel like caring, especially how your night had turned out. You took a deep breath and worked out your pettiness.
"Thank you for tonight... Stephen."
He suddenly tensed. "It's Spencer."
You studied the frown on his face. God, you were evil. You would probably regret this childish behavior of yours, although that was something you could deal with later. The very least you could do now was to give him a proper goodbye before you turned your back towards him for good.
"Well, good night, Spencer."
You weren't sure he even remembered your name or whether he was just as petty as you were. It was more likely the latter considering he had an eidetic memory. "Good night."
You gave him a final nod. He answered by throwing you an awkward wave, a tight-lipped smile, and an even deeper frown as you finally slipped into the cold air.