Rom-com Gone Wrong (Hotch x Reader)// ✔

11. Try not to Lose it

Summary:

A talk with Hotch, another day working alongside him and the promise you make yourself: to not lose it (your mind, your temper, or your cool)

Notes:

sry yall had a mini breakdown over some dialogue w this one, hence the late update lmao but longer one!!

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Hotch's room is nice.

It's spacious despite it being relatively cheap for a hotel in this location. You look at it with a cold-sort of judgement, like a real estate agent would assess a house. Clinical, almost. Your wandering eyes scan for livability: his suit jacket on a hanger outside the doors of his wardrobe, his polished shoes by the side of the door, his phone and some files over the table.

You try not to glance at the elephant in the room, so you shift your attention to the small chair and desk corner. It feels a bit – and it's even ridiculous that it's where your mind goes – like the first time visiting a man's place for an overnight stay. You're very aware of your body moving through his space, and how you would fit in it.

Hotch's room is distractingly nice, and it's why you haven't paid attention to a word he's been saying since you walked inside. It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the room itself but how it offers a tiny insight on his daily habits, how he carries himself out of work – and an even tinnier window into domestic Hotch.

The mahogany furniture is nice too – like the wardrobe, the desk, the two identical small tables by his –

Nope. No, you're not looking there. Anywhere else but there.

The door to his bathroom – unlit, and bringing in a faint smell of something sweet and rich like shower soaps – is open. His go-bag is empty, discarded in an open shelf of the wardrobe. God, you squeeze your eyes shut, he gets to be clean and ordered in every single aspect of his life? Unfair. How are you even supposed to keep up?

Right – you're supposed to listen to him, out of decency. He's talked about what – the weather? The time? The lack of windows in the conference room they're working in at NYPD? And how good it is to be able to be out? Wait – did you miss hearing him complain?

"...please take a seat." You zone in in time to hear that suggestion and you follow it like an order, sitting on the chair. "Would you like something to drink?"

Scratch that initial thought. Any person who's ever invited you to sleep over has never been this formal. You want to kick yourself because you can't control the path your thoughts take: Would Hotch act this way with an overnight guest as well?

"______" he says your name suddenly, bringing you out of your fantasies. He points at the small fridge you'd failed to see when snooping around – eyes only.

"I have water" you notice only now how much softer Hotch's voice is at this hour, inside this room. "I think there were a few sodas in there too. And well... alcohol."

As soon as the last word comes out of his mouth you both wince of how much of a bad idea that would be. Though probably for entirely different reasons.

"Soda?"

"Yeah, definitely" you hurry in answering. Hotch bends down and takes out two cans of coke, and hands you one.

You have to refrain from placing the ice-cold can directly on the nape of your neck. Or against your cheekbones, only to make the flush of heat go away. Hotch sits down on his bed – yes, at last, the bed. Amidst your erratic thoughts you've failed to take in consideration that there aren't many alternatives at present to sit down and chat in a small room like his. So now, because he's there, and it is directly in your eyesight, you can't avoid it anymore.