"Spencer, I have a favor to ask you," I said nervously. Spencer Reid looked up at me curiously.

"What?" he asked.

"I want you to come with me to get my tattoo," I said, hurriedly, and then clamped my mouth shut, fearful of the rejection that I knew was coming.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because this is my first one and I'm afraid it's going to hurt and I don't want to be alone and I didn't know who else to ask. Please, Spencer?"

"Yeah, of course," he agreed. "I don't mind."

I breathed a sigh of relief and smiled.

"Thank you so much," I said. He smiled back at me.

Two days later, we were in the tattoo parlor, and I was terrified. We both looked out of place, Spencer more than myself, with his nerdy genius look. I had an appointment and I sat down in the chair, filled with apprehension as I discussed my tattoo with the artist. He looked down at my slip of paper, the scrawled word written on it, and nodded. I indicated my left shoulder for where I wanted the tattoo, and shed my shirt as he prepared to do it.

"Are you excited?" Spencer asked.

"I'm terrified," I said. He shot me a small smile.

"Alright, (Y/N), you ready?" the artist asked. I looked over at Spencer.

"Spence, I know how you feel about...germs and hands and whatnot, but could I..."

Miraculously, he seemed to catch onto my awkward social cues, because his expression softened as he nodded and extended his hand to me, tangling my fingers with his own long, slender ones, a comforting and reassuring weight in my hand.

"Thanks," I said.

"Of course," he replied. I nodded at the tattoo artist.

"Yeah, I'm ready," I confirmed. I tensed as I felt the tiny needles prick my skin, and caught Spencer watching me, looking uncomfortable.

"Are you alright?" I asked him.

"Yeah, I just...are you okay?" he asked. I smiled slightly and squeezed his hand.

"I'm okay," I replied.

When the tattoo was finished, the artist stepped back.

"Done?" I asked.

"Yep, all good. You want to see?" he asked. I looked over at Spencer.

"Why don't you look first?" I asked. He hesitated, but peered over my shoulder nonetheless at the new tattoo on my back.

"(Y/N), is that my handwriting?" he asked. I nodded.

"Yep," I replied, popping the 'p' sound as he stared at me in astonishment.

"You wrote the word down for me when you taught it to me, and I loved it so much that I wanted it to be my tattoo."

"Eunoia," he whispered.

"Mmhmm,"I hummed. "Beautiful mind."

"I'm honored and stunned," Spencer said. "I didn't realize I meant that much to anybody."

"Well, you do to me," I said simply. "I loved the word, and I loved that you taught it to me. It's like having a little piece of you with me all the time."

"I'm...you could have more than a little piece," he blurted, and I laughed, raising my eyebrows at him.

"Is that so?" I asked, and he nodded hesitantly.

"Well, how about we go get coffee and we can figure that out then?" I suggested, and watched as Spencer's face split into a bright, wide smile.

I was so glad I'd brought him with me.