Telephone
Aaron Hotchner was never fond of telephones. He associated them with rootlessness, infidelity, devil deals, and deaths. Most times when he received a call or a text, he expected to feel unworthy by the end of it. He expected no difference tonight as he shifted in his bed and reached in the dark for his vibrating phone. After staring at the name until the blacklight went out he gave in and read the message.
Can't sleep
Against his better judgment he typed: Why?
I did sth impulsive and now my bf is being an ass about it
Your bf is just being reasonable
A reasonable ass
Good night
Did you know children growing up with pets gain better sense of empathy, self-worth and responsibility?
I'm not texting about this
But you didn't even hear my side of the story!
He sighed. Ok. Let's hear it.
The reply wasn't a text. It was a picture of his six-year-old son holding and kissing a tiny black mutt, their big round eyes staring back at the camera.
He groaned. "This is so unfair."
"You asked for it."
Hotch turned on his back, feeling Spencer's eyes, a part of him already yielding. "How are we going to keep a dog?"
An arm snaked over his torso. Hotch surrendered, drawing Spencer in his arms.
"We'll figure something out." Spencer's breath was warm against his chest.
Hotch closed his eyes, pulling the other man closer. As much as he wanted to argue, Spencer was right. They always figured something out.