The Story That Didn't Want To Be Written | Spencer Reid x Reader

Normalcy

Warnings: Descriptions of homophobia, mention of sexual assault, mentions of drug use/relapse. 

Getting ready for work at 5am on a Monday after five weeks of being out of the game was brutal. You stared at yourself in the bathroom mirror through squinting eyes. Your hair was the normal kind of morning frizzy, your mouth felt cold because of the lingering taste of mint, and Spencer had opted to tie his tie in your still dark bedroom because the light was bothering his head.

Tucking your white blouse into some plain gray slacks and tying up your hair into a high poly tail that ensured it would remain out of your face throughout the day, you turned off the light in your bathroom and walked back into your still dark bedroom, the beginnings of the sun rise were beginning to show through your half open curtains and you could see Spencer smoothing out his tie, running his fingers along his waistband to make sure his sage green shirt was tucked in all the way without bunching up.

Satisfied with how his clothes laid against his skin, he rolled his neck a little bit before turning to face you, opening his arms as a silent invitation to enter his space. You walked toward him, entering his embrace and relaxing into his chest as his arms wrapped around you and pulled you tightly into him. You felt his chin lay gently on the top of your head before he kissed your hair softly, briefly moving one of his hands up to his face to adjust his glasses that were sliding down his nose.

He held you for a few minutes before you both accepted that you should be getting to work. After grabbing his keys and both of you grabbing your bags, Spencer locked the apartment as he closed the door and led you to the staircase that would lead you down a few floors until you eventually reached the lobby.

The morning air was cold, not having been rewarmed by the heat of the sun rays to come just yet. It felt right, mornings at 5:30 were supposed to be cold and a little dark, you were grateful that you were going to have somewhat of a gradual start to your day- or at least, the most gradual start an FBI agent who hunts serial killers and is on the lookout for their abductor can have.

On your drive to work, Spencer sat with one hand resting on the gear shift so you could place your hand on top of his. You mindlessly ran your fingers over the veins on the back of his hands, gently letting your nails trace over each of his fingers. His go-to classical music station was filling the car with the soft sounds of string orchestras, he was breathing rhythmically on the downbeats of the piece that was playing and silently calculating the odds that the two of you would hit every green light until you got to work.

Things were good.

You two made it to work three pieces and two red lights later. Janice perked up when she saw you walk into the building. The lobby was swarming with new faces, you figured they were probably new agents for the first five floors. She gave you a small smile as you quickly flashed your badges to her and walked with Spencer to the elevator.

The ride up to the sixth floor seemed different than it normally was. It seemed- longer, full of expectations.

You couldn't pinpoint why you all of the sudden felt this crushing weight on your shoulders, a pit burrowing itself deep into your stomach.

Spencer looked over to see the slightly confused glance on your face, your eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly in contemplation, highlighting the beginnings of a little crease right between them. He bruised his hand against yours so lightly it almost seemed like an accident. You thought it might have been before he took your hand in his fully, intertwining your fingers and rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb. You squeezed it lightly for a moment in appreciation, and Spencer felt a smile dance across his face after the small action.