Spencer Reid | Oneshots

Moonlight ❣️ (M)

Summary: Spencer tells Reader's boyfriend how she really feels.

A/N: Based on "She Don't Love You" by Eric Paslay and "Moonlight" by Future Islands.

Content Warnings: Thoughts of cheating (almost kissing), physical altercation, men arguing, jealousy, break-ups, angst with a hopeful/ambiguous ending

——————————————————

Spencer once explained crackling fire to me. Unlike his usual rants, he spoke slowly and calmly enough that I was left hanging on his every word. Despite our mutual exhaustion and our bodies being curled carefully in front of the fireplace, he insisted on providing me my own private lesson.

He told me everything about the trees. About how they survive by carrying water through xylem vessels, and how when we end their lives early, the water waits with the wood. It seeps through the microscopic pores that litter the logs and clings to it for as long as it can.

As the wood cracked and spit, I wondered why we took pleasure in the sound. I wondered why it was comforting to watch the two be forcibly separated and both devoured in the destruction.

My heart had broken then, watching as something so powerful consumed the lives of water and wood and left only ashes and smoke. I'd held tighter to the man behind me, hoping that he wouldn't part with me so easily. Hoping that he would sooner burn with me than let me go.

Unfortunately, things didn't work out that way.

That night, there was no one there to hold me through the cold. I leaned into the fire despite its cries. I winced with it as my palms began to ache from the heat, and I eventually withdrew them when it came to be too much. Even that made me feel guilty; like I'd failed to stand witness to the destruction of something I'd once found almost beautiful.

"Is everything okay?"

I immediately leapt from my seat on the cold tile, reaching for the holster on my hip even though it wasn't there. The muscle memory was only slightly less humiliating when I saw who the voice belonged to.

Spencer stood with his hands up in feigned fear. He laughed, with his eyebrows high and his smile wide.

"I surrender?" he mocked when he confirmed that I was holding nothing but blankets and pajamas.

"God, Spencer. You scared me."

"Sorry," he snickered.

I ignored the fact he clearly wasn't apologetic at all because I didn't want him to leave. That was the same reason I forced myself to fit as small as possible on the loveseat in the remarkably quaint Alaskan lodge.

Spencer followed exactly as I'd hoped he would, taking the seat beside me and the corner of the blanket that I offered him. A silence stretched between us along with the fabric, and as uncomfortable as it was, I didn't really want that to end, either.

There was too much to say, and I was so tired.

"It's late," he interrupted per usual.

"You're still up," I retorted with my own subtle scoff. I could feel his eyes roaming over me as I stayed with my knees tucked close to my chest and my nail kept tight between my teeth. I tried to resist the call of hazel and honey.

But I was weak, and he was beautiful.

When I turned to look at him, his attention finally settled on my own restless, tired eyes.

"You know me," he mumbled pitifully, "I can't sleep when I'm cold."

I should have sent him away then. I should have offered him my spot on the couch in front of the fire or offered him another blanket rather than myself, but I didn't. My body was crawling over to him on instinct, seeking out the source of comfort and heat that it had wrapped itself around for so many wonderful nights.