𝑺𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒓 𝑹𝒆𝒊𝒅 𝑶𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒔

Unspoken Words

Spencer Reid sat hunched in his usual chair at the BAU office, his weary fingers tracing the rim of his half-drunk coffee cup as though its faint warmth could offer some solace. The evening had bled into night, and the hum of the fluorescent lights was the only company in the otherwise empty bullpen. His mind, usually racing with the complex nuances of criminal behaviour and hidden patterns, was instead tangled in a web of thoughts he couldn't seem to untangle.

And it all started with her. Y/N.

She had arrived at the BAU months ago, an enigma wrapped in the quiet grace of someone who had seen more than her fair share of life's shadows. When he first saw her, she seemed like a ghost from a past he had yet to live, as though she had stepped from the pages of a forgotten history, bringing with her an aura of something ancient and tender. Spencer had never been one for impulse, never given to the whims of emotional whims, but something about her disrupted the careful order of his world.

Her hair, dark and smooth as midnight silk, always seemed to catch the light in a way that left him mesmerized, as if each strand were alive with its own story. Her eyes—ah, those eyes—were something he couldn't quite describe. They were pools of quiet depth, the kind that seemed to reflect more than just what was in front of her. When their gazes met across the room, it was as though she was peering into him, searching for something hidden deep within. It made his heart race, this unspoken understanding that seemed to exist only between the two of them, as though their connection had always been there, just waiting to be recognized.

But no words had ever been exchanged. Not the ones that mattered, at least.

Every day, Spencer tried to tell himself it was nothing more than curiosity—an irrational fascination that he would soon tire of. After all, he was a man of logic, a man of reason, a man who thrived on the predictable patterns of the world. Emotions were supposed to be something he could control, but every time she was near, he felt himself unraveling, thread by delicate thread.

He watched her, of course. He couldn't help it. The way she moved through the office with effortless grace, the way her laughter rippled through the air like the softest of melodies, as though she existed in some secret space between time and reality. There were moments when their eyes would meet, and he would feel a magnetic pull, a force he couldn't explain. But still, he remained silent, afraid of shattering the fragile thread that bound them together, afraid of speaking the words that had been lodged in his chest like a stone.

One evening, as the rest of the team left for the night, Spencer found himself alone in the office once again. His gaze flickered to the clock on the wall—2:15 a.m. He hadn't noticed how late it had gotten. His mind, though exhausted from hours of analysis, remained sharp with a relentless energy, an energy that was now fixated entirely on one thing: her.

The room was quiet now, save for the soft clicking of keys as Spencer typed a few last notes into his case file. But then the sound of footsteps echoed from behind him, a soft, rhythmic cadence that broke the stillness like a whisper in the dark.

He turned, his heart lurching in his chest as he saw her standing there, framed in the doorway. Y/N.

She was dressed in a simple blouse and jeans, but to Spencer, she looked like something from another world. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall of midnight, and her eyes, those eyes, were wide with a quiet intensity. She was looking at him with something he couldn't quite read—something that made his breath catch in his throat.

"Spencer," she said, her voice a soft melody that seemed to echo in the stillness of the room. "Are you heading out?"

Spencer's voice faltered as he looked at her. For a moment, it felt as though the entire world had narrowed down to just the two of them, and in that space, time seemed to stretch and fold. He cleared his throat, trying to mask the tremor in his voice. "Yeah, I— I think I'm just about done for tonight."

She stepped into the room then, her presence warm and quiet, yet commanding in its own way. There was a certain stillness to her, a sense of serenity that made everything else fade into the background. Spencer could feel the pull of her energy, the way it seemed to draw him in without any effort at all.

She moved toward the desk, sitting across from him without a word. For a moment, they simply looked at each other in silence, the air between them heavy with the things they had never said. It was as though the room itself had held its breath, waiting for something to break the stillness.

Y/N broke the silence first, her voice barely above a whisper. "Spencer... do you ever think about... what might happen if we never speak the things we feel?"

His breath caught in his throat at the question, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. He had been waiting for this, hadn't he? Waiting for some sign, some moment when the dam that had held back everything he felt for her would finally break. But even now, with her sitting there before him, so close he could feel the heat of her presence, he didn't know how to speak it.

His fingers trembled slightly as they hovered over the desk, his mind racing to keep up with the whirl of emotions that were suddenly threatening to overwhelm him. The logical part of him wanted to push away from the table, to retreat into the familiar confines of his mental safety net. But something within him, something deeper, urged him to stay. To listen. To let her words—their words—flow freely.

"I think," Spencer said slowly, his voice cracking under the weight of the truth he had buried for so long, "we end up living in this quiet space between what we want to say and what we're afraid to say. And I... I think I've been living there for a long time."

Y/N looked at him, her eyes soft and knowing, as though she had already understood this part of him. "What are you afraid of, Spencer?"

He exhaled shakily, the question hitting him harder than he expected. What was he afraid of? Everything. The vulnerability, the risk, the possibility of losing everything if he dared to speak the words.

"I'm afraid of breaking what's already here," he admitted, his voice barely more than a murmur. "I'm afraid that once we say it, once we make it real, we'll lose what we have—whatever it is."

For a moment, Y/N was silent, her gaze never leaving him. And in that silence, Spencer could feel something shifting—something delicate, like a fragile thread being drawn taut, waiting to snap or unravel entirely.

Then, she moved closer. Not quickly, not urgently, but slowly, with a quiet grace that made Spencer's heart stop beating for a moment. Her gaze softened, and she leaned forward, her voice barely audible.

"Maybe," she whispered, "we're already lost in it, Spencer. Maybe it's not about finding the right moment. Maybe it's about letting go of the fear that holds us back."

His heart hammered in his chest, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Spencer allowed himself to feel the weight of her words. The distance between them, though physical, had always been more than just the space of the room. But now, it felt as though something had bridged the gap, something unspoken and yet profoundly real.

He reached out, his hand trembling, and for a split second, he thought she might pull away. But instead, she reached out too, her fingers grazing his just enough to send a shockwave of warmth through him. The contact, so small and yet so significant, sent his mind reeling.

And then, in the quiet dark of the office, with the night stretching endlessly before them, Spencer felt something break—something inside of him, something that had been locked away for too long.

He didn't know what would happen next. Didn't know if there were words for what had just shifted between them. But in that moment, as they sat in the stillness, fingers barely touching, the world outside faded away. In the quiet dark of the office, the moment hung between them—fragile, full of possibility, and yet, just out of reach.

Hellooo everyone, its been a while hasn't it. Nearly two years! I hope you're all doing well, I don't know if people still read this anymore but I thought I would publish an old chapter I've had saved for a while. If people are still reading I will more than happily get back into writing, just let me know.

Have a wonderful morning/evening/night and I hope to see you all again soon 

Mae xoxo