countless encounters || spencer reid

s e v e n t e e n // blush

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Now, one week after he had brought up the courage to kiss Violet, Spencer still feels the blush on his cheeks and the hot sensation on his chest, where her pale ring covered fingers had rested on top of his scratchy sweater.

Currently, he sits in the bullpen, swaying from side to side in his swivel chair and drumming a pen on his knee.

I think it would be better if you left now, Spencer. I think it would be better if you left.

Violet's words echoed in his mind.

Spencer was embarrassed, and he still is. He doesn't understand why she leaned in to connect their lips at first and how she kissed him back the second time, allowing him to feel wonderful, happy, brilliant even - only to rip his heart out seconds later. He still isn't sure why she did that and he probably should see all the warning signs but he couldn't bring himself to it.

He misses her - the way she scrunches up her nose when she laughs, her voice that sounds like hot honey dripping from a spoon into tea, her cinnamon and old-book smell and the taste of coffee on her lips and looking into her eyes, oh god, her eyes and her cold hands that write words into her journal and felt good resting on his upper arm and her black jean covered legs with the hole where one of her knees is, revealing her soft skin.

But she pushed him away and he knows he should give her space and that's what he is trying to do now.

He took a tram earlier when he went to work and bought his coffee from another shop this morning, the usual white to-go cups with the black rim now replaced by a brown cup with a white rim that stood on his desk, half full and still remotely warm.

He wishes he could send her a message right now, just like every day since the kiss.
He found himself wanting to text 'thanks for the coffee' on that same night, a simple 'good morning' to sort of break the ice that had formed again ever since their last encounter, or a 'good night', or 'I really like you Violet', maybe even 'I miss hanging out with you and Charlie' to sort of play it cool.

But he didn't and he doesn't.

It was just like the way he feels towards that journal of hers that he found after he had been encapsulated by her the first time and she left it behind for some reason that was still unknown to him and that had only one page with her writing on it- he just couldn't give it back to her somehow and carries it with him at all times ever since he first picked it up, not able to help himself but check every few hours if it was still there.

learn from the sea in winter / freezing: /protecting the ground on the surface / with a mirror.

Is that what she was? Cold, overprotective of not getting herself hurt and hurting others in the process? Reflecting parts of others to not reveal herself- hiding behind a mirror?

Spencer doesn't believe it.

He thinks, maybe, it's just some sort of cover up.

He looks outside of the window, it was still cold outside, there was snow falling but it wasn't cold enough so one could see the flakes melting as they were still in the air.

Maybe she just wants to look tough, like a frozen sea in winter but cracks as soon as you put your whole weight on it on particuar parts..

Spencer stopped swaying in his chair, putting the soles of his shoes flatly onto the ground. He reached inside the pocket of his jacket that was hanging on the back of the chair and fished out his phone.

To: Violet

I'm sorry

-S