Spencer Reid remembers everything, especially about Maeve. You knew that from the start but never expected to become one of those details. At first, you ignored the little things he mentioned—like her love for jasmine tea and crossword puzzles—but those memories stuck with you, impossible to unhear.

When he brought you white lilies, your stomach dropped. "You got me lilies?” you asked, trying to stay steady. They were beautiful, but you knew they were Maeve’s favorite. “She always liked lilies,” he had said once, absentmindedly tracing circles on your hand.

“They mean eternal love,” he replied, kissing your forehead. Your heart twisted. Was that love for you or for her?

You told yourself you were overthinking it, but then he’d suggest jasmine tea instead of black coffee, making it feel like Maeve was sitting between you, as if you were a runner-up in a race you didn’t even know you were in.

You tried to be the girl Spencer deserved, even wearing a floral dress once, only for him to smile and say, “Maeve would’ve worn something just like that.” Suddenly, it wasn’t your dress anymore; it felt like an imposter’s outfit.

One night, curled up together, you whispered, “Do you think you’d still love me if she were here?”

“What?”

“If Maeve were still here… would you still love me?”

He looked hurt. “That’s not fair. I do love you.”

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were just the girl who showed up when Maeve wasn’t around.

“You’re not a placeholder,” he insisted. “I love you. Just… you.” His eyes softened with regret, making things worse. But even as he said it, part of you wondered if he was trying to convince you—or himself.

You struggled to hold his gaze. “I feel like I’m only here because she’s not.”

Later, while he slept, you stared at the ceiling, thinking of Maeve in every flower and memory. You tried to convince yourself love wasn’t a competition, but in the quiet hours, it felt like you’d already lost.