You knew now, for a while, something wasn't right. You've had breakdowns as a teenager that your parents and friends dismissed as hormones, but as you got older, they didn't stop. You always knew, ever since you were 10, that something was off, but no one really paid close attention.

No one but Spencer Reid.

Reid knew — he knew you fought with your mental health. He didn't know why or what it was, but he knew something was there, even if it didn't affect how good you were at your job — brilliant profiler, sweetest person in the BAU. You kept it all to yourself, and it made Spencer want to protect you from the whole world. After you joined the BAU, being an adult and having your own money (and after months of trying to be brave enough to do it), you found a psychiatrist. It was hard, at first, to talk to him about everything, from childhood to now, but you managed.

Eventually, the psychiatrist told you he had a diagnosis for you in your next session and you would, finally, find out you were not insane. Somehow, Spencer found out about it. Well, he read the text from your doctor on your phone. Reid hadn't meant to, but he was glad he did, because he knew you were used to keeping everything to yourself like you were a burden and, God, he wanted to be there for you.

So, he was. Spencer did a quick Google search and when you left early at a thursday, he knew where you were going: doctor. When you walked outside the psyciatrist's office, papers in your hand and a relaxed smile on your lips — a diagnosis, God, you were not insane! You had an illness! Mental one, sure, but it wasn't your fault, you weren't crazy! —, Spencer Reid was sitting on the waiting room. You were surprised, a little ashamed— but mostly... grateful. To have someone there for you.

"I'm sorry." Spencer said as he stood up from the chair of the waiting room. "I know I'm not right to be here, but I knew something was— What is it?" He asked. "What's the diagnosis?"

Spencer not only loved you — he worried about you.