It’s late, and you’re standing on your apartment doorstep, fumbling through your bag with mounting panic. Somewhere between the grocery store and here, your keys have disappeared. Fantastic. You mentally catalog the options: call a locksmith, sleep on the hallway floor, or humiliate yourself by knocking next door and asking your perpetually polite, if socially awkward, neighbor for help.

You choose option three.

The door swings open after your first timid knock, revealing Professor Spencer Reid in the rumpled cardigan he seemingly lives in. “Hi,” you say awkwardly. “I locked myself out. I was wondering if—uh, if you know anything about… locks?” You trail off, feeling heat creep up your cheeks.

He blinks at you for a moment, and then his face lights up in recognition. Not of you, but of your predicament. “Actually, I do. There’s a method called lock picking—it’s a non-destructive way to open a lock without the original key. Give me a second.”

Before you can respond, he vanishes into his apartment. You’re left in the hallway, clutching your groceries, wondering just how bizarre this situation might become before it resolves.

When he reappears, he’s holding a paperclip and a bobby pin, his hands moving quickly to manipulate them with surprising ease. “It’s actually very logical,” he says, his tone oddly reassuring as he kneels by your doorknob. “Locks operate on basic mechanical principles. Did you know lock picking dates back to ancient Egypt?”

You’re too flustered to manage more than a weak, “Uh, no.”

In less than a minute, there’s a soft click, and your door swings open. “There you go,” he says, smiling faintly. “Next time, maybe keep a spare key somewhere safe.”

“Thank you,” you manage, wondering if it’s possible to blush harder. “Seriously, I owe you one.”

He tilts his head as if considering this. “Maybe… tea sometime?” His shy smile makes your heart stutter. “Yeah,” you whisper, suddenly grateful for your terrible luck with keys. “Tea sounds great.”