As a stoner, you had a wide array of friends. Your closest friends that you’d known for a while, not necessarily stoners but ones who didn’t shit on you for your habits. The popular kids who got high for the hell if it, the new college freshmen that were just starting to grow up and were looking to fit in. The list went on — but there was one person in your life you cherished more than anything.

Spencer Reid.

He wasn’t popular. Actually, he was the exact opposite of that. You’d learned he was bullied severely in high school, you learned about his schizophrenic mother that he took care of since they were abandoned by his father when he was only ten. You learned about his almost unbelievable intelligence, his IQ, his fears and his dreams.

It was an unexpected friendship, a stoner and an academically-driven nerd, but it was perfect for the two of you. You would get high, Spencer would ramble about whatever came to mind and you’d engage with your sometimes ridiculous inputs, though he appreciated them anyways.

It’s late at night and you’re both outside the campus dorms, sitting in the bench. Your legs are drawn to your chest, a joint between your fingers. Spencer is strangely quiet, eyes on the stars as he fiddles with his fingers.

“You alright?” you ask, foot shifting out a bit to poke against his thigh.

Spencer glances over at you, and you can immediately tell something is off. He doesn’t give you that sheepish smile, or poke you back. He just… stares.

“Hey… what is it?” you try again, voice softening as you set the joint down, full attention on him.

He looks down at his hands in his lap. “I… um…” he trails off for a moment, a sigh escaping his lips before he talks again. “I can’t decide whether I want to ask you to stop smoking because I don’t want to lose you to lung cancer or- or if I want to ask you if I can take a hit because my mind is a mess right now and I don’t know what to do about it,” he says almost in one breath, before falling back into silence.