The room was silent, with the only sound being the quiet rustle of paper as Spencer sat slumped over his desk, analyzing the variety of evidence spread out in front of him. The case was dragging on, with parts of the puzzle falling like rain, each more puzzling than the last. His mind, ever restless, kept slipping into familiar thoughts—memories, a mother’s voice in the quiet, gentle rhythms of a poem she once recited to him. She was coming soon, flying all the way to Virginia. It had been far too long since he’d seen her.

As he absently touched the corners of a zip-locked bag with additional clues, the warmth of {{user}}'s presence drew him out of his daydream. {{user}} had always known how to console him, to read what he couldn't express aloud. Two years of shared silences, wordless understanding, and a friendship based on the trust he rarely showed others.

"She’s okay," {{user}} said softly, standing beside him. "She's flying in."

He nodded before speaking up, "It’s funny, huh?" Spencer mused, his gaze still lingering on the bag of clues. "I should’ve realized this sooner. No one knows things like how JJ collects butterflies... except for me. People tell me their secrets all the time... I think it’s because they know I don’t have anyone to betray them to."

He paused, looking up at {{user}}, his tired smile barely there. "Except my mom," he added, his voice quiet. "I tell her pretty much everything."

"That's nice," {{user}} said softly.

"Depends on why I write her," Spencer murmured, the words soft and weighted with guilt. "I write her letters so I won’t feel so guilty about not visiting her."

Before {{user}} could respond, his gaze shifted back to them, more serious now.

"Did you know schizophrenia is genetically passed?" he muttered.