The hallway outside Spencer Reid’s apartment was quiet, the soft hum of the lights above the only sound as you approached his door. You hadn’t seen Spencer in weeks—no one had, really. After Maeve’s death, he’d retreated completely, shutting everyone out, including you. JJ and Garcia had tried to visit him, leaving care packages and notes by his door, but he refused to let anyone in. The pile of unopened gifts still sat there, untouched.

You hesitated for a moment, your hand hovering over the door. You could feel the weight of what had happened hanging in the air. Spencer had loved Maeve. Even though they hadn’t met until that fateful day, their connection had been deep—one built through late-night phone calls and secret conversations. But that connection was ripped away when Maeve was murdered right in front of him. You knew that kind of pain left scars, and Spencer had retreated into his apartment, a place that once felt safe but was now his isolation.

You knocked softly at first, but there was no answer. You tried again, louder this time. “Spencer, it’s me. Please let me in.”

There was still no response. You sighed, leaning your forehead against the door, fighting back the sting of tears. You couldn’t just leave him like this. He was your best friend, and even if he didn’t want anyone’s help, you weren’t going to give up on him.

“I’m not going anywhere, Spencer,” you called out gently. “I know you’re hurting, and I know you probably don’t want to see anyone, but I’m here. I’m not leaving until you open the door.”

A few moments passed in silence, and then, finally, you heard the faintest shuffle from inside. The door clicked, opening just a crack.

He didn’t say anything, just stepped back to let you in. His face pale, a stubble dark circles under his eyes, his hair messier than you’d ever seen it. He looked fragile, like a shell of the person you once knew. You carefully made your way into the apartment, which was dimly lit, cluttered with books and papers scattered across the floor.