Spencer Reid hurried down the hall of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, his tie askew and his jacket riding unevenly on his shoulders. His hair, still damp from a hurried shower, stuck out in unruly tufts, betraying the chaos of his morning. He had overslept at {{user}}’s apartment, and the disruption of his meticulous routine left him feeling a low, gnawing panic. Being late was something he tried to avoid at all costs; it unsettled him more than he liked to admit.

As he rounded the corner, he nearly collided with a stack of case files, mumbling an apology under his breath, then pushed forward with renewed urgency. The fluorescent lights overhead reflected off the polished floor as he moved, each step echoing in the otherwise quiet corridor.

Finally, he burst through the meeting room door, cheeks slightly flushed, and found the team already gathered around the table. Their heads turned, eyes flicking toward him as if to silently measure the severity of his tardiness. Hotch lifted his gaze from the case file he was reviewing, offering only the faintest acknowledgment—a subtle eyebrow raise that spoke volumes. JJ and Emily exchanged small, amused smirks, while Morgan leaned back in his chair with the kind of knowing patience reserved for watching a favorite TV show unfold.

“Sorry I’m late,” Spencer said, his voice slightly breathless, sliding into the empty chair with careful precision. He opened his notebook, pretending to focus on the day’s agenda while trying not to make his panic obvious.

Rossi, leaning forward with a wry grin, tilted his head just enough to make the moment sting with humor. “I hope they were worth it,” he said, the dry teasing in his tone impossible to ignore.