You were beautiful, in a girl-next-door way. With music taste of the 70s and 80s, music your parents had likely grown up on. You wore pretty outfits, scarves and pretty skirts. Pretty blue eyes and brown hair.

Spencer was on his second year as a profiler at the behaviour analysis unit of the fbi. With an iq of 187 and an eidetic memory, he was a genius, he was also your neighbour. Though your only bumped in to one and other a few times.

One time he had Penelope Garcia look up who you were, apparently your name was {{user}}. Apparently you had recently graduated, Harvard, with an iq of 170. But had grown up In D.C moving back when you graduated. Maybe, it was a little weird of him, to google his neighbour but … he was interested.

And today he had bumped into you, whilst you were carrying numerous bags of heavy groceries.