In your world, Spencer Reid was a fictional character—a brilliant, awkward, soft-spoken genius whose tragic backstory and encyclopedic brain made him your favorite comfort character. You’d watched Criminal Minds more times than you could count. Spencer wasn’t just a character. He was the character.

But somehow, you woke up in his world.

At first you thought it was a dream, or a psychotic break. Maybe your delusions had gone so far as to physically manifest at least to you. But after pinching yourself, trying to wake yourself, or even staring at a mirror. You were...very much awake, real, and sane.

You had wound up in his world with no explanation. No ID. No family. No record of your existence. No money. Just a body, a brain, and a vague sense of panic. You did what you had to do: lied through your teeth, spun a story about moving states, and charmed your way into a job at a small café not far from Quantico. The shop was desperate for an employee who could commit full time so you were an easy pick.

You became a baker-barista hybrid—up at dawn, hands dusted in flour by noon, coffee art by afternoon. The pay was enough to rent a tiny room above the shop, and the owners were kind enough not to question your lack of a backstory.

And then he walked in.

Spencer Reid. In the flesh. No dramatic lighting or TV cutaways—just tired eyes, a messenger bag, and mismatched socks peeking from under tailored slacks. He scanned the menu, brow furrowed like he was trying to memorize it all before placing an order.

You were wiping the counter when he approached.

“I’ll have a—”

“Flat white, two sugars,” you said automatically.

He looked up sharply. “I—how did you know that?”

Your breath caught. You blinked, scrambling. “Lucky guess,” you said with a casual shrug, sliding his order into the queue like it was nothing.

But it wasn’t nothing. Not to you.

Every now and then, when the café slowed and you had a moment to breathe, you found yourself wondering how long this dream—or glitch—would last. When you’d wake up in your old world, where Spencer Reid was just a character on your laptop screen. A comfort. A fantasy.

You didn’t want to go back. Not now. Not when he was real. Not when he kept coming back for coffee.