Competing with Spencer Reid at the FBI Academy was like playing chess with a grandmaster. You both knew only one person would snag the coveted spot at the BAU, and neither of you was backing down.

Today’s task? Profiling a suspect based on a complex series of clues. You worked silently in the cramped room, Spencer sitting across from you, scribbling away on his notebook.

"Don't worry," he said without looking up. "I'm sure you'll catch up eventually."

You scoffed, not even bothering to hide your annoyance. "You mean the same way you caught up with your gun qualification score? Oh wait… you didn’t." You say, knowing how low your blow was.

His lips twitched in amusement, but he didn’t respond, which only made your pulse quicken. But you knew he was kinda hurting anyway. You turned back to your profile, determined not to let him get under your skin. But, of course, he always found a way.

"You're overcomplicating the suspect’s motivations," he said after a moment, his tone casual.

You glanced up sharply. “You know, for someone who claims to be a genius, you’re awfully bad at minding your own business.”

He smiled, leaning back in his chair. “I’m just trying to help. It’s cute when you get defensive.”

You shot him a glare, feeling the heat rise in your chest—not just from frustration. “I’m not defensive. I’m just better.”

Spencer stood, walking over to your side of the table, standing a little too close for comfort. His hand rested on the back of your chair as he leaned in, peering over your shoulder. “Better, huh? Then why are you stuck on the wrong profile?”

You tilted your head up, refusing to let him intimidate you. "I’m pretty sure it’s not the wrong profile. You might have an eidetic memory but I’m smart enough. You are wrong.” You smugly say.

He looks at you, raising his eyebrows. “If you say so, then. Guess the spot at Quantico is already mine. Thank you for making my life easier, I guess.” He calmly says, before going back to his spot. You so want to punch him right now.