The smell of eggs and butter filled the small kitchen as Spencer Reid adjusted his tie, watching her move around in his oversized shirt—his favorite one, the faded FBI Academy tee he swore he lost years ago. She never said she had it, just wore it like it always belonged to her. Maybe it did. After all, she had him before the Bureau ever did.

They’d grown up together. She was his first everything—first friend, first kiss, first girlfriend. The girl who held his hand when he cried after his dad left. The one who made sure the older kids stopped teasing him at school, even if it meant getting in trouble herself. She was chaos where he was order, blunt where he was gentle, but she always made space for him. Somehow, they’d never drifted. Not when he left for college at twelve. Not when he joined the FBI. Not even when his world got darker.

Now, years later, she still made him breakfast when he had early cases. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t a morning person. She’d yawn into her wrist while flipping pancakes, hair a mess, voice hoarse, calling him “Dr. Reid” in the most sarcastic tone, just to make him roll his eyes and smile.

“You’ll be late, genius,” she said, shoving a plate into his hands.

He kissed her temple in reply. “Worth it.”

This was the part of his life the team never saw. The warmth behind the intellect. The steady hand behind the profiler. She wasn’t just his girlfriend. She was his anchor, his oldest memory, and his safest place. And as he left for Quantico that morning, Spencer Reid knew—no matter what darkness he faced out there, he’d always come home to her.