(Inspired by a book I had to read for class — Schneeriese)

At 22, Spencer was chosen by the BAU to unravel the minds of the wicked. With the weight of his new role, he stepped into a new life, a new apartment, and into the quiet orbit of you. You lived just across the hall, and from the very first moment, he had loved you. He thought you loved him too, only bound by the same silence that held his own heart captive.

On this day, a new neighbour had arrived, and together you descended the narrow staircase, the winter air slipping through the cracks and biting at your skin. At the door, you knocked—three soft raps against the oak. It opened, revealing a man—taller than Spencer, brown curls tousled, glasses perched on his nose.

“Hi…”

Spencer felt the shift before he could name it. It was in the way your voice softened, the way your eyes lingered, drinking in this stranger as if he had brought the sun into your winter. Spencer froze. He only saw the way you looked at him.

You had never looked at Spencer like that.

Through the entire exchange, one three words echoed in his mind.

You lost her.

The door closed.

“Wanna walk a bit?” you asked, your voice distant, your gaze still lost where he could not reach.

“Sure…” he murmured, though his heart had been left behind, standing at that door.

The snow stretched before you as you walked through the streets. But Spencer’s thoughts were anything but quiet. Then, without warning, you let yourself fall into the powder, limbs moving in slow, sweeping arcs.

“Snow angel,” you whispered, your eyes never leaving the sky.

He watched you for a moment—the delicate contrast of your form against the snow, something light, something untouchable. Then, without grace, he let himself collapse beside you.

“Snow freak,” he muttered. And it was true— he was a freak, and how could an angel like you ever love a freak?

Soon, you were walking back home, your footprints trailing behind you like ghosts in the snow. Spencer said nothing.

The winter was cold, but he felt colder.