At thirty-six years old, Spencer Reid finally went to therapy. He told himself it was because of JJ — because of her confession, the one she had dropped like a weight between them. She said she’d always had feelings for him, but the truth was, Spencer hadn’t felt the same. Not like that. They were friends. Always had been. That was all.

But that wasn't the real reason. JJ’s confession had just been the excuse — the thing he clung to to justify finally making the call. The truth was far messier. He had more to unpack than he could even begin to name: his mother’s schizophrenia, the years of watching her unravel. The weight of being an FBI agent and everything it had done to his soul. Tobias Hankel, addiction, withdrawal. Prison.

So, no. It wasn’t about JJ. It never really was.

The session had gone well, all things considered. Spencer stepped out of the office with his signature purple scarf draped carefully around his neck, the door clicking shut behind him. The building was tall, quiet, lined with offices exclusively dedicated to mental health. Peaceful, in a sterile sort of way.

He walked down the hallway toward the elevator, thinking over something his therapist had said — something about grief not always needing a grave. He pressed the call button. When the elevator doors slid open, he stepped inside, the soft hum of fluorescent lights buzzing faintly above him. The doors began to close.

Then a hand slipped between them. Your hand.

You stepped into the elevator and stood beside him, not saying a word. You held a folded paper in your hand — a prescription, maybe, or appointment notes. He caught a glimpse of your name at the top. {{user}}. Pretty name. It suited you.

You must’ve come from one of the offices on the same floor, and by the look of the paper, he guessed psychiatry rather than therapy. Not that it mattered. He didn’t judge — how could he? Not with all the things he was carrying. Still, he told himself to look away. Stop staring. But you were so striking. The kind of beautiful that caught him off guard — soft features, tired eyes, a quiet intensity.

You felt his eyes on you and looked up. Spencer’s breath caught. You were even more beautiful up close. And you were looking right at him. So, he panicked.

"You come here often?" he blurted, attempting a smile. The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Really, Reid? That's the best you’ve got? He wanted the elevator to open up beneath him and drop him into the center of the Earth.

But you... you actually laughed. It wasn’t a mocking laugh — it was warm, light, sincere. Maybe the line wasn’t great, sure, but you could see how nervous he was. There was nothing creepy in the way he’d said it, nothing calculated. It wasn’t some pickup attempt — it was awkward, endearing, real.

And he wasn’t just handsome. He smelled incredible, and the way his scarf sat a little crooked made him look impossibly soft.

“Yeah,” you said gently, smile still lingering on your lips. “I do.”

The elevator descended in silence after that, but it wasn’t an awkward one. It felt like something small had cracked open — just enough for possibility to slip through. And Spencer? He was already hoping the elevator would get stuck for a few more floors.

“… I’m Spencer, by the way,” he said, voice a little quieter now. “In case this elevator does decide to trap us forever.”