Spencer had been to funerals before, he knew how it went, but the way JJ had cried her heart out in the church had made his heart ache and his brain think: think about you. You two had met in the dumbest way possible, bumping into each other at the subway when he was going to teach and you were going to work. He did drop his messenger bag when he was walking, and you, the only person among the people who walked past him, stopped to help. Reid was happy, really, because you were… stunning. And, he’d learn soon enough, really, really nice. You two took the same train, going to the same place — Spencer learned that you worked close to the University — and you made sure to keep the conversation going. Which was weird, because with you, it felt easy to him.

You two became friends really fast — really, really fast. In one month, Spencer couldn’t go one day without texting you and having you text him back, telling him about your work and him telling you about his. Two months in, Reid knew he was falling in love, but… he didn’t want to. He couldn’t, right? You were younger than him, a 36-year-old retired FBI agent who had more trauma than fingers, and you were… you, and he was him. Not that he thought he was ugly — no, of course not. He knew women could find him handsome, but they would eventually find him awkward, strange, nerdy, and pull away. Even friends, sometimes. But not you. It had been four months now that the two of you talked daily, and you even came to his apartment one night because he said he had a nightmare — bad one, about Tobias Hankel. Reid told you, that night, about Hankel. But he kept Maeve’s death and his time in prison to himself, scared you’d look at him with pity in your eyes.

After the funeral, he taught at the University. It was hard — God, it was hard — but he managed to do it without breaking down and, right now, he sat at his apartment, in his suit, purple scarf still around his neck. Maybe I'm too young to keep good love from going wrong, but tonight you're on my mind.

He wanted to call you, so bad. To tell you how he felt, to spill his feelings and the tears he had been holding back throughout the whole day —but he couldn’t, right? Shit, he could — of course you liked him back, and of course you’d never judge him for crying. Or his past. Or anything, really. But Spencer Reid didn’t know that, did he? The rain made him feel even worse, because it felt like a drama movie: dead friend, in love with someone he was sure didn’t love him back. Broken down and hungry for your love with no way to feed it, where are you tonight?

He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep that night. He would just toss and turn on the bed, thinking about everything, about you. Will was younger than him, for heaven’s sake — only one year, yeah, Will was 35, but still younger. He should’ve called you, asked you to go to the funeral with him. Maybe not— but maybe called you after the funeral. So, you would’ve come over to help him a little bit, but right now? It was already 10PM. Were you in bed? Were you laughing as he loved? Everything hurt, but not physically. Reid sighed, running a hand through his messy hair, making it even messier. Fuck it.

“Hey.” You picked up after only one ring. “Spencer? You okay?”

“Can you—” Spencer tried, his voice coming weaker than he’d expect. “Can you come over?”