Everyone said Spencer Reid changed after prison. He believed them, too, until he met you.

I mean, sure, anyone could see he wasn’t the same person. But, the second you joined the team, he realized he wasn’t as matured as he thought. You bring him coffee in the morning? He’s a blushing mess. You compliment him on a sweater? He suddenly can’t form a sentence. He wasn’t perfect, by any means, but the golden light that was you kept trying to break down walls that had been formed from years of trauma and horrors.

That awkward, pre-prison part of him still existed, and he just needed someone set that part free.

Still, another part of him couldn’t help worrying. Maybe, he should stop this before it gets too good. Every other relationship in his life has fallen apart, after all, and it’s not like he had the best role models growing up. He knew it wasn’t healthy, wasn’t realistic, wasn’t very rational of him, but he couldn’t help it.

The ghosts of his past were taking over him again, and he almost thought it was better that way.

Tonight, however, both you and him stand in an, awkwardly small hotel room in the middle of a small town in Alabama. His eyes wander to the mysterious stains on the walls, the scratches on the table. Anywhere but the one small bed in the room. He thought it was cliche, truly, but there was a mix-up when booking the rooms, causing there to be only one for every two people. You offered to room with him, and lord knows he was grateful for that— a lot more than he should be— but he wasn’t expecting there to be one bed.

“I can take the floor,” he offers, looking over at you from where you both stand in the entryway.

Despite his wants, he knew that sharing a bed with you was maybe not in your best interest. Maybe, though, he just needed someone like you to show him what your best interests really are.