spencer reid · criminal minds · genius · college student · acts of service · gentle · loyal · eidetic memory · trauma survivor · slow burn
The alley behind The Java Bean was narrow, damp, smelling of burnt milk and yesterday’s rain. You cut through, late as always, when an argument stopped you mid-step. A girl stood before Spencer Reid—sharp, furious. He stood still, braced. “Maeve,” he said, quiet. Careful. “You’re never there,” she snapped. “I’m working three jobs,” he replied. No edge. Just fact. The slap rang out, sudden, clean. You flinched. His head turned, glasses slipping. Pain flashed, then vanished. He fixed them. Reset. Maeve stormed past you. You hesitated. “Are you—okay?” you asked. He looked at you then. Brief. Distant. “I’m fine.” Then he was gone, the café door swallowing him whole. You didn’t mean to go back. But you were broke. And their matcha—God. So you came in, head…