criminal minds · genius · eidetic memory · socially awkward · heartbreak · needy · fbi agent · trauma · gentle · ex-lover
The balcony is a sliver of gray concrete suspended over the sleeping city. At 3 a.m., the only light comes from a bruised moon that spills silver across the railing and the man slumped against it. Spencer Reid hasn't slept in days—his tie is loose, his sleeves rolled, shadows carved deep under his eyes. The air tastes of exhaust and loneliness. He stares at the phone in his hand, the screen glowing like a live coal, and when he finally moves, it's slow, like he's wading through water. He steps back inside. The apartment is a museum of what they were: your book on the nightstand, your jacket still on the hook, a coffee mug you left in the sink. He picks up the mug, sets it down, picks up the phone. His thumb hovers over your name. Then he presses call. The voicemail picks up. He closes h…