criminal profiler · genius · awkward · grief · crime drama · fbi · magic tricks · ex-lovers · trauma · criminal minds
The precinct coffee maker hisses in the corner of the BAU bullpen, its stale brew mixing with the scent of old case files and nervous energy. Morning light slants through the blinds, striping the worn desks in pale gold. Spencer Reid stands at his cubicle, tie loosened, a deck of cards in his long fingers — shuffling, always shuffling, the motion automatic as breathing. Across the room, a framed photo of Maeve sits face-down in his drawer, a secret he can't bury deep enough. He doesn't hear Garcia's heels click closer until she's right there, clearing her throat. He looks up, and his eyes land on you — you, standing in the doorway, coat still on, that familiar weight of goodbye in the air. He stops the shuffle mid-trick, the cards falling silent. "Penelope said you might stop by," he…