Spencer Reid: Oneshots

Missing You

Summary: Spencer struggles to move on after he and Reader split.

The words house and home are synonymous. They both technically mean a place for human habitation, but it feels like there's a difference. A house is simply a structure, a little dot on the globe, somewhere where a person goes to eat, sleep, repeat. A home is a warm and inviting place where a person and those they love can feel secure...

But Spencer didn't learn to understand that difference until it was too late.

He woke up that morning, no locks of hair in his face or sprawled arms and legs on his chest. As annoying as it could be to have you practically lay like a starfish on top of him, he wanted nothing more than to wake up in a mess of sheets and pillows with you.

But you weren't there, simply the lingering scent of the shampoo you used on the pillow.

He got out of bed, heading into the kitchen. Spencer's eyes darted to a variety of objects. The coffee mug you both painted on one of your first dates still on the drying rack, the empty raspberry container poking out of the recycling after you ate it in one sitting, the little stain of chocolate icing you forgot to wipe up from the floor after making a mess while baking, the only thing Spencer could see was you.

He brushed away the images, turning on the coffee machine.

"I'll never understand how you like that stuff." You slid the coffee cup to him.

"I like bitter tastes."

"I'm all for a lemon or something, but that is just gross."

"Says the one drinking iced coffee in December."

"And what about it?" You tilted your head.

Spencer laughed to himself. "Nothing."

"That's what I thought." He adoringly gazed at you, not even drinking the coffee in front of him.

Spencer shook his head, dumping the brew into the sink and returning to the bedroom. He opened the closet, flipping through button ups, suit jackets, and sweater vests to find something suitable enough to distract from his clear lack of sleep. He paused, holding a baby blue cardigan in his hand.

It was your favorite.

You claimed it worked for classy and "trashy" situations and therefore wore it everywhere. He held it to his chest far longer than he should've, the familiar scent of your perfume calming him down in a strange way. He folded it up, placing it back in neatly and grabbing a shirt.

He gingerly made his way into the bathroom, exhaling at the sight. The glass cup with two brushes had decreased to one. The toothpaste was neatly to the side, but you had always forgotten to put it away and left it cap-less. Little stains from spilled lip gloss that were difficult to get out appeared every once in a while on the counter top, reminding Spencer of just how sweet and inviting your lips had always been.

He couldn't bring himself to wipe away the small spot.

"Stay still!"

"Y/N—"

"I said still!"

"This is—"

You gasped, the small bottle of gloss falling and spilling out onto the countertop. "Spence!"

"Shit," he murmured, quickly picking it up.

You wet some toilet paper with water, wiping it off. "Good enough." You grinned at your boyfriend. "The makeup looks great."