Contact Comfort
Spencer Reid x (gender neutral) Reader
Warnings: None, really? Emotional hurt/comfort and sorta like a touch starved deal doing on, but it’s pretty thoroughly fluffy and sugary-sweet.
A/N: For the “bed sharing” square on my @cmbingo card!
Title is from the referenced psych study, because I’m a dork.
“One sec,” you call, wincing at how thick and nasal your voice sounds.
You wipe your cheeks hastily as you sit up. It’ll be obvious anyway, though; wouldn’t take a profiler to notice your tear tracks and blotchy face.
It’s Spencer. Of course it is — because he’s the last person you want to see you like this, when you’re all snotty and puffy and gross.
His eyes go wide and solemn when he sees your face, genuinely distressed. There’s that empathy again, the too-big heart that everyone seems to overlook in favor of his big brain. You love him for it.
Well, you love him for a lot of things.
“Hi,” he says quietly. “I was going to just ask if you were okay, but… I guess I don’t actually need to ask now.”
You let out a watery little chuckle. “Guess not.”
“You want some company?” He looks hopeful, almost, and then seems to catch himself, dropping his gaze with a shrug. “I understand if you just want your space, though.”
If it was anyone else, you absolutely would not want company right now. But it’s Spencer, so. You pretty much always want him around.
“I was just about to turn on some shitty TV because it felt too quiet in here, honestly. Company would be really nice.”
He gives you a quick twitch of a half-smile as he steps past you, and after you close the door, there’s a pause where you both stand there and look at each other, Spencer suddenly shy as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, in a thin unhappy voice.
“Not really. Just… one of those days. One of those cases.”
“Can I do anything to help?”
You hesitate, because it seems like such an immature thing to say out loud, but you’re too tired to be anything other than honest.
Spencer’s expression goes all soft and sweet, and your cheeks feel hot under the drying salt water as he steps closer. He wraps his arms around you, and you bury your face in his chest and try to inhale. Your exhale is a ragged little shudder, and you fist both hands in the back of Spencer’s cardigan as you cling to him, feeling raw and sensitive and so very young.
He lets out a quiet, shaky sigh of his own, squeezing you tighter.
