1. could you remember
Dear Spencer Reid...
I’m leaving you this apartment to stay in while I am gone, which may be for a while. I’m going to be honest, the accident you were in was my fault. I could’ve done so many things to prevent what has happened to you, but it’s too late to change anything now.
You used to know who I was. I don’t want to make you confused, so I won’t go into any particular detail about our relationship. I just want you to know that I will always cherish the time we spent together... I’ve never loved anyone like you before.
My heart aches to write this. I will never forget what we had. It’s for the best that I spend time with my family. I can’t live with you in Virginia right now, it would only hurt the both of us.
Thank you for everything, and have a great first day back at work.
You felt several tears dribble down your face as you finished writing.
You planned on coming back in one week. You wanted him to have time to adjust to the apartment without you there. You knew how overwhelming it would be for him to suddenly have a girlfriend that wallows around sobbing because he can’t remember her.
Well, it wouldn’t be your normal life without a little bit of heart-being-ripped-out-of-your-chest-ness going down.
You folded the letter carefully and tore a piece of tape off of your roll, sticking it to the edge. You placed it on the edge of your desk to put on your shoes and wipe your tears, and then picked it up again. You left the study and sniffled as you passed through the living room, towards your suitcase. You stuck the letter on the back of the door and clicked the lock on the top of your suitcase handle, extending it upwards.
“Till we meet again, apartment 305.” You chuckled at your statement. You’d be back soon.
But it felt like you were letting the past year go.
Chinese take-out every night, the janitor closet rendezvous, Hawaii, talking about marriage..
All down the drain.
THREE DAYS LATER
Spencer unlocked the door to the apartment, pushing the door open with his foot. His arms were full of work files, his dinner, and two new books.
His books almost slid out from under his elbow as he made his way into the kitchen, but made it towards the counter before he dropped anything. He rearranged his items so they were neat, and walked back to the front door to close it.
As Spencer shut the door and hooked the lock chain across the upper side of the door, he noticed a beige piece of paper taped over the peep hole, about the size of a regular notebook sheet. He curiously peeled it off of the back of the wooden door and unfolded it delicately, admiring the neat handwriting. It brought an oddly familiar warmth to his chest.
“Dear Spencer Reid..” Spencer mumbled, shuffling to the couch as he continued to read. He relaxed on the plush cushions of the corduroy couch and pushed his glasses up his nose a little.
You used to know who I was.
Spencer’s lip twitched.
I’ve never loved anyone like you before.
“Then why did you leave?” Spencer whispered to the letter, his grip slowly crushing the sides of the paper.
It would only hurt the both of us.
“You don’t know that...” Spencer lifted his right hand from the edge of the letter and brought it to his face, dragging it down. For a second, he kept his hand at his chin. These words captivated him.
“Is that what you were? Mine?” He felt tears prick the corners of his eyes. He didn’t even know who wrote this letter, but he wanted to find out.
A number was listed below the small paragraph, and Spencer hesitated from grabbing his phone.
Did he want to call?
“Do you want to hear from me? Or did you block my number?” Spencer held the letter to his chest, and turned to look at the coffee table next to the couch. He had set his phone down on it before finishing the letter.
His left hand slowly inched towards his phone which was screen down, and he picked it up, typing the number into his contacts. Only one match came up, presenting all of the contact information, as well as a saved profile picture.
Spencer stared at the small profile picture. “Is this us?” He questioned, pressing the edit photo option to enlarge the picture.
It was an image of him with a beautiful sunset in the background, and an equally stunning person next to him.
“Is that you?”
The only image that wasn’t wiped from his phone.
Spencer’s first new memory of you.
He left the letter on the coffee table and went into the kitchen, taking a place at the island and unpacking his dinner. He had gotten some lo mein from the take-out spot down the street, along with some dumplings. As far as he had known, he was used to eating by himself.
Spencer dug around in the bag and pulled out a pair of chopsticks for his food, hesitating as he opened the package.
Did he know how to use these? He pulled them out of the paper covering and snapped them apart, his fingers gingerly moving them into place, almost like muscle memory.
It was almost impossible for anyone to teach him how to use chopsticks, let alone hold them.
But somehow, he knew how to now.
The thought questioning his chopstick-holding expertise faded as he ate and flipped through his work files, reading up on the past cases that took place over the last two years.
He couldn’t stop thinking about your face.
Who were you?
You didn’t know how long you could last here.
You felt like you were stuck in high school again, dragging your fork mindlessly around your plate. You hadn’t eaten since you left Virginia.
“You should eat, y/n.” Your mom spoke quietly, her own fork and knife squeaking against her plate. You pushed your plate away from yourself.
“I can’t do it.” You abruptly stood from your chair and left the kitchen, jogging up the stairs. You began walking up the second flight as your ankle began to ache, and stopped at your old room’s door. It creaked as you opened it, and swung closed itself as you entered the bedroom.
Your old bedroom was the furnished attic of the house, and it was unnecessarily large. When you were a teenager, you were the girl that everyone wanted to be friends with. It was only because your parents were doing well. You had a big room, and the kitchen was kind of nice.
Is that what really drew people in?
You had real friends now, but you still couldn’t believe teenagers cared about big fancy houses so much. You didn’t even give it much thought until now.
You just wanted someone to understand you.
You had someone that understood you.
And you took him away from yourself.
You dragged your feet across your soft patch rug that covered half of your hardwood floors, and sunk into your queen sized bed. The large comforter smelled faintly of roses and a little bit of vodka.
The vodka smell was from last night, though.
You were very bad at coping with your emotions. It was like untangling a knot out of a thin chained necklace. Where could you even start?
Should you just leave your emotions be? Let them just unfold on their own?
You rolled onto your back and looked up at the slanted ceiling of the room, which was covered in band and movie posters. They were all curled up at the edges, but managed to stay sticking up.
“How can I be like you?” You spoke up to your posters. They were old as fuck, but they kept their shit together. You aspired to be that strong.
Jesus, you were fucked in the head. Speaking to posters? What was next, kissing your hand thinking it was Spencer?
“Fuck.” You sighed, pressing the bottoms of your palms against your eye sockets. “I can’t stay here much longer.”
You flinched, and removed one of your hands from your face, patting the bed to find your phone blindly.
Why was your phone buzzing? Had you set a random alarm again?
You finally got a grasp of your phone, and held it up to your face.
Spencer Reid - incoming call...