sounds like bleh, blah, blee β spencer reid
pairings: neighbor!spencer x university student!reader
summary: she's smart, she knows she is, but her absolutely adorable and kind neighbor makes her start thinking nonsense.
content warnings: no funny business here. no big plot really just cute interactions and crushes on each other
(also dedicating this to my bestie @gublergourdgurl)
Exam weeks are the bane of her existence. She loves what she studies, she really does, but she hates taking tests, her desk is a mess of highlighters, sticky notes, and half-written flashcards she keeps rewriting because suddenly her handwriting looks wrong. Her laptop is open to a review lecture sheβs paused at the same timestamp for twenty minutes.
Suddenly, thereβs music. At around 7:30 p.m., it starts booming too loudly. At first, she thinks itβs coming from the street. A passing car, maybe. She tries to ignore it until her walls vibrate. She sighs, rubbing her palms against his face before reaching for the headphones her mother gifted her and shoving them on, but the thing is, she hates them. She hated how it felt too heavy on her head, hated how it was too tight on her ears, so she took them off. She relocates to the bay window, curling up with her notes, sweater pulled tight around her shoulders. Itβs quieter there, barely, but the cold seeps in too fast, creeping into her fingers until she canβt feel the page. She lasted ten minutes.
By 9:00 p.m., sheβs exhausted, irritated, and running purely on caffeine and spite. She stares at the wall separating her apartment from the noise source. Then she grabs her sweater, slips on her shoes, and mutters angrily. The music gets louder with every step toward the neighboring apartment. She stops outside the door, takes a breath, and knocks.
The door opens almost immediately. βOhβgod.β Thatβs the first thing he says. Instantly, she was speechless. It was a guy. Heβs tall. Like, oh my god, tall. His hair was slicked back, but slightly messed. Heβs wearing a light blue button-down inside the navy blue knitted vest that hangs just right and mismatched socks on hardwood floors like a menace to himself. Snoopy on the right, Mickey Mouse on the left. His eyes are warm, bright, and immediately apologetic. She almost goes slack-jawed.
βAre you here because of the music?β he asks quickly. βIβm so sorry, I keep trying to tell them to tone it down, I promise Iβm not always this wayβhey!β
He turns over his shoulder. βMorgan, please turn it down. The neighborβs knocking!β
A muffled, βMy bad, man!β follows, and the volume drops a notch.
He turns back to her, sheepish. βIβm really sorry.β She hasnβt said a word. Her brain is gone, absolutely blank. Her lungs seemed to stop working the second his door opened.
"IβYeah. Sorry. I didnβt want to ruin the vibe. I just, uh, have a final tomorrow and I really need to focus. Any other day I wouldnβt mind, but todayβs justβ¦ kind of crazy.β She manages to say, voice getting softer by the minute. Are my palms sweating? Oh my god, he's looking at me! Can he smell the coffee in my breath? A million things run through her head while being blank at the same time.
His shoulders relax immediately. He smiles. βNo, thatβs totally okay,β he says. βIβm really sorry too.β
He nods once and gently closes the door. She stands there. Feet glued to the floor. For a moment, she wants to knock again just to see his face. When she finally remembers to move, she walks back to her apartment in a daze.
The music is quieter now. Too bad she absolutely cannot focus anymore, because the polite, tall, and devastatingly handsome man next door has taken up permanent residence in her thoughts. A crush. Great. She thinks, dropping her forehead onto her notes.
She gets up from her desk and starts pacing around her room to try to calm her nerves. She needed to pull it together. Ten minutes later, thereβs a knock. She freezes. Then, another knock. Softer this time, a little hesitant. She exhales, walking out of her room to open the door. Itβs him again. Heβs holding a small slip of paper. How do we breathe again? She thinks to herself.
βHi,β he says. βSorry to bother you again. I just wanted to make sure itβs actually quiet enough now. Morgan promised heβd behave, but I donβt trust him.β
She laughs before she can stop herself. βItβs better,β she says. βThank you.β
He hands her the paper. βI wrote down my number. Just in case it gets loud again. Orβuhβif you need anything. Just so you don't have to walk over and knock?" He was fidgeting, but she was too nervous to notice. Her stomach flips.
βIβm Spencer,β he adds quickly, looking at his palms, then wiping them on his vest before handing them over for her to shake. She giggles and tells him her name. They both stand there awkwardly staring at each other before Spencer breaks the silence.
βOβkay! Good luck on your exam,β he says, smiling. βYouβve got this.β
Then he leaves. She closes the door, leans against it, and exhales. Now there's no way she can focus tonight. After that day, every time she talks to Spencer, she completely forgets how to be a normal human.
The first time they run into each other by the mailboxes, she drops her keys and fumbles for five minutes trying to get them as fast as she can before he notices, but she ultimately fails as Spencer picks them up for her in one swift motion. The second time, she accidentally calls him βSteven" in passing, then doubles down by trying to correct herself and accidentally screaming "Spenster" instead of Spencer. The third time, she tries to say βHave a good nightβ and instead says, βSleep wellβwaitβnoβgoodββ and walks away mid-sentence. Spencer laughs every time. In a soft, warm, and delighted way, like he finds her endearing instead of embarrassing. Which somehow makes it worse.
His number sits pinned to her corkboard, right next to her class schedule and an aggressively ignored to-do list. Itβs written neatly, with careful handwriting, and she pretends she doesnβt stare at it every single day. She doesnβt know if making the first move is the right move. She tells herself sheβll text him after exams. Or after midterms. Or after sheβs less of a walking disaster, and she remembers how to actually say his name.
Then one evening, she steps into the elevator, tired and thinking about nothing at all. As the doors start to close, a hand shoots out between them, and they reopen. Spencer.
Her legs feel weak all of a sudden. βSorry,β he says, smiling immediately when he sees her. He steps in, arms full of groceries and takeout containers stacked against his chest. He has long arms, so it looks effortless.
βHi,β she blurts, tone so high she could have summoned little birds.
βHi,β he replies, clearly pleased. The doors close.
She gestures vaguely. βUhβparty?"
Uh Party? What am I two? She groans internally, frustrated that she cannot say one complete sentence when it's him she's talking to. She instead looks away, trying to focus on the numbers increasing as they reach the next floor.
He shakes his head. βNope. Just regular old groceries.β
βOh,β she says. βThose areβ¦ very grocery-looking...is that a tuna canβcanned fish?β That does it. She fully turns to the steel wall of the elevator, shutting her eyes, forcibly trying to wish away the embarrassing situation ever to exist. Why did they have to be in the same elevator?
Spencer presses his lips together, trying not to laugh. Silence hums between them.
βFor the record,β he says after a moment, βI wouldβve invited you if it were a party.β Her heart somersaults.
βOh,β she says. βThatβsβgood. Parties areβ¦ bitchin'β Bitchin?! Who says bitchin?! At that moment, she wanted to die. She thought of fleeing to Vietnam, changing her name, and never seeing anyone ever again. Why can't she just be normal for once when she's near him?
βYou know, youβre really adorable when youβre nervous,β he says gently. βIβm not nervous.β
βYou are.β The elevator finally reaches their floor. Oh, thank god.
As he steps out, he glances back. βYou can still use my number. For noise complaints, orβ¦ anything else.β smiling at her before walking away.
As soon as she gets home, she walks quickly in front of her corkboard and stares at the pinned number. She finally texts him that night.
hi π
itβs me it's your neighbor this is already going terribly, sorry. i just wanted to say thanks again for turning the music down last week and also for not judging me for being they way i was in the hallway and the elevator. i swear i can normally form sentences. and i do know your name is spencer not steven or spenster. it's just exam week steals my personality and my ability to think coherently. anyway. this is not a noise complaint (yet) but i wanted to use the number you gave me before because you said i should but i overthought it for another three business days. hope your groceries made it home safely?? and you too?? okay iβm going to stop now before this becomes a full essay. bye
Hey, Iβm really glad you texted. It's all good, every interaction with you made my day.
And I meant what I said in the elevator, youβre really adorable, nervous or not. Text me anytime, okay? :)
And just like that, itβs over for her. From there, everything spirals in the best way possible. They start to text about anything and everything. Sometimes she initiates, typos, half-formed thoughts, and jokes that make no sense. Sometimes Spencer sends her photos of weird snacks heβs debating buying. Then they start running into each other more. One night, he knocks on her door holding two mugs. βI made too much tea,β he says. βThought Iβd share.β
Another time, she knocks on his door because she doesn't know how to finish an essay due by 11:59PM. It's 11:00PM.
They sit on opposite ends of his couch at first. Then closer. Her laptop was on Spencer's lap while she hovered over him, teaching him which buttons to press as he tried to complete the essay for her. They laugh at little things, like when Spencer accidentally erases everything and all color drains from his face. She calms him down through giggles and shows him the magic of ctrl + alt + z. Everything feels light, easy, and a little ridiculous.
On another night, they spend time cooking together where they successfully burn the pasta beyond recognition, ending up laughing before ordering takeout, sitting by his fire escape, legs dangling out, the city humming below them, shoulders pressed together because itβs cold and neither of them mentions it. Sheβs mid-story and making sense, like actual sense, when she pauses.
βHello? Earth to Spencer. What are you thinking about?β she asks, waving her free hand in front of his face.
Spencer hums. βPromise me you wonβt stutter.β She laughs, poking his arm. βI can promise no such thing.β He turns to her then. Really looks at her. Her lungs start to stop again, the same way they did when she first met him. His eyes, god his eyes were so damn beautiful, intoxicating even.
βI was thinking about kissing you.β
She freezes. There it is. Her brain short-circuits, instantly reverting to being a pile of nonsensical mush. βIβyeahβnoβI meanββ she gestures vaguely between them, words tripping over each other. βThatβsβthatβs a thing peopleβmouthβdoββ
Spencer smiles. Like heβs been waiting for this exact moment before leaning in and kissing her. His hand rests at her side, steady, grounding. Her fingers curl into his sleeve without thinking. When they pull back, sheβs breathless and smiling like sheβs just won something. βOhβokayβyesβthat kiss was....β words tumble from her mouth faster than she can think.
"Bitchin'?" He continues for her, and they laugh softly, pressing their foreheads together.
