✓ | sick of losing soulmates [SPENCER REID]

13.1

13.1
( drunken antics. )

☆ ★ ☆

iris

When Iris gets to Spencer's apartment, it's way past midnight, and it's almost two hours since Spencer had stormed from the bullpen; explanations to the team, goodbyes, finalising some paperwork so she had a lighter load the following day, occupied most of that time, and then the rest was spent in her car outside his apartment block, psyching herself up. And boy does that take a while.

But she makes it, and knocks on his door, and sucks in a breath as it swings sharply open.

Quite small, with simple brick walls and a plain lobby and each floor limited to three apartments, Spencer's apartment block is just a little better than hers when it comes to how run-down it is; it's not quite as filled up with jaded potheads and weed dealers as hers is, but more struggling students who might have smoked a little at the weekends, and the occasional crazy cat lady. And, of course, a bald body-builder on the third floor in the apartment directly opposite Spencer's.

But nonetheless, despite all this, Spencer Reid is quite possibly the strangest, and roughest, character in the building on this particular evening.

When he swings open the door and leans up against the doorframe, his eyes are glazed over and he's definitely not really seeing her, head lolling like it's too heavy. It's strange to see it, but he's not worn in his usual shirt and tie and, occasionally, cardigan, but instead sweatpants and a black hoodie with chewed drawstrings. "Iris," he says, and though he hardly slurs she can already tell that he's drunk. Or at least a little tipsy.

She scrunches her nose up. "You never drink."

He points at her to emphasise his words and she sees the bottle of rum he's holding with his free fingers. "And you never normally lie to me," he says. There's too many words for his brain to handle this time, and they smash together messily. He chortles. "Guess there's a first time for anything, huh?"

Ready to down it, maybe for a confidence boost, he pulls the bottle up to his mouth, at least half of the rum left sloshing at the bottom, but Iris catches it before he can have the chance to gulp at it.

"I'm cutting you off," she says, pushing past him to enter the apartment. It will be futile to attempt to put the bottle where Spencer can't get it, considering he's taller and it's his apartment so he knows all the nook-and-crannies, so she just sticks it in the back of a cupboard behind a family pack of crisps.

When she turns, Spencer's leaning against the open doorway, head tilted, blinking slowly. He sighs, long and slow and loud, obviously annoyed.

"Close the door," she orders, before, as she straightens, she adds sarcastically, "if you can."

Spencer huffs again, pushing his back against the deep green door so that it closes with a soft slam. "I'm not that drunk."