Fine Line [ spencer reid x reader ] ✔️

TWENTY TWO

warnings: mentions of drug abuse/addiction, mentions of depression

"I hold doctorates in chemistry, mathematics, and engineering. As well as BAs in psychology and sociology." The room is silent, and Spencer shifts on his feet, heat rising to his cheeks.

"How old are you?"

"Uh, I'm twenty-six. I'm—I'm, um, also completing an additional BA in philosophy." Spencer grins to himself. "Which reminds me, that I have a joke." He gives a breathy chuckle, wringing his hands together. "How many existentialists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?"

Rossi leans in, his voice a whisper. "Don't."

Spencer holds up his hand, telling Rossi it's okay. "Two. One to change the lightbulb and one to observe how it symbolizes an incandescent beacon of subjectivity in a netherworld of cosmic nothingness." Spencer grins, looking around the room to see if anyone would get it. No one does. "Um, an existentialist would—"

"Okay, before he does his quantum physics knock-knock joke, do we have any other questions about opportunities in the FBI?"

The seminar ends quickly after that, and Spencer and Rossi walk out of the classroom, Spencer's hands shoved in his pockets. He had thought his joke was pretty funny, but he guesses he's the only one who thought that. Sighing, he turns his head to look at Rossi.

"You do know we want them to actually join the Bureau?" Rossi states as the pair turn the corner.

"What?" Spencer asks, confused.

"We want these kids to think it's a cool place to work."

"I understand that!" Spencer retorts.

"Existentialism?" Rossi whispers, raising his eyebrows.

"Existentialism is...that was a funny joke, what do you mean?"

"Yeah, to Sigmund Freud."

"I tell them I shouldn't—they keep on sending me here! I don't know why," Spencer tells Rossi as they turn toward the stairs.

"Because you're young," Rossi tells him.

"Young or—"

"Dr. Reid?"

Spencer and Rossi turn around, facing a man with long silver hair, his round glasses almost too small for his pudgy face. A silver mustache sits right above his mouth, the white suit he's wearing oddly outdated.

"Wouldn't they sit in the dark and hope that the bulb decided to light again?"

Spencer scrunches his brows. "Excuse me?"

"An existentialist would never change the bulb," the strange man says. "He would allow the darkness to exist."

Spencer nods, a smile forming on his face. "Yeah, that's pretty good." He laughs, glancing at an unamused Rossi, who begins walking down the stairs.