spencer reid

spencer reid didn’t believe in lucky totems, nor did he believe in old traditional stories, but even he could see the comfort in them.

it’s why he had a pair of socks he wore during every stressful meeting, why he knocked on every door exactly the same.

why he wielded certain flawed statistics like swords in his mind, even if it made something in him run around in circles banging pots and pans together, yelling at him to do further research, because no, spencer, you know you don’t have to throw away the left-out-six-hours pizza, just eat something for gods sake!

and also why he was showing up at your doorstep at six in the morning on february fourteenth with a little wagon filled with jars and paper strips.

now, spencer wasn’t the most romantic of men. not in the traditional sense, at least. in his own way, he was quite the loverboy. just not the good old-fashioned kind– sorry, freddie.

which was why you were so surprised to see him on your steps at valentine’s day– you hadn’t planned anything, and as his partner, you knew he really wasn’t all for the crowded restaurants or shopping malls that most people did for dates, nor one for the freezing outdoors in february for a picnic.

really, the holiday was very awkwardly placed on the calender. who came up with this bullshit?

but you weren’t complaining, certainly not- not when you got to see your boyfriend outside of work for the first time in what felt like ages, because you were both rather hesitant to leave your respective spaces and move in together, despite the fact that you’d been dating...forever, basically.

you’d asked him what all of the paper and jars was about, and he’d pushed his way into your bedroom, sitting in your desk chair and criss-crossing his gangly legs, words flowing out of him like poured wine.

“so- in the japanese folk tale hoshi and the lucky stars, a little girl sees stars collapsing and falling to the ground and decides to replace them with paper stars.”

you’d looked at him quizzically, so he’d continued.

“this spawned a lot of the legends regarding paper stars- namely the chart of amounts that gave good things to whoever you gifted them to. one means ‘you are my only love’, a hundred and one means ‘you are the only one in my life’, and it just keeps going.”

he tore open a package of paper strips, gesticulating with his free hand.

“-all the way up to ten thousand, which means love to you for ten thousand years. so i figured that we could...”

he trailed off, suddenly slightly uncertain in himself. “do that? together, for valentine’s day. i mean, if we split them up into five thousand a piece, i imagine that would work in a similar way. we don’t have to. it’s just what i had planned.” he’d given a sheepish smile, lips pursed in mild awkwardness.

he looked like god had just answered all of his prayers the second you’d said yes.

so here you were. three hours in, about two-thousand done between the pair of you. you’d done seven eighths of it.

spencer’s hands weren’t too good with all of the folding, all of the intricate bits, and he hated the way the skin of his fingers felt when they wrinkled over each other in the pincer grasp it required to puff out said stars, so he was going fairly slowly- but two-hundred and fifty stars was nothing to scoff at.

“ow,” it was the fourth time in thirty minutes he’d mumbled it, followed by sticking his finger in his mouth- germy, he knew, and he rubbed hand sanitizer over the cut the minute following, but it was a habit he couldn’t break.

his hands were covered in roughly twenty-five papercuts or nicks. he was surprised he wasn’t bleeding out already.

rubbing his abused hands on his slacks, he looked up, bringing a knee to his chest as he tossed another star into his growing pile. “did you know that, uh similar to the myth that one thousand paper cranes grants a wish, gifting one hundred paper stars grants the same effect?”

he cocked his head as he spoke, corners of his lips tugged into a slightly less nervous smile. “i mean, one thousand stars is used for more major wishes- hence the ten thousand stars for ten thousand years of love- but a hundred, as long as it’s a gift, works.”

he looked down at his hands suddenly. shit, that cut was bleeding more than he’d anticipated. “uh, do you have- a band-aid i could use?”