✓ | sick of losing soulmates [SPENCER REID]

2.1

2.1
( welcome to los angeles. )

☆ ★ ☆

iris

Spencer is there to pick her up dead on eight, turning the corner and stepping through the spinning glass doors of her hotel to enter the lobby. She pulls her jacket a little tighter around herself and darts down the carpeted stairs; he spots her after a moment and smiles.

"Y-you look great," he compliments with uncertainty as she reaches him.

She returns his pretty, dimpled grin. "Thanks. Are you ready to go?"

"Can't wait," he replies, heading for the door.

"Are you sure you're allowed to do this — that you're not busy, or anything?"

He shakes his head. "I was supposed to be leaving tonight, but we actually had a case, so I'm staying for a couple of days," he explains as they push through the spinning doors. "And I think Gideon won't mind me being gone for a little while. The gallery's only a couple of blocks away, so we can walk, if you want?"

"Sure."

It's a Saturday, and as they set off, the street is busy with groups of friends and couples all on their own nights out, though they're probably not planning to spend their evening doing something as cultured as going to an art gallery. Iris isn't complaining, though, because she probably isn't going to get drunk at an art gallery, and drunk-Iris is not a version of her she wants Spencer to see.

"So, how are you?" Spencer asks.

Iris grins, nudging him with her elbow. "That's a bit of a generic question, Dr. Reid, don't you think?"

He glances down at her, and she suddenly notices how tall he is compared to her, and she smiles up at him. In the moonlight, and the lights of the city, and with lamps from a restaurant hanging in a window behind his head, he looks incredibly young, and very pretty, too. Not handsome, not masculine or muscled or hot, but pretty. His face is very aesthetically pleasing, she thinks.

"You know, I think you can probably call me Spencer now," he says eventually.

She tries to bump his shoulder with hers but she's too small so simply bumps his bicep. "Sure thing."

"So is your mom okay with you coming tonight?" Spencer asks.

Iris laughs. "No. I'm twenty-four, but she still treats me like I'm thirteen,"she answers honestly. "I didn't dare tell her I was going out with a boy, either, 'cause then she'd freak out even more. I just said I was going out with someone called Spencer who I worked with one time. I didn't specify whether it was a boy-Spencer or a girl-Spencer, though. Lucky she doesn't remember you."