WATCH THE VID PLS YOURE WELCOME
*when you see the asterisk I'm referring to the above photo I just can't explain his face it's too cute for words so just look at it when you see * ok
should I care that friendship imagines are not what most people want? probably. do I actually care? not even a little. enjoy, my lovelies!

-

(Spencer's POV)

"Son of a bitch!" I cuss, digging through my backpack. If mom were here, I imagine she'd look up at me, shocked, and her surprised face calms me down for a second. But then I remember she's not, she's locked away because I sent her away, I'm alone in this house, and self hatred and rage settle back in. I can't believe that girl let me walk away without my math book. Just extending her torment. Probably was a ruse from the start. God, I want to punch myself for thinking she was funny. Then I want to punch her for making me think it. Idiot, idiot, idiot...

My cell phone rings, and I sigh. I try to act civilized when I answer, unsure of who the random number is.

"Hello, this is Spencer Reid," I say with an even voice, and I hear a shaky breath on the other end, immediately putting me on alert.

"Okay, I know you probably don't want to hear from me-" it's her. It's (Y/N).

"You're right, I don't!" I yell, winding up to shoot off about a thousand different things.

"Stop, please, please! Just wait, just listen, please. I'm not calling to try and humiliate you, I just want you to know I still have your math book," she says unsteadily, and I unclench my fists like I always have to. Then I remember her pretending to stick with me through Colby threatening me, and I close my fists again.

"Right, not calling to humiliate me. Because I can do that just fine on my own, huh? Isn't that right-"

"Spencer, stop! Look, I just want to be your friend, okay? I can tell you don't believe me, and I don't know how to make you see it. I didn't want to give up, but I'm realizing it's not up to me. Just tell me your address and I'll come drop off the book," (Y/N) sighs, defeat in her voice. I shake my head, hating to hear her so sad. Then I force myself to shudder, angry I just had that thought. She wasn't actually trying to be nice. In high school, I might've fallen for that, but I'm done now. Not this year, not again.

"Okay, fine. But you come alone," I say, and I hear her giggle a tiny bit on the other line. First it makes me smile, then grit my teeth.

"Are you expecting me to bring black market drugs, Spencer?" she chokes out, and now I'm holding back my own laughter. I suppose I sounded a little over the top. I roll my eyes and take a deep breath, still trying not to smile too much.

"Just don't bring friends, alright?"

--

Two more classes. Two more classes, two torturous weeks, fifteen awful days. From the first moment, I knew I wouldn't get her out of my head. The way she smiled when every other student glared. The way all eyes were on me and only hers were kind. Even though anyone could have seen it coming a mile away, I still found myself surprised and angry every time I had a positive thought about her.

I kept coming back to the idea that she was genuine, and it haunted me. I didn't want to believe it, but two weeks later, she hasn't said a word to me or about me. She hasn't whispered about me in class, even when I know she could with the students right next to her. She even moved seats to be further away from me, and I wasn't sure how to feel about that. On one hand, could be like the kids who would avoid me, but on the other, it could be her giving me space.

I didn't know how to feel about anything when it came to her. When she came to give me my math book, it was exactly how I imagine two bitter exes would feel having to meet up to trade off their kid. We had both been weirdly protective over the book, reluctant to have it in any hands but our own. It was exceedingly strange, and gets stranger every time I think about it, which is always.

It's now three Saturdays later, and I'm sitting alone on the floor like a loser. I have my phone in my hands and I'm staring at the contact I made for her number. I want to call. I want her to make me dinner, I want to become best freaking friends. I only held out for two weeks, I know I shouldn't break just yet. But I want to call.

-

(Your POV)

"Congratulations, you have reached the voicemail of (Y/N) (L/N)! Please leave a detailed message and the queen will call you back!" You let your voicemail play, stuffing yourself with Chinese food and not caring to even check caller ID. Your favorite show is on, it's Saturday afternoon, and no one is stopping you. Especially no caller on your apartment's landline.

"Hey, uh, it's Spencer," the receiver plays his echoey voice, and you jump off the couch, frantically chewing your huge bite of food in order to swallow it in time.

"Just, uh, calling to, you know, um-"

"Spencer!" You cut him off excitedly as soon as you pick up the phone. You hear him stutter in shock and feel a little bad.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you by jumping on the line late. I would have answered sooner, especially if I knew it was you, but I was vegging out, and you're calling my landline, which is weird, except it's not, because I called you on my landline to get your address for the book, so of course you have this number, but I was on the couch, see, with this huge bite of my Chinese food, which is really really good aside from the aftertaste, and my mouth tastes a little funky right now, which is worrying, but maybe it's because I'm talking so fast, but it's really good food, and shit I'm out of breath," you laugh, honestly needing to catch your breath after rambling your whole speech at hyper speed. Spencer is laughing too, and you love the sound.

"Catch all that?" You tease, and he chuckles.

"I can read 20,000 words a minute, and yet I only got maybe two fifths of that. Something's gotten into you, no doubt," he laughs, impressed. You smile, rocking back on your heels.

"Yeah, this person who I really tried to befriend finally reached out to me. I'm pretty excited," you say, and you swear you can feel his giddy smile through the phone.

"So, why did you call, holy boy?" You ask, hoping the nickname is okay now that he seems less upset with you.

"Oh, uh, right. I was just, just thinking maybe- maybe I could still come over and we could still be, uh, 'best freaking friends'?" He says cautiously, and the use of your wording makes you laugh.

"Hm, I guess. But only if you come alone," you say the last part in a fake low voice, pretending to be threatening. Again you swear you can see him through the line, just knowing he's blushing and smiling.

--three weeks later--

"Welcome back to my humble abode, holy boy," you answer the door, fake bowing as Spencer walks in to your apartment. He rolls his eyes, dropping off his backpack and falling onto your couch. You close the door, laughing at him in disbelief.

"You know, the first time you came in here I could barely get you to accept a glass of water. Now you act like you own the place," you tease, and he looks over his shoulder with mock confusion, one eyebrow raised.

"Don't I?" He asks, and you shake your head and join him on the opposite end of the couch, both of you adjusting to get comfortable.

Three weeks of friendship and Spencer just gets funnier every minute. He stops by your place after his classes, you stop by his after yours, and you spend weekends doing ridiculous things to pass the time. He helps you study, too, as he's passed most of the classes you're currently taking.

"Okay, I've been thinking," Spencer starts, leaning forward. You pretend to be shocked, gasping.

"How dangerous! Holy boy having thoughts?" You cry, and he laughs, sitting back in defeat.

"See! This is what I'm talking about!" He says, pointing accusingly at you, and you drop the act, curious. Once Spencer knows you're listening, he begins again.

"You have a nickname for me - holy boy - and you get to use it all the time when you're making fun of me. But I don't have one for you," he explains, and you realize he's right. You'd never even thought of it.

"I see the predicament. Maybe... Girl Whose Life I Stole? Or, or, oh, I like this - My Hostage," you motion your hands in a flat arc as if the names are spelled out in lights on the air in front of you. He sticks out his foot and kicks your shin, which hurts a little considering he never took his converse off.

"I'm serious, (Y/N)," he whines, and you laugh.

"What, you think I'm not serious? Call me your hostage!" Spencer sighs, then glares and picks up his foot again in threat of kicking you. You draw your shins in, balling yourself up in defense.

"Fine, fine. Alright, so I named you holy boy back when we first met based off of something you said. Why don't you do that? Think of something I said during that conversation - it's not like you forgot, Mr. Eidetic - and base my nickname off of that," you suggest, and he considers it for a moment before nodding in resolve. Spencer then closes his eyes, and you wait patiently for him to reach back into his memory, knowing better than to disturb him.

"You didn't really give me a ton of nickname material to work with, (Y/N)," He says, doing that weird almost-frown thing with his pouty lips.* You roll your eyes and motion for him to go on.

"Well, you invited me over, demanded to be best freaking friends, told me you loved your messenger bag and converse-" he rattles off, and you jump up to cut him off.

"There! My messenger bag! You can work with that," you say hopefully, and he raises one eyebrow again.

"Messenger bag girl?" Spencer says doubtfully, and you come back down.

"Yeah, okay, that's pretty lame," you admit, and he nods.

"It is a pretty important part of you, though, I must say. I don't think I'll ever be able to see one without thinking of you. It's practically your third arm," he says, laughing. You snap your fingers, excited again.

"Call me triple arm! That's cool! I sound like a badass mutant that way," you say, nodding and feeling yourself. Spencer's hearty laughter cuts you off, though.

"I'm not calling you triple arm so you can sound like a badass mutant," Spencer says doubtfully. You pout in return, giving him puppy dog eyes.

"That's not fair!" You whine, poking him repeatedly with your toe.

"You're unfair," he replies, ever the master of wit. But a second after he says it, he gets a glint in his eyes, looking up at you. Your eyes widen as you realize what he's thinking.

"No way. You're not actually considering calling me unfair before you'd call me triple arm. C'mon, Spence," you complain, and he laughs in triumph.

"Okay, but you're right, Unfair doesn't quite roll off the tongue the way My Hostage does," he contemplates, exaggerating his pensiveness. You giggle, but then pull on a poker face and nod solemnly in agreement.

"You could always just continue to use my name," you finally suggest, and he waves away the idea.

"Don't be ridiculous," he deadpans, making you smile.

"You are the best weirdo I've ever met. Also the weirdest," you tease him, and Spencer shakes his head, looking at the ceiling instead of you.

"You're fierce competition in the weirdo contest yourself," he says, and you both instantly light up after he's said it, coming to the same conclusion at the same time.

"Weirdo!"