isles X Reid

In a quiet conference room, Dr. Maura Isles tapped her pen exactly seven times before speaking. “You’re sitting in Fibonacci sequence order,” she noted, eyes sharp. Dr. Spencer Reid blinked. “I—well, I like prime numbers, so I avoid three.” Silence. She tilted her head. “Do you catalog clothing textures, too?” Reid blinked again. “Yes. Yours is linen. Slightly uneven weave. Distracting.” They both shifted, uncertain. “I think we’re... misunderstanding each other,” Maura said. “Yes,” Spencer agreed. “But also... understanding something no one else sees.” They didn’t smile, but their breathing synced.