#matthew gray gubler fic

gif credit: @toyboxboy​

summary: reader mistakingly picks a lock to the wrong apartment in the dead of night when attempting to get into a friend’s apartment. 

warnings: fluff, ooc spencer, mentions of alcohol

word count: 1.5 k

a/n: I know it’s been a while, I haven’t had much inspiration and have been very busy, but I conjured up this little thing a bit ago and decided to post. This is a little ooc for Spencer but I thought the idea was too fun not to share. 

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The darkness of the hallway seemed to blend together in pitch blackness, I couldn’t really tell where the edge of the hallway and the wall met. My ankles had began to swell and I felt as if I could barely hold up my body weight for much longer. 

“Why did I have to wear these damn shoes,” I cursed to myself. 

I had yet to memorize the layout of the apartment building, I’ve only been staying with a friend for the past few days and this hallway seemed never-ending. Around the corner, there was a window with a sliver of moonlight that cast a faint light against the wall, subtly outlining the multitude of door frames. 

I probably should have left the bar when Avery did, instead of entertaining the broad stature of a man with chestnut hair that only seemed interesting after my fourth shot of whatever clear liquid he was drinking. All that mattered at that moment is that the tab would be paid for by someone who wasn’t me. However, this could be seen as the universe paying its due diligence as my head felt as if it had been spun in a tilt-a-whirl. 

I stopped at the furthest door on the right, from the slight squint of my eyes, I was able to make out the golden letters that seemed to read 26 C. I rummaged through the leather bag perched on my shoulder, taking out the spare key that Avery leant to me. But the knob wouldn’t budge, I  assumed that I may have inserted it backwards, so I tried once again. Still nothing. 

I frantically shook the doorknob but suddenly realized how late it was and did not feel the desire to be on a grumpy neighbour’s bad side. I knew that Avery was a heavy sleeper – and most likely wouldn’t move a muscle if I called her – so I resorted to the one trick that I learned at my seventh grade sleep away camp. I raked my fingers through my hair, in search for a bobby pin. I knelt down on the floor, the bobby pin gripped in between my fingers and began to twist. I heard the satisfying click, becoming impatient, I forcefully twisted the doorknob and let myself in. 

The door closed behind me louder than anticipated but I didn’t care, Avery wouldn’t even flinch. I just needed to be enveloped in a bundle of warmth before being rudely awakened with a raging hangover early in the afternoon. 

I began to rid myself of my shoes, before a stream of frantic footsteps came stumbling into the main area.

“Who are you?” The voice is deep and raspy, mixed with fear and hostility. They’re holding what seems to be a small object, but I couldn’t make it out. 

I couldn’t make out any details really, the only light in the room was from the windows, the moonlight creating a subtle outline of obvious features. 

The man was tall and thin, with dishevelled hair. His eyes were bright, widened and seemingly wild as they flickered all over me. My heart started to race, but I couldn’t clearly focus. 

I gripped my shoe in my right hand, silently thankful that they had a thin and pointy heel. 

“Who am I?” I breathed out, equally as terrified. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“I live here!” He yelled, obviously gaining more confidence than he previously had. “You need to leave, or I’ll call the police,” he warned. 

I looked around the room more intricately, suddenly realizing that I didn’t recognize anything in here. I felt extremely flustered and, most of all, more delirious than I had before.

“Please don’t call the police,” I croaked out, sounding pathetic. “I thought this was my friend’s apartment, this isn’t 26 C?”

“No, this is 23 C, 26 C is right across from here,” he answered flatly. 

I leaned down to wedge my feet back into my shoes, but decided to just ditch them altogether, it’ll make my escape faster and less painful. 

Much to my surprise, he turned on the apartment’s light. He was much taller than he looked before, still just as thin as I suspected. His hair was dark, and matted to his forehead, rounded glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. 

The apartment was filled with a multitude of books, enough to house a personal library. It filled me with a warm feeling, until I realized that I’d been gawking around the room for too long without saying a word. 

“Look, I’m really sorry. It was a late night, I’ve been just recently staying with a friend and I don’t know the area well, or this building quite frankly. I…I’m very embarrassed and I really am sorry,” I muttered all in one breath. 

He ran his hands through his hair, brushing away the waves that fell in front of his eyes. His face softened to a state that was reminiscent of pity. 

“It’s alright,” he said, but I still didn’t sound convinced. 

“I just thought you were a burglar, or worst-case scenario, an axe murderer,” he continued, letting out a half-hearted laugh. 

The tightness in my chest alleviated and I managed to even crack a smile at the comment. I glanced down at his hand, more specifically at the object clutched in his grasp. A ceramic figurine of a dolphin.

“So if I was an axe murderer, you decided to go with that instead of a useful weapon?” I gesture toward the object coloured in light blue. “How common are axe murders around here anyway?”

He looked down at his hand for a moment before glancing back at me. “You may be surprised how solid this is, one knock to the side of the head, they could be out like a light.”

He adjusted the frames sitting perfectly on his face. “Anyway, you can never be too careful, I see a lot of dangerous people.” He paused, taking note of the confused expression on my face. 

“I’m a Supervisory Special Agent with the FBI,” he said casually, as if it were a mediocre desk job. 

“An FBI agent?” My eyes widened from the revelation, of course my accidental and not to mention harmless intrusion was in the apartment of a literal government agent. 

“I’m not going to be arrested for this am I?” I wouldn’t have been so bold as to ask if I weren’t still feeling the buzz from the alcohol. 

“No, but next time, a simple knock would probably suffice,” he responded. 

After an awkward air of silence, I slid my black purse back over my shoulder, finally in preparation for my departure. 

“Well, sorry again for all of this …” I paused, realizing I didn’t know his name. 

“Spencer.”

“I’m Y/N.” I turned around, reaching for the doorknob and turning the door open. “I guess I’ll see you around,” I said, facing him a final time. 

“Preferably during the day.”

I let out a small laugh. “Right.”

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Avery was using the blender to make a smoothie, which was much too loud for a Sunday. I trudged over to the kitchen island, a fleece blanket draped over me.

“Long night?” She smirked, pouring two glasses of a pale pink liquid. 

She held up the whipped cream can and I nodded, she swirled a nice spiral onto the top of the glass, plopping a straw inside and sliding it over to me. 

“You can say that,” I muttered, in between sips. 

I explained the story in depth, the horrifying revelation of me stumbling into a stranger’s apartment. A stranger who I made an interesting impression on. One that I now had to avoid for the next month until the embarrassment washed away. 

“How disoriented were you that you couldn’t differentiate between the number 6 and 3?” She laughed, relishing in my embarrassment. 

“Definitely enough to scare the shit out of Spencer.”

“Spencer.” Avery drew out his name, she looked as if she was determining whether she liked the way it sounded out loud. “He’s got a cute name,” she said, leaning over the wooden countertop. 

“That’s what you got from this, that he has a cute name?” 

“Listen, a person’s name is an important signifier of their character. Like a Brody, you know you’re going to be talking football stats and have meaningless surface-level conversations, but with a Spencer …” She trailed off in a sing-song voice, stirring the remnants of a strawberry smoothie in her glass. 

I took in a deep breath, shimmying out of the blanket and throwing it at her. 

“I think I’m going to take a walk,” I said, before walking toward the door.

“Don’t forget it’s twenty-six C!” Avery called from behind me, as the door shut. 

I took a step backward only to be met with the sudden force of someone’s body nudging mine, I instinctually let out a shriek. I already had a headache that was barely dissipating, no matter how strong the Tylenol was, and this mishap wasn’t helping. 

I turned to face the culprit, only to be met with the dark eyes that, to my luck, belonged to Spencer. A sweater vest was tucked neatly into his dark slacks, his arms carrying what seemed to be bags of groceries. 

“We have to stop meeting like this,” he joked, his cheeks tinging a light shade of pink. 

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