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darkmatilda · 6 days ago

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𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: the weight of distance presses heavier with each passing day, the ache of absence stitched together only by hour-long phone calls like a fragile sutures on a wound that refuses to close. so you choose his birthday — the perfect day to cross the miles in silence and secrecy, and surprise spencer on his special day.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: glasses!reid x baufemale!reader, long distance relationship, early seasons team, so our queen elle is here, lots of team interactions overall, both reader and spencer's pov, height difference, kissing until his glasses fog up xx

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 5k

𝐚/𝐧: literally started writing this over two months ago so i hope the first half doesnt differ too much in quality from the second one :/ the soul who’s the first to catch the tiny subtle mr darcy reference gets a cookie!

You admitted it without a trace of embarrassment – every time you called your long-distance boyfriend, you waited for him to pick up with your forehead almost glued to the screen and your lips frozen in a half-smile, ready to bloom across half your face the moment you saw his face.

Automatically.

The word nonchalance wasn’t foreign to you, but you deeply despised it. You had no intention of pretending it didn’t matter whether he picked up or not, or that you hadn’t rearranged half of your quite busy day for that shared moment. You weren’t going to pretend that hearing his voice meant any less to you than it actually did, just to maintain some kind of image or out of fear of being too much.

No, that definitely wasn’t your case.

If anything, you leaned toward paranoia — that you weren’t doing enough to take care of your relationship stretched across nearly 4000 miles and separated by the Pacific. That you weren’t trying hard enough. You had a set time for one call a day; usually, by then, you were already comfortably tucked under the covers and reporting in for duty (though duty was a very poor comparison—unless we’re talking about the duty of petting small fluffy puppies. yes. kissing the heads of twenty fluffy puppies was almost exactly like your daily call with Spencer).

But that one daily call usually wasn’t the only one. You reached out to each other spontaneously throughout the day, depending on your schedules and the plans of that particular day. On weekends, you watched movies together, he read a book aloud and you exchanged thoughts only when his calm voice reached the end of a chapter, or you played chess online. The bare minimum to fill the void left behind by the distance.

A void that was, however, ravenous—and seemed to deepen with every passing day. It wasn’t a graph line with rises and dips. It kept steadily taking up more and more space inside you.

And that’s how you came to the conclusion that even hundreds of books read aloud by Spencer wouldn’t be enough to dissolve it.

Not when his voice came through a phone speaker.

Not when it wasn’t followed by his breath, tickling your ear.

And that realization pushed you toward a certain…spontaneous decision.

But more on that later.

Your call was finally answered, and a premature, involuntary soft smile curled your lips before his face even appeared on your screen.

“Hey, handsome…” you began with your usual line, fully prepared to relish the blush that would bloom on his cheeks like cupcakes with sweet cherries on top—

but instead of your favorite treat, you were met with something entirely different.

Seeing Derek’s face, clumsily close to the front-facing camera and moving in a way that strongly suggested he was fiercely struggling to keep hold of the phone, snapped you back to attention like an athlete catching their footing.

“Hello, conventionally handsome man, long time no see. Anyway, where’s my handsome man?”

“Morgan, I’m serious, give me—”

“Hey, kid, how many times have I told you women don’t like possessive men? Let me talk to her for a sec…”

“I’m not possessive, I just…”

“You’re right, long time no see,” Derek cut in, completely ignoring his friend—his words, his attempts to wrestle the phone back from his hand. You kept your gaze fixed on the corner of the screen where a part of Spencer’s face occasionally slipped into the frame. Your lips were still curved in a smile, but shifting your focus to Morgan took effort. “What’s up, former-new girl? Don’t look too happy to see me.”

“Oh, I’m very happy to see you. In fact, the sight of you has turned this rainy Amsterdam day well, not exactly sunny, but let’s say we’ve moved from a downpour to a drizzle.”

“You’re welcome—that’s what friends are for. So? You in the mood for a quick chat with me?”

“Morgan.”

“Hmm, gladly,” you replied, tapping your free lip in mock thoughtfulness. “Let me just check my schedule to see when I might be available. How about next Friday?”

“Next Friday?”

“Morgan, I swear—”

“Oh my God, stop torturing them already,” cut in a woman’s voice you recognized instantly, and almost in the same moment, the phone moved from Morgan’s hand to your friend Elle’s.

She gave you a smile—a fleeting one, just a flash of sincerity—before replacing it with her trademark bossy expression. “Another second and they’ll both shrivel up from longing. Here you go.” She handed the phone back to its rightful owner. The first thing you saw were his eyes behind the glasses, aimed at her, full of grateful warmth. “You both owe me one. But since one of you is currently unavailable and clearly unable to repay it, you owe me two favors, Reid.”

A nod.

“Goes without saying.”

You just managed to catch Morgan’s disappointed sigh at having his thoroughly entertaining game cut short, before you found yourself finally, completely one-on-one with your boyfriend.

He was watching the two of them—presumably leaving—until, at last, his gaze shifted to you. That tiny smile of yours finally bloomed into something fuller.

“Okay, I feel like I was interrupted earlier and I need to say this again, properly,” you said before he could get a word out. You took a breath, like you were about to cast a spell. “Good morning, handsome.”

You loved that kind of smile on his lips—the one that came with an involuntary tilt of the head, like its weight shifted evenly and pulled just enough to cause that barely noticeable movement.

“Finally. Good morning, angel.”

It warmed you every single time he used that phrase with you, and you couldn’t help but blink a little faster at the thought of hearing it in person after such a long time apart. But that was still the future, a vision. For now, there was the present, reality.

“Please, tell Morgan I didn’t brush him off because I didn’t want to talk to him,” you said. “But I literally have fifteen minutes before I have to leave and just wanted to call you real quick, because I won’t be very available later. I have a seminar.”

Spencer nodded because, of course, he remembered. But still, his brown eyes clouded slightly.

“You mentioned it. And well, of course I’ll tell Morgan you brushed him off because you didn’t want to talk to him.”

You almost snorted, but held it back.

“Hey, being my boyfriend doesn’t give you permission to use me for your personal revenge.”

“It doesn’t?” he asked with a face of innocence, fake curiosity, like he’d just come across a tiny footnote at the bottom of a page, an unknown piece of information.

“Well, usually no, but there are exceptions to that rule. For example, when the personal revenge might bring satisfaction to both of us. The second is when you ask nicely. Just please, don’t abuse that option.”

“I’ll try, but I can’t make any promises.”

“I’d make you pinky-promise, but that wouldn’t really work in our current situation,” you said, glancing at your own raised pinkie, the corners of your mouth tugging downward.

Then suddenly, they parted, struck by a thought. “Oh, right. I just remembered. What are you planning to do tomorrow?”

Spencer’s brow furrowed slightly.

“The usual, I guess? Go to work…”

“For your birthday, silly.”

This time, it was his lips that parted with a soft, dawning hiss of realization. You looked at him with raised eyebrows.

“Don’t even tell me you forgot your own birthday.”

Spencer shook his head distractedly.

“No, it’s not that I completely forgot. But if you think about it, it wouldn’t be that weird if I had. I don’t have any plans anyway, and it’s just going to be…you know, a totally normal day.”

You watched him for a moment in silence. You rarely faked emotions around him. But this time, you had to summon a thick mask of exaggerated disappointment—couldn’t let even the tiniest flicker of stinging excitement slip through.

“I wish I could be there for you so badly.”

That part didn’t need faking. The sincerity in those words rang clear. You saw your boyfriend’s jaw tighten slightly, and you wished you could reach out and rest your hand against it, letting your thumb brush toward his lips.

The silence that followed suddenly felt especially heavy. You knew Spencer was masking his sadness so you wouldn’t feel bad about not being there. He didn’t expect you to feel guilty—but he anticipated it. And, well, he’d be right. You would feel bad.

You forced a smile onto your lips—only because you wanted to see how, eyes fixed on your face, he’d unconsciously mirror the gesture. You’d learned that trick a long, long time ago.

“I have to run,” you announced with a sigh. “Seriously, I have to run. technically, I should already be out the door.”

“Don’t forget your umbrella.”

“It’s not raining anymore.”

“Yeah, but it’s supposed to start again right around the time you’ll be heading home. And there’s a cold front coming in from the North Sea, so maybe wear something warmer under your coat. I don’t want you getting sick.”

Spencer knew the weather in your city—on another continent—better than you did.

A moment of silence to let that fact settle. Thank you.

“If you’re right, I love you,” you said. “If you’re wrong, I still love you, but I’m also mad I had to lug around an umbrella all day.”

For a fleeting moment, he dipped his head, eyes squinting just slightly, a small smile on his lips.

“I love you too.”

Spencer had never been particularly fond of celebrating his birthday.

To him, birthdays were simply another way of measuring time like years, months, weeks, and days—only a little more brutal. They were like a mirror you woke up in front of one day, a moment of realization and reckoning—not so much with time moving forward, but with everything that had been left behind. The new year reflected what you had achieved and who you had become. Birthdays, on the other hand, felt like a celebration of missed chances, honored with the addition of yet another digit to your age.

Twenty-six. He could’ve done something far more impressive by now—and he didn’t mean that just as self-criticism. He was being objective. At twenty-six, Einstein had his Annus Mirabilis, his miraculous year, the year he developed the theory of mass–energy equivalence. With that knowledge in mind, Spencer had every right to feel a certain pressure.

But beyond all that, that day…he just wasn’t in the mood.

He had just been wondering what to eat for dinner when his phone started ringing.

A long-distance relationship had trained him to reach for it the exact second the ringtone sounded—and to experience that brief flicker of disappointment when the name on the screen wasn’t the one he was hoping for. Just like this time.

“Oh, Reid, how wonderful that you picked up so fast,” came Penelope’s voice on the other end.

“Garcia, hey. Something’s wrong?”

“Yes. I mean—no. I need you to drop by for a moment, is that okay? I mean, even if it’s not okay, it’s still probably better if you come. Not that I’m forcing you, but—ugh, just come over.”

Spencer was standing in his kitchen, phone pressed to his ear, and as her explanation spilled out, a suspicion started blooming in him. He considered himself a fairly perceptive person—and Penelope a very open book. So it was no surprise that, almost immediately, he had a pretty good idea of what was going on. He leaned his lower back against one of the cabinets, folding his free arm across his chest.

“I’m not sure I can make it,” he said despite knowing full well that he could, and that he had the time. But he also knew that, on the other end, Garcia was probably exchanging panicked looks with the rest of the team, arguing about where exactly to hang the balloons in her apartment. And the image was amusing enough to drag out the moment. “For what?”

“I need your help. With something.”

“With what exactly?”

His friend let out something between a hum and a sigh—both thoughtful and panicked.

Meanwhile, Spencer waited patiently, smiling to himself and saying nothing.

“What am I supposed to tell him?!”Penelope’s voice came faintly from the speaker, as if she’d lowered the phone away from her mouth probably thinking that would keep him from hearing. It didn’t.

“I don’t know, make something up!” came a reply Spencer recognized instantly—Derek. A finger snap. “Lightbulb in the bathroom went out.”

“Oh, great! I love when your brain is the same size as your biceps.” She turned her attention back to the phone, voice suddenly loud and confident with her freshly invented excuse “The lightbulb in my bathroom blew.”

Spencer wasn’t about to let it slide that easily.

“What wattage?”

“What?”

“What wattage is the bulb? LED or halogen?”

“Normal. It’s a normal lightbulb, Reid.”

“Are you sure it’s burnt out? Could be a wiring issue. Might be better to call a specialist to take a look. I’d rather not end up electrocuted. Especially on my birthday.”

“Jeez, tell him to stop being such a child.”

Penelope pulled the phone away again.

“I can’t, then he won’t come at all!”

“I have an idea,” Spencer said suddenly, forcing her to scramble back to the call.

“Why don’t you ask Morgan to change it for you, since he’s already there?”

Garcia squeaked in panic. Then immediately broke into a cough, trying to mask the sound.

“There is no Derek Morgan here! Where would you even get that idea?” she squealed in a high voice. At the same time, a distinct snort of laughter echoed in the background. “That? That’s just the TV. Just…some dumb show with an annoying host. Ugh, I should really turn it off…”

The snort that echoed in the background this time didn’t belong to Morgan. It belonged to Elle. A quiet, distant argument broke out between all three of them, and Spencer didn’t understand a single word of it. He cut in at the moment he considered most appropriate.

“I’ll be at your place in 30 minutes.”

Complete silence.

“You’re coming? Seriously? Guys, he says that— I mean, ymm, great! See you!”

Before she hung up, he still managed to hear her deep sigh of relief that the conversation, in which she had to show off her conspiracy skills, was finally over.

Spencer slowly pulled the phone away from his ear, remaining for a moment in the silence that followed. Of course he had intended to show up from the very beginning. He might not have felt excited at the thought of his birthday, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate the surprise his friends had put effort into preparing. It wasn’t his dream way of spending the day, but there was a reason that dream scenario remained in the realm of dreams—its realization was simply physically impossible. But a not-so-surprising surprise party ranked high on that list.

He hesitated over what to wear. In the end, his gaze settled on the shirt he'd gotten from no one other than you. You liked how that soft, muted pink color both slightly contrasted with his wardrobe and still somehow fit perfectly into it. You also used to say it brightened his face.

Spencer pulled it on, tied his tie, and sent you a photo. He wanted you to know that even though you were far away, he was still wearing your favorite clothes.mHe didn’t expect you to reply right away.You’d already had the birthday call, during which you gave him wishes you’d been crafting for two weeks. You delivered them at machine-gun speed with all your enthusiasm, then repeated them more slowly so he’d have a chance to actually understand anything.

Your reply came just as he was leaving his apartment.

my boyfriend sending me an outfit check??? never thought I’d live to see that day

He was just turning the key in the lock, the light from his phone casting a glow onto his face, letting the gentle smile on his lips break through the darkness slowly wrapping around the stairwell. He pressed the handle again to check whether being distracted had made him forget to lock it. Then he dropped the key into his pocket and slowly started down the stairs.

Not quite an outfit check. Just tangible or well, virtual, proof that I really like this shirt and I’m not wearing it just because you told me to. The team’s throwing me a surprise party and I figured it’d be perfect…

here his fingers slowed

…it’s your favorite, and in its own not-quite-explainable way, it makes me feel like you’re here.

The reply probably came in before you even finished reading the whole message.

so an outfit check?

wait what kind of surprise party is it if you know about it??

u’re so sweet. also you look so good in that color.

He wanted to text back, to explain how he even knew about this surprise party, but another message came in.

sorry cant really text rn just getting off the tram :( hope u have fun at the party kisses call u later

He was a little surprised, since you usually took the later tram home, but maybe you just had your own reason for coming back earlier. Maybe he’d ask about it later, when the two of you called. Spencer hoped he wouldn’t be too tired after the party to talk to you.

So he replied simply

Got it. Please, be safe.

The way to Penelope’s apartment passed very quickly for him. It occurred to him that he didn’t really know who would even be there. Definitely Morgan, Elle, possibly JJ, but he doubted that everyone had shown up—like, everyone everyone.

And if it turned out he was right, he didn’t intend to be even slightly offended—after all, it was understandable they might’ve wanted to spend the evening in a different way. He knocked on the door and didn’t even call out to come in, even though as he was approaching them, he had clearly heard voices coming from inside, which suddenly, as if by magic, fell silent.

He felt like rolling his eyes—in a positive sense. It was predictable. Of course it was. But it also filled him with a certain warm feeling.

He opened the door and stepped into Garcia’s apartment, heading for the living room. And that’s exactly what he did when he saw the entire team gathered there. He rolled his eyes, though that warm feeling grew stronger and made the decision on its own to stretch his lips into a broad, broader smile when he realized they really were all there.

They were silent, eyes fixed on him, Elle and JJ both holding a tray with a birthday cake with lit candles, but for some reason not bringing it any closer to him.

“Sorry, but I have to say this,” he began. “You’re so predictable.”

“Are we?” came a voice directly behind his back.

He didn’t exactly freeze in place, like he’d been hit with liquid nitrogen. His body transitioned into that state gradually — starting with his shoulder blades instinctively drawing together, long before his mind fully processed the situation or registered that voice.

That voice.

The voice he heard every single day through his phone or laptop speaker, desecrated by the quality of the device — which, even if it were the most cutting-edge machine built by NASA, wouldn’t be able to truly convey the tone of her voice, let alone force him to feel the kind of emotions that now crashed into him like a wave, drowning him.

Water filling his ears.

No, that couldn’t be — they had literally exchanged texts just moments ago!

His eyes locked ahead, all the team’s gazes fixed on him, waiting, expectant. Penelope, her hands tightly clasped together, resting just beneath her chin.

Spencer, not breathing, turned around — and only then drew in a deep, vital breath.

Vital, because he knew he was about to pull her into an embrace so tight neither of them would get a taste of air for a very long time.

Your eyes locked onto each other like two powerful magnets, desperately seeking one another — an instant click. Another instant click when both your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, lifting her feet off the ground. Click when his hands gripped your waist firmly, steadying you. Click when his face found its place in the curve of your neck, burying itself there completely, disappearing, hiding, drawing the curtains so no one else could interrupt this moment.

Click, because you were together.

Spencer drew in a shaky breath, entirely filled with your scent — a scent he seemed to rediscover after months apart — occupying his mind so completely that the words he had intended to say slipped away from him entirely. You took over the role of speaker instead.

“Happy birthday,” you announced tearfully, sniffling and pulling your head away from his shoulder so the tear rolling down your cheek wouldn’t stain his shirt.

The pale pink shirt. Your favorite shirt.

You pouted your bottom lip, trying to hold it together, but you couldn’t. Now that you were finally with him, the full weight of maintaining a long-distance relationship — the weight you had been pushing away to avoid sinking into sadness — crashed down on you all at once. But it was wild, unrestrained, and yet instantly found comfort in his arms, his scent, his presence.

You felt his chest cave slightly as he took in a breath and lifted his head to look at you. In the process, his glasses had been pressed all the way up his nose from where they'd been crushed between your neck and his face — the frames practically touching his eyelids — but neither of you thought about how ridiculous that must've looked.

His eyes immediately locked onto the tear that had slipped from yours. He wanted to wipe it away, but he didn’t want to let go of you either, so he settled for pressing a fleeting kiss to your cheek, brushing it away with his lips instead.

It earned a muffled, quiet laugh from you.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in a hushed voice.

You blinked and dipped your head slightly, letting the tears pool without falling, then tilted it back up so you could focus on his face. Immediately, you had the impulse to adjust his glasses, which you did.

“Attending my boyfriend’s surprise birthday party,” you replied, sliding your hand down his chest and rising onto your toes to kiss him — briefly, because you could feel the eyes of all your friends on you, patiently silent and giving you time.

It wasn’t a good idea. The moment your lips brushed his, Spencer froze for a second, only to lean in for more right after. You barely managed to pull away, ignoring his disgruntled hum of protest.

“But I guess I’m the only element of this whole thing that was actually a surprise…”

You shot a meaningful look at Penelope, fully aware Spencer had known about some kind of party happening. The blonde defensively waved her hands in front of her, brushing off the implied accusation.

“Oh, you don’t get it. I let it slip on purpose so your entrance would be more spectacular! Our genius boy thought he had outsmarted our whole plan and then…” she gestured between the two of you, still tangled together.

This time, it was Spencer who shot her a look, full of disbelief at her words and amused pity. And, as it turned out, he wasn’t the only one — well over half of the people present mirrored his reaction.

To shake off all the attention suddenly weighing on her, Penelope snapped her fingers in the direction of Elle and JJ, who were holding the birthday cake.

"Those candles are practically melting! Don’t forget your wish, loverboy."

Your lips twitched the moment you heard that nickname, and you gave Spencer a light, urging pat on the arm still wrapped around you. You could still feel his hand gently tightening around your waist for a fleeting moment before he let go — his fingers performing a subtle flex before falling back to rest — and leaned down over the cake to blow out the candles shaped like the numbers 2 and 6.

He immediately tried to pull you back into his embrace, but you forced yourself to slip away, letting him get swept into the whirlwind of bear hugs from everyone else.

You stayed back, just slightly to the side, knowing you'd have time for just the two of you later. Your gaze lingered on his softly glowing brown eyes behind his glasses and the faint squint from the smile that simply refused to leave his face. The sounds of the room gradually faded away around you.

Surprisingly, you didn’t feel the slightest exhaustion after the long, connecting flights. And even if any fatigue dared creep its way into your body, it was instantly drowned out by what now burned in your chest — that warm, joyful feeling.

“Why did I even stress so much over picking a gift for him?” you heard from your left , Gideon muttering under his breath, but still loud enough for you to catch. He was staring in the same direction. “No matter what I gave him, the only thing he’ll remember from today is you.”

You exchanged a glance with him — the smile lingering only on your lips, but you could tell he shared it.

For the rest of the party, you and Spencer stayed within arm’s reach, always side by side, finally able to allow yourselves that closeness after so many months apart. Even later, as you made your way back to his apartment at night, hauling gift bags and a single box between you, he carried them all on one arm just so he could keep the other wrapped around you.

You clung to his pink shirt, occasionally rising onto your toes to press a kiss to his jaw or a smile, only to pull away again quickly — careful not to crash into a trash can or a lamp post along your path.

Clinging tightly to his side wasn’t exactly making it easier for either of you to walk. But Spencer didn’t complain. Even despite the fact that you were moving at the pace of a drunken turtle.

When his apartment building finally appeared within sight, you tilted your head back for a moment, breathing slower, more consciously.

“Tonight’s stars are so beautiful,” you remarked, staring at the faint, barely visible dots in the sky.

Spencer slowed his steps, lifting his gaze toward the sky, only to fully shift his attention to your face.

“Setting aside the fact that those are the same stars on the same day,” he started, in that scientific yet soft way of speaking of his, “which I’m quite sure you know…no, they’re not beautiful. Look again. You can barely see them.”

“They’re still beautiful,” you insisted.

You were two adults, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, loaded with birthday gift bags, arguing whether or not the stars were beautiful. Spencer stood firmly on the no side of that debate.

“Absolutely not. Artificial light sources in the city generate light pollution, which makes astronomical observation of the night sky difficult. If we were somewhere less urbanized—”

“But we’re here,” you cut in softly, your face still tilted toward the sky. “We’re here together, which makes them beautiful to me. Besides, beauty is a relative concept. Which I’m quite sure you know.”

His quiet sigh, the gesture of surrender. Instead of trying to convince you of something he simply couldn’t convince you of, he just pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Fine, you win, my little relative concept.”

Already on the staircase, your melancholic mood vanished entirely as you pulled him into a kiss he couldn’t escape from. Not that he wanted to, but he had to — if he actually wanted to dig the key out of his pocket and let you both inside. So while your hands clung to the back of his neck, his fumbled through his pockets — the same ones, because he was far too distracted to remember which ones he’d already checked and which he hadn’t.

“Wait—”

“Can’t—”

“Find—”

“The key—”

Slipped from his lips in the few short moments they weren’t covered by yours. You couldn’t care less about his key struggles — you’d been away from him for months, and you fully intended to kiss him for every single time you’d wanted nothing more than exactly that, but had an ocean between you instead.

Eventually, Spencer gave up and fell silent, returning your kiss with his entire being, both of his hands cradling your cheeks perfectly. You wished your skin was made of plaster, able to preserve the shape of them on you forever. You heard his short, muffled whimper and cracked your eyes open, just enough to notice that his glasses were completely fogged up.

His glasses fogged white, his cheeks flushed pink.

You giggled at the sight, making his face match the color palette of his shirt even more. One of his hands slid down from your cheek and drifted toward the small pocket on his chest. “Found the key,” he announced.

It immediately slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a clatter.

His sigh, your next giggle, and both of you bending down at the same time.

A head collision and two groans.

You burst into open laughter and took full advantage of the fact that he was bent down, reaching for the key, to press a soft kiss to his hair—the very spot where you’d bumped heads. You left a trail of kisses along his head, wandering across his forehead, brushing the tip of his nose, slowly claiming his lips.

Meanwhile, he blindly fumbled with the key, trying to aim it at the lock without breaking the kiss for even a second.

You weren’t sure there’d be enough hours in the night to fully make up for all the time you’d been apart. Especially since you yourself still couldn’t quite believe this was happening. That you were seeing him again. Kissing him again.

Finally, after what felt like real, dragging hours and simultaneously exactly 4.24 light-years traveled in mere minutes—the sound of the lock turning.

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