[CM] THE CASE

Love is like the Zen of Buddhism—unclear and unclear. ——San Mao

Griffith sat on the sofa in the study again, with a page of Chinese poetry between his fingers—yes, Chinese, since Griffith held Reid and cried bitterly, Reid decided to learn this complicated language, even reading before bed became The Chinese version of "A Brief History of Time".

He gently flipped the paper full of complicated and mysterious words over, seemed to be amused by something Reid couldn't understand, and smiled.

Reid handed him a mug—Reid's favorite—and sat down next to him, picking up another book.

"Don't you watch this? It's interesting." Griffith asked him.

"No... no, I still prefer English more." Reid said frustrated.

Griffith chuckled, "No, you're the one who needs to learn Chinese. Come on, I can teach you."

Reid vowed to die: "It's too difficult, we only have 26 letters, but you have more than 9 Chinese characters."

"Not all Chinese characters will be used." Griffith said helplessly.He took Reid's hand and pressed it to his cheek: "Come on, remember how Helen Keller's teacher taught her to speak?"

Reid swallowed quietly, and said dryly: "Remember, she put her hand on her face and felt the vibration..."

"Exactly." Griffith smiled and rolled his eyes, a small vibration was transmitted from his fingertips along the complex neural network to Reid's brain, successfully shattering his thoughts.

"I'm not good at reciting poems, really, where did you get your poetry collection?" Griffith complained half-truthfully, "Come on, read to me."

"How to make you meet me

in my most beautiful moment for this

I have prayed to the Buddha for 500 years

Beg him to let us form a relationship

Buddha turned me into a tree

Grow by the road you must pass by

Flowers are discreetly blooming in the sun..."

Reid stared blankly at the opening and closing of the light-colored lips, and the gentle strange language was flowing on his soft tongue.He could feel the opening and closing of the jaws and imagine how the vocal cords vibrated.

Everything is like a perfect dream.

Reid broke free from the entanglement of the quilt, turned off the annoying alarm clock, buried his head in the pillow, and let out a deep breath.

It was a hangover from the cabin in Atlanta—he kept seeing Griffith in his dreams.Unlike the one in the office, the one in the dream is more relaxed and happy, and maintains an ambiguous relationship with Reid...

Reid splashed cold water on his face - Spencer Reid!what's on your mind!

Water dampened his hair. Reid wanted to comb it with his hand, but his hand was raised halfway, and his muscles suddenly twitched as if he didn't listen to him.

Heart racing, sweat and dripping, he accidentally broke a glass - the second this week - but Reid didn't have the energy to care.

He was convulsing all over his body, and the feeling of vomiting flooded his throat, his heart was beating so fast that he was about to burn, and cold sweat broke out layer by layer, driving away his hazy drowsiness.

He didn't know how long these symptoms lasted, maybe 3 minutes, maybe 10 minutes, but in Reid's sense of time, he spent a long 24 hours.

When control of the body returned to Reid, his hand was scratched by shards of glass.

Reid sighed, opened the small cabinet behind the mirror and took out medical alcohol and tweezers.His hands were shaking, damn it, it made picking out the glass shards ten times more difficult.

By the time he finished cleaning the glass, including the ones on the floor and hands, and made up his mind to buy a plastic cup, it was too late for him to have breakfast. Reid had to run out of the house, praying that someone in the office had a packet of milk biscuits.

It's a pity that there are no milk biscuits, but there is a bag of mung bean cakes in Griffith's drawer.

"Eat slowly, my college classmate just brought it to me." Griffith brought a cup of coffee to the little doctor.

Reid refused the coffee with a lisp and said a glass of plain water would suffice.

Morgan raised his eyebrows in surprise: "What? Spencer Reid actually hates coffee?"

Reid gave him a supercilious roll of the eye.

Griffith turned around to change him to plain water, Emily picked out a piece of mung bean cake, and took a bite under Reid's gaze: "Well, it's delicious."

"Really?" Morgan twisted a piece too.

So when Griffith came back, there was nothing left of his bag of mung bean cakes.

"That's literally what my college buddy just brought me." Griffith added emphasis on "just now." "I didn't even have a chance to taste it!"

"I'm sorry." Reid downed half a glass of water, "I'm hungry, I didn't eat well last night."

Griffith sat back in his seat. "Not eating well? Reid, you look worse than not eating well, don't you see?"

"Your dark circles are getting worse, boy." Morgan held his shoulders, "Tell me, are you insomnia?"

Reid shook off his hand: "This has nothing to do with you!"

Morgan frowned: "I'm concerned about you."

"I don't need it." Reid said forcefully, slamming the glass on the table, "I'm fine, there's nothing wrong, okay? Are you all doing something?"

Morgan's fists clenched, ready to lift Reid up and beat him up at any moment.But Reid suddenly groaned and said apologetically, "I'm sorry, I... haven't been in the mood recently, it wasn't on purpose."

Morgan remembered the tragic experience of their little angel and decided to let him go.

But Emily asked, "Are you cold? Why are you still wearing gloves? The heating is clearly sufficient."

Reid hid his hands under the table trying to hide it: "It's just a little cold, it's okay."

His three colleagues exchanged meaningful glances, and finally left tacitly, leaving him enough private space.

Gideon came downstairs just in time and knocked on Griffith's desk, taking a quick look at Reid.

One of the two young men in their group killed someone, and the other was almost killed, which didn't make people worry.

Griffith is led back to the office by Gideon.It has been three or four days since they came back from Atlanta, and JJ has no tasks for the time being, because the psychological consultation for Griffith to shoot and kill the suspect has not yet passed, and the results of Reid's mental state evaluation have not yet come out.But everyone believed that once these bad things were resolved, there would definitely be a wave of cases waiting for them.

Gideon closed the office door.The blinds were pulled up, and the sunlight was projected onto the floor in streaks, one even fell on Griffith, leaving the rare warmth of winter.

"Your psychological counseling report is out." Gideon handed over a document, "There is no difference from your previous results, you can continue to work."

Griffith flipped it open, glanced quickly, and breathed a sigh of relief.

"But, you and I both know the report doesn't tell much," Gideon said.

Griffith silently pressed the report against his lap.

"Tell me," said their old-timer, "how do you feel?"

Griffith's shoulders shrugged instantly, like a cat with fur.

how do you feel?How did you feel when you killed someone?

In ancient times, it was still necessary to stab sharp weapons into flesh and blood. After the invention of gunpowder, killing was simplified to the process of moving fingers.Guns, guns... These weapons that are far above human life weaken the sense of respect for life, and it seems to be a blink of an eye to cross the bottom line.

Griffith stood in the perspective of the perpetrator for the first time, and repeated that scene countless times in the dream.From his point of view, Tobias' point of view, or God's point of view, it made him toss and turn.

But he is not an open and honest person, he can't say it.

Griffith said palely, "I'm fine."

"You saved Reid, and he thanked you, and that's right," Gideon said. "I know, killing someone the first time is hard, and I want you to remember that feeling. Killing, suspect or not, is Need to be careful."

Griffith was hiding from Gideon's sight.

"If you still can't let it go, talk to Reid. I kept a photo of the victim after the first murder. I saved her, a ten-year-old girl, and it gave me motivation. Reid is much more convenient than photos, you Just poured him a glass of water," Gideon suggested.

Griffith hesitated, then nodded, "I will."

Gideon smiled: "Okay, I look forward to the friendship between you two young people, after all there is no generation gap. Go to work and report that you can keep it, that's the backup."

"Thank you." Griffith couldn't wait to escape from the office.He stood on the second floor and looked down. Reid was lying slumped on the desk. Next to his brown head was a small pot of radiation-proof potted plants—Elle's. Since she left, Reid has taken in the poor little guy. The responsibility of the water is on Andrew, the colleague who sent Elle home but failed to protect her.

They have lost a partner.

Reid's head lifted suddenly, meeting Griffith's dazed eyes. Reid couldn't understand what his dream regular was thinking, so he smiled back.

Like a budding secret.

The author has something to say: The verses in this article are excerpted from Mr. Xi Murong's "A Flowering Tree"