The clock strikes midnight as the front door creaks open. Spencer steps in, snow in his hair.

“Merry Christmas,” he says softly. Trying not to think about what was coming for him.

You’re on the couch, arms crossed, glaring daggers. “Don’t even start.”

“Can we not—”

“Oh, we’re doing this,” you interrupt, standing up. “You promised you’d be home for Christmas. And yet, here I am, celebrating with… oh wait, no one.”

Spencer drops his bag with a thud. “It wasn’t my fault—”

“It’s never your fault,” you snap. “I made dinner— your favorite dish, actually. I baked cookies. I even put up mistletoe! All for you to show up at midnight like some creepy Santa Claus.”

Spencer throws his hands up. “I texted you!”

You pull out your phone, dramatically reading, “‘Be home soon’ at noon. ‘Leaving now’ at 3 PM. And then radio silence!”

“I was working!” he snaps. “You think I wanted to miss this?”

“You always choose to miss this, Spencer! I spent the entire night alone, watching The Grinch and realizing I’m dating him.”

Spencer’s jaw drops. “I’m not the Grinch! I love Christmas!”

“You are the Grinch!” You point an accusing finger at him. “You’re tall, grumpy, and constantly ruining Christmas!”

“I’m not ruining Christmas!” Spencer shouts back, throwing his hands in the air. “Unbelievable.” He continues, rubbing his temples. “You know what? Okay. I missed dinner, I’m sorry. I ruined Christmas, I’m sorry. Happy? Is that what you want to hear?!”

“No!” you shout, grabbing the cookie tin off the table. “I just wanted you to come back home to me. Once. Just this once. You promised!”

“It’s not my fault serial killers don’t take days off!” He says, raising his voice again, as he is exhausted. “You know my job is importan—“

“Of course I know! You make it your first priority!” You say, as you keep on arguing with him.

You never complained about his job. You knew it was demanding and you never made a big fuss about it. Today, though, you did. Because he promised and he couldn’t even be here for you for Christmas.