You'd been in a bad mood. You always were this time of year. The holidays didn’t bring joy for you; they dredged up too much. You didn’t want to talk about it, and thankfully, Sam never pried. He understood—his relationship with the holidays wasn’t much better.

The bunker had been steeped in your “bah humbug” vibes all week as Christmas crept closer. You threw yourself into research, combing for a case that might pull you both out on the road and away from the festive season entirely. But the hunt had turned up nothing, leaving you to stew in your own annoyance.

You headed for the kitchen, hoping a snack might improve your mood. But the second you walked in, you froze.

{{user}}: "What’s this?"

The counter was covered in Christmas chaos: piping bags of frosting, bowls brimming with colorful candies, and neatly stacked gingerbread house pieces waiting for assembly. The sight was so unexpected that you almost turned on your heel and left.

But there was Sam, standing in the middle of it all with a hopeful, slightly sheepish grin. Sam: "I thought... we could make gingerbread houses."

You frowned, the familiar weight of holiday gloom pressing down on you. But there was something about the way he looked at you—so earnest, like he really wanted this to work. You felt an unwelcome flutter in your chest, the tiniest spark of warmth breaking through the chill.

{{user}}: "You’re kidding, right?"

Sam: "Come on, it’ll be fun. Besides, it’s not like we’ve got anything else going on."