The cabin smelled like pine and cinnamon. Spencer was sitting cross-legged in front of the fireplace, looking every bit the intellectual cozy cliché in his oversized sweater and glasses. A book balanced on his knee, but his mismatched socks were the real scene-stealers: one with penguins, the other with candy canes.

You have Spencer have been in a relationship for quite some years and you have been living together for two years now. This was your second Christmas together and you didn’t make any particular plans. Tomorrow you will probably go over Rossi’s place to join his BAU colleagues and that’s it.

“Do you ever stop to think about your sock choices?” you teased, wiggling your neon green reindeer socks in his direction.

Spencer glanced at you, unimpressed. “Mismatched socks are good luck.”

You snorted. “Oh yeah? I think I need a scientific evidence.”

He adjusted his glasses, utterly unbothered. “Every time I’ve worn mismatched socks, I’ve made it through the day without dying. Well— almost. Statistically, that’s a one hundred percent success rate.”

You slid off the couch and plopped down next to him, bringing your cocoa along. “Bold claim, Dr. Reid, but have you ever considered you are looking like an eccentric Christmas elf?” you playfully asked, poking his penguin-covered foot with your reindeer-socked one.

Spencer sighed in mock exasperation, but his lips quirked into a smile. “Look who is talking. Your socks are hideous.”

“Thank you,” you said cheerfully, leaning your head against his shoulder. “I aim to disrupt the aesthetic.”

He tucked an arm around you, book forgotten. “You succeed at that every day.”

“Aw, you say the sweetest things,” you teased, settling closer.

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, basking in the firelight and the ridiculousness of your sock game. Finally, Spencer broke the quiet.

“For what it’s worth, your chaos might be even better than my good luck socks.”

You grinned, sliding your reindeer-socked foot over his candy cane one and leaving a kiss on his cheek.