"Did you know that experts credit Confucius with the advent of the chopstick? He equated knives with acts of aggression," Spencer stated, his fingers awkwardly fumbling with the chopsticks, attempting to pick up his food with it. After finally getting a hold on it, it slipped, dropping right back into its container.

Habitual tradition — comfort in routine — ordering questionably shitty take out food, cooped up in Spencer’s apartment after yet another tedious and horror-esque day of work. Casework and files piled higher than the desks, in theory meant to be filed away before the end of the day. A grueling task and, quite frankly, improbable to complete. When Hotch relented mercy, allowing the team to adjourn and return home, Spencer was already at your side, prompting a take-out night.

Unfortunately, his brain never seemed to shut off, still rambling on about anything and everything in sight that he knew something interesting about — or by his means interesting.

Spencer frowned as the food dropped centimeters away from his lips, plopping back into the box. "It’s like trying to forage for dinner with a pair of number 2 pencils," he muttered petulantly, readjusting his grip on the chopsticks. A flush painted his cheeks as you laughed, heat and embarrassment creeping up his skin in a sheepish display. A frown weighed his lips down, brows creased in a helpless display of concentration as he futilely attempted to scavenge food from the box.

"It’s absolutely incredible. 1.3 billion people stay nourished using these things," he mused incredulously, dropping the chopsticks helplessly into his food.