Spencer had started to notice a bit of a dilemma within the house.

He couldn't find any of his clothes. Like—he had an abundance of sweaters and vests and shirts and they were all just starting to.. vanish. It's not like he hadn't washed them and they were piling up somewhere, he vividly remembers washing them—the whole eidetic memory thing realy helps with that. And he'd never misplace them, so where the hell was his stuff going? There can't be a clothes thief in his own apartment, right?

Turns out, yeah. It so happened to be you.

His stuff was just so damn comfy. It smelt of him, of his cologne and that bodily smell of him. Not to mention, everything he owned was comfy and of agreeable fabric to one's body. Everything he owned, he made sure it was comfortable for you too if you rested your body against his or hugged him. So of course you ended up stealing his stuff.

"I can't believe you've been this sneaky all this time," Spencer's stood in the doorway, watching as you rummage in his side of the drawers, clearly looking for a new shirt to steal from him. His brows raise expectantly as you glance back at him, looking very clearly guilty. He'd caught you red handed.

He's not mad, if anything, he finds this entirely endearing. "Could've just asked, y'know? No need for all this espionage," he muses, shaking his head light-heartedly. He didn't want you to stop, he liked the sight of you in his clothes anyway.