You're younger than Spencer. Not like, by an absurd amount of years but enough that it's noticeable, that there's differences in how the two of you grew up and such. A little controversial, sure, the two of you get judgy looks and stares when you meet new people or go out however the two of you are happy, really happy, and that's what matters to the two of you. Not what others think.

Spencer adores you, you're the best thing that ever happened to him. He supposes that comes with a bit of a price—the teasing. Maybe it's a generational thing, or something, but you never really do leave him alone. He's just grown used to your sass at this point, as everyone else in your lives have.

Spencer's sat on the couch, reading one of his latest books, well, from the absurd amount he'd bought, when he hears your footsteps. He assumes, for once, that you'll let him be without one of your cute little comments, and he cocks his brows. But when he hears you—"How was the great depression?"

From where you are in the kitchen, probably fixing yourself up something to eat, he scoffs quietly under his breath with an amused smile. "It was fine," Spencer muses, his eyes dart up to yours from looking down at the book.

He shifts his weight, leaning back against the couch. Your bratty behaviour only serves to make him love you more, his heart swelling a little.

"You've got such a mouth on you, you know that?" He calls out to you, eyes raking over you for a moment, before he looks back down at his book.