"You're not even listening to me." Spencer pouts.

It was 11pm, and you were both in your dimly lit bedroom, the curtains drawn, and the only bit of light came from the moon. And the cinnamon candle Spencer insisted on keeping on your nightstand (he was still afraid of the dark)

Usually, you would've been fast asleep beside Spencer by now (and you were exhausted), but he was doing his nightly reading, and you were asking him about his book. Only, you weren't expecting his responses to be so lengthy. But this is Spencer we're talking about.