And Spike's fingertips brush over one and feel how rich the fabric is even though they're just t-shirts, and he quickly takes his hand away and asks what the hell these are for. Angel just scowls at him and walks away. After a day of ripped shirt wearing, Angel throws the damn thing away. After two more days of no shirt wearing, Angel finally asks, what the fuck is wrong with them, and it's not a question. Spike looks over, disinterested, cigarette dangling, and asks why Angel got so bloody many. Angel crosses his arms over his chest and asks why Spike has to get so much of that fruity cereal. Spike just looks at him strangely and says, you're domesticated, is what you are. But later, Spike is back chomping on his cigarette suspiciously, looking down at those shirts again.