“You realize you look like dark academia personified?” “I don’t know what that means,” he says, his voice musing. He turns the page and continues to read. “Tweed blazers and stacks of books and a bust of Shakespeare,” I say. “All you need is a little skull and a typewriter—” But I break off when Aiden looks at me for the first time this morning. My eyes widen. “Stop it,” I say. “Do you have a skull and a typewriter around here somewhere?” “My sister gave me a skull,” he mutters as a faint flush works its way into his cheeks. “It’s not real.”
