“Why do you keep doing that?” I twine my hair around my finger. “Doing what?” “Covering your laugh.” “It’s not a laugh. It’s some sort of strangled, dying animal sound, and it’s embarrassing.” “Okay, well that’ll be weird.” “What will be weird?” “When someone asks me what my favorite sound is, and I have to describe it like that.” I blink up at him. “You’re deranged.”
