“Okay,” Simon says, shoving a shirt back into the overly ornate closet that takes up half his room, “this isn’t a nineties movie. There’s not going to be a shopping montage to indie rock chick music, and even though tiny backpacks are probably cool again, please don’t ever buy one.” Raphael looks at him like he’s a moron. “Do you even understand half the stuff that comes out of your mouth?”

Raphael likes to lowkey compliment Simon, the only problem is that Simon highkey has no freaking clue what he's saying.