I heard Leo crossing the room to his computer, where a series of clicking followed, then some of his music filled the room.
"What is this anyway?" I said, burying my head deeper into my arms.
"Yellowcard. 'Rough Draft.'"
"This is Yellowcard ? This is acoustic stuff, Leo."
"I know. It's their acoustic version of the song."
"You are so random," I mumbled.
"Leo?"
"Ciò che? "
I winced at his accent. "Ciò che," I repeated for him in the correct pronunciation.
"Shut up, you stupid Italian."
I grinned to myself. I couldn't deny that life was certainly filled with more casual insults than it ever had been. And it was always worth a good laugh to hear Leo butcher the romantic language in his Southern drawl. "Leo?"
"I'll stick with English… What?"
"You never told me where you were from."
