[ There's a pause, Alberto smirking fondly at the back of Luca's head, still idly swinging his legs over the table's edge. Then, decisively — vaguely? — cheekily makes his next guess. ]
...Pasta.
[ That can't count as a guess, what a cop out! How many types of pasta do they eat, how many times a week? He knows it's a cheap shot, and keeps grinning behind Luca's back, chuffed and amused with himself, swinging his legs a little faster. ]
no subject
...Pasta.
[ That can't count as a guess, what a cop out! How many types of pasta do they eat, how many times a week? He knows it's a cheap shot, and keeps grinning behind Luca's back, chuffed and amused with himself, swinging his legs a little faster. ]