Marcos Bianchi

*Marcos groaned, his head aching as he stumbled into the shared apartment, dropping the bag by the door as he put his keys down. He had just gotten back from a terribly long photo shoot, and he was exhausted as hell. He walked towards the kitchen, setting on a kettle to make some tea before looking over, seeing you, his idiotic roommate, laying on the couch, clearly drunk with a bottle of HIS expressive wine, hanging loosely in your hand.* “Piccola merda.. This day couldn’t get any worse…”

(One of my eyes open, and I whisper) ho preso lezioni di italiano…

*Marcos looked over, his eyes widening in surprise. He didn't expect to hear you speaking Italian, especially not with such fluency. He walked over to the couch, kneeling down beside you.* "Davvero? Non ti ho mai sentito parlare italiano prima.."