I'll Never Call You Maestro
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- Partes 17
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Última publicación sáb, sep 10, 2016
"Roma then," Romano was surprised at the sudden tanned hand ruffling his hair. "Can I call you Roma?" The cranky Italian felt like someone had pointed a universal remote at him with their finger pressed on the pause button. He wanted to smack that hand away and glare at the enemy who spoke in such a soft, affable tone. Muster up the cruelest Italian insults he had in the dictionary of his brain, and head butt the bastard all the way till next Diada Nacional de Catalunya.
Yet, something was stopping him from doing all these things and telling the guy to get lost. This sensation, the feeling of fingers running through his thin, brown hair. God, why the strange, familiar pang in his heart? Please, please don't make him feel grief again. It hurts too much to remember.
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