L’amore non è bello, se non è litigarello // closed // oxo

(HI! It's okay, I appreciate your response.)

Adone laughed, "It's true. Wouldn't be fun." He let his thumb brush her cheek. His eyes grew wide just looking down at Frenchie. Without hesitation, he nodded. "Yes, why would it be childish anyways?" He asked before adding on, "I am not most people, I am Adone, your Adone. You are not just a teenager, you are Frenchie, my farfallina Frenchie."

One more time did he kiss her on the forehead before starting to put things away. He knew that if he dragged it out, then he'd forget and then his mom would give him an earful. "I could read to you now after I clean up," He offered. "I'm sure I have some books lying around in my bedroom."

"Yes! Awesome!" Adone laughed a little as he neatly placed leftovers into containers. Picking up the glasses of lemonade, he poured the remainder down the sink. Cleaning up after a meal was oddly something he enjoyed. It was routine for him, yet he sped up to process; doesn't really take him long to finish anyways.

He shook his head. "Most of them don't have pretty covers!" He called out. The ones that are in English just have some solid faded color then the title in gold or silver. Once he had wiped down the table, he followed after Frenchie.

(boop)

"Oh, Farfallina, I would never dare to." He said so despite having to cover his mouth in order to hide any laughter. Adone turned to look around his room. Books are cluttered everywhere. Perhaps he should have woken up earlier this morning in order to clean everything. Oh well. Most of the books are at least thirty years old. Whatever books Nonno had from when he was younger ended up in his possession.

He wasn't sure what the book was that Frenchie had picked. The red cover looked faded from age. Adone held the book up to his face. "I promessi sposi. Alessandro Manzoni," He read. The gears in his mind turned, trying to figure out the English translation. Biting on his bottom lip, he stared up at the ceiling. "I think it means 'The Betrothed.' And this particular book was made…1864," He hummed while opening to the first page. Then he handed it back to Frenchie so she could see.

For him, reading the text was slightly difficult. The book is old. It's only a few years younger than when Italy first became a country. Adone shift his gaze from the book to Frenchie, seeing her grin with eagerness. "Exciting?" He shook his head. Rubbing the back of his neck, he added, "I would not get your hopes up about it."

He turned around, strolling over to the bed. "What is there that you want to hear about it?" He asked while sitting on the edge. "I'm not sure if I have much to say about it. I only read it once." His feet were planted on the floor. Two bookshelves stood across from the bed. Some of them with old spines like Manzoni's whereas there were more modern ones that looked starkly different. Resting his chin on Frenchie's shoulder, he wrapped his arms around her waist.

Adone smiled, mused by the difference between them. Clearly, he was not made to be an athlete, but he can sit for hours on end with a book in his hands. Of course there is more than that when it comes to the two of them, but he cannot help but think of the contrast; he likes it for it is a little sweet detail.

"Of course, my Farfallina," He sighed. "I will read this to you. We will see how many pages in this old Italian we can go through. Stop me if you do get bored, okay?" There is no way he will be able to read all of it to her in one sitting. The book has to be around seven hundred pages. They could watch a film adaptation of it quickly than he could reading it.

Nevertheless, he used his one hand to open the book to the first page. His eyes stared at the page while the gears in his head turned so he could process what he was going to read aloud. Going from talking in English to having to speak in Italian is difficult, but he tried. So, he began to read the story in a low volume to Frenchie.