It had been three days since my incident with the football, and Leo was still feeling sorry. How do I know?

Leo-fuckin-Bracci:
Justiiiiiine...

I already knew what he wanted, but with an exasperated sigh, I set aside my guitar and still asked.

Me:
What?

Leo-fuckin-Bracci:
What if she hates me?

Me:
Leo...I thought we already established the fact that she doesn't?

Leo-fuckin-Bracci:
I knooow. But still...it's not like I talked to her since then. I should apologize again.

Me:
Has she shown any signs of hating you?

It took him some time to reply as I expected.

Leo-fuckin-Bracci:
...no. She actually smiled at me.

It felt a bit weird to be referring to myself from someone else's perspective, but I still smiled. Again. I recalled that moment during lunch earlier. I caught him glancing my way, and knowing from his previous text messages that he was still worried, I smiled at him when we made eye contact, adding in a small wave. He seemed relieved, but if chatting with Leo had taught me anything, it was that he's a bit of a worry wart.

So really, I was expecting his text.

Me:
Then you don't have to worry. She's fine, Leo. Take it from me, ok?

Leo-fuckin-Bracci:
Ok, ok.

I could literally feel him pouting, and the mental image made me laugh.

* * *

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