apatía.

“The same way any one else would get in.”

Frowning, the Italian eyed him with something similar to annoyance. “Why wouldn’t you?”

He was tempted to push the other off the couch, but decided that was too boring and instead was going to slowly aggravate the other beside him. So he leaned back, brow furrowing and still frowning at the fact he was not getting his wine.

“Will you at least say ‘hello’ like you should?”

“I didn’t know it was customary to greet people who broke into your house.  Normally people get shot for that sort of thing, Flavio, so maybe you should be thanking me for not putting a bullet through your skull.”

Flavio began to pout, putting a hand on his chest and doing a dramatic pose. “Your so mean to me!”

He huffed, leaning his head into his hand, propping up an elbow on his knee. “Do you even have any wine? Like, the good stuff, not the cheap shit.”

“Awww…Did you not want me to be here?” More reason to stay, am I right, ladies? “Why don’t you be a dear and show some hospitality? Perhaps start with a “hello” and bring me a glass of wine.”

“I’m not really one to be hospitable.  You’re an adult--get it yourself.”

“Obviously visiting.” 

He’s made himself right at home on the couch, sitting in a very snobbish position, leaning back. “Why, visiting you, of course. What ever would you think I’d be doing otherwise?”

“I didn’t ask for the attitude, Flavio.  I thought you had something to do today?”