[ Alberto's face is growing wildly more and more expressive, trying to wrap his head around what's eating at Della. He knows he's fucking everything up... and he's certain he's not handling this right... but he doesn't know how to handle it! He can't just— tell the truth!? But also... every time he doesn't, he always just ends up ruining everything, whether he thinks he's doing the right thing or not. And right now, he's sure he's not.
He's never seen a grownup act like this, almost cry, it looks like...?! He's making her cry?! He knew she liked him but— This much?! It's beyond his comprehension entirely; he's feeling all kinds of conflicted as she goes off on this self-hating, hard-to-follow limb, and it's painted all over his face, as he inwardly goes off on his own. As she starts walking backwards, though, he's quickly back on his feet and moving toward her in long strides. ]
What?! Wait— Where're yo— ...What about the pasta?!
[ He already made the pesto! He was waiting til she got there to put the noodles in and everything, so they'd be perfect and al dente and everything would be hot and he'd seem like a great cook to a grownup! And also... just get to hang out with his cool dack-lady friend, because he's been going stir crazy alone in his room for weeks?! He's almost... kind of mad, and he doesn't know why? No, not almost, actually, he is mad as she tries to make an exit like that, and he can't help raising his voice in outrage and desperation, gesticulating with his hands in the air. But it's probably reading all wrong. He's not all that aware of his own transparency, for as much of a polished actor he fancies himself — emotional regulation is a whole other matter. ]
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[ Alberto's face is growing wildly more and more expressive, trying to wrap his head around what's eating at Della. He knows he's fucking everything up... and he's certain he's not handling this right... but he doesn't know how to handle it! He can't just— tell the truth!? But also... every time he doesn't, he always just ends up ruining everything, whether he thinks he's doing the right thing or not. And right now, he's sure he's not.
He's never seen a grownup act like this, almost cry, it looks like...?! He's making her cry?! He knew she liked him but— This much?! It's beyond his comprehension entirely; he's feeling all kinds of conflicted as she goes off on this self-hating, hard-to-follow limb, and it's painted all over his face, as he inwardly goes off on his own. As she starts walking backwards, though, he's quickly back on his feet and moving toward her in long strides. ]
What?! Wait— Where're yo— ...What about the pasta?!
[ He already made the pesto! He was waiting til she got there to put the noodles in and everything, so they'd be perfect and al dente and everything would be hot and he'd seem like a great cook to a grownup! And also... just get to hang out with his cool dack-lady friend, because he's been going stir crazy alone in his room for weeks?! He's almost... kind of mad, and he doesn't know why? No, not almost, actually, he is mad as she tries to make an exit like that, and he can't help raising his voice in outrage and desperation, gesticulating with his hands in the air. But it's probably reading all wrong. He's not all that aware of his own transparency, for as much of a polished actor he fancies himself — emotional regulation is a whole other matter. ]