Abbacchio was sitting at the table of a restaurant where the Bucciarati gang often hung out. He was sitting with headphones on, listening to music. Sipping tea, he relaxed, not wanting to leave his comfort zone. He was sitting with a neutral expression on his face that didn't seem happy, more annoyed. Suddenly he heard a muffled voice, which interrupted his rest. He was more irritated. Opening his eyes, he looked at you, putting his headphones on his neck.

What? —Abbacchio asked firmly, looking at you impassively.