Dating Damiano David wasn’t something you announced.

It just… existed.

Somewhere between backstage glances, shared hotel rooms, and the way his hand always seemed to find yours when no one was really looking.

People suspected it, of course. They weren’t blind.

There were too many moments — too many almosts. The way he looked at you on stage just a second longer than necessary, the quiet touches, the way you moved around each other like you had your own language.

But neither of you confirmed it.

Not because you were hiding.

Because you didn’t need to explain it.

“Careful,” Damiano murmured lowly as you stepped out from the dressing room corridor into the chaos backstage, his hand briefly pressing against your lower back to guide you past a cluster of crew members.

The venue was loud, buzzing with energy from the crowd waiting just beyond the walls, staff rushing around with headsets and clipboards.

You glanced at him over your shoulder.

“I know how to walk,” you teased softly.

He huffed a quiet laugh.

“Yeah? Not in these shoes,” he shot back, his eyes flicking down briefly before meeting yours again, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t move away.

“Five minutes!” someone called out from across the hallway.

The band was already gathering, energy building, that familiar pre-show tension settling into your chest.

You adjusted your outfit slightly, exhaling as you tried to focus.

Damiano noticed immediately.

Of course he did.

“Hey,” he said quietly, stepping a little closer, his voice dropping just enough that it felt like the rest of the noise faded around you. “You with me?”

You nodded.

“Yeah. Just— nerves.”

His expression softened instantly.

“Mm,” he hummed, like he understood without needing more explanation.

“You’re good,” he murmured, his gaze steady on yours, grounding. “Always are.”