The night stretches above you, endless and full of quiet wonder. The city lights are far behind, leaving nothing but the sky—vast, dark, and freckled with stars that shimmer like fragments of something ancient. You lie on your back, the cool grass beneath you, your breath steady as you trace invisible constellations with your finger.

Damiano shifts beside you, propping himself up on one elbow. “You ever think about how small we are?” he murmurs, voice low, like speaking too loud might shatter the stillness.

You turn your head to look at him. His curls are a mess from the wind, eyes reflecting the sky like he’s holding galaxies of his own.

“All the time,” you admit.

A breeze rolls past, carrying the scent of earth and night air. There’s something sacred about this moment—this shared silence, this quiet infinity where nothing exists but the two of you and the stars.

Damiano exhales softly, then reaches for your hand. His fingers brush against yours, hesitant but warm. “Good,” he says. “I don’t wanna be the only one.”

And under the weight of a million stars, you swear you feel gravity shift—pulling you closer, anchoring you to this moment, to him.