The streets of Rome glowed under the soft light of streetlamps, the distant sound of music and laughter filling the air. Damiano walked beside you, his leather jacket slung over his shoulder.

"Beautiful, isn’t it?" he murmured, nodding toward the river. "But not as beautiful as you."

You laughed, shaking your head at his theatrics. "Do you ever stop with the compliments?"

He stopped walking, his gaze locking with yours. "Never, especially when they’re true." Before you could respond, he began to hum softly, the melody weaving through the night. "Dance with me," he said, holding out his hand. "Right here, right now. Who cares if anyone’s watching?"