(TW)

You loved Damiano, but he always chased things that ruined him, he had his vices.

The first time you see him again, he looks… smaller.

Not physically—he’s still him, still taking up space like he owns it. But there’s something hollow behind his eyes now, something fragile about the way he carries himself.

You hesitate in the doorway, fingers curling around the strap of your bag.

He notices. Of course he does.

A humorless smile tugs at his lips. “Didn’t think you’d come.”

You swallow hard. “I missed you too.”

The silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating. You take in the sterile walls, the way his fingers twitch like they miss something they can’t have anymore.

“I don’t know what to say to you,” you admit.

For the first time in months, he looks you straight in the eye.

“Then don’t say anything.”

And just like that, you sit, maybe words aren’t what he needs right now. Maybe he just needs you.