(based on "back to friends" by sombr)

It was supposed to mean nothing.

One night. One blurred line between too many drinks and too many stolen glances. One unspoken agreement that this wouldn’t change anything.

But it did. Of course it did.

You hadn't even looked at each other the same since.

You sat on the edge of his bed now, pulling your shirt over your head like the air had gotten heavier with every second. Damiano was behind you, shirtless, silent — that kind of silence that hums in your spine.

“How can we go back to being friends,” you whispered, voice barely audible, “when we just shared a bed?”

He didn’t answer.

You turned around, eyes meeting his. “How can you look at me and pretend I'm someone you've never met?”

His jaw tensed. “I’m not pretending.”

“Then what is this?” Your voice cracked. “Because I don’t think I imagined the way you held me last night.”

He exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair, looking away — like maybe the ceiling had more answers than he did.

“You were laying on my chest,” he finally said. “I still remember... I was scared to take a breath, didn't want you to move your head. I don't think I can pretend anymore...”