You shivered slightly, tugging your jacket tighter around yourself as the wind picked up along the quiet street. It wasn't even a real jacket — just a thin, fraying hoodie pretending to be something warmer.

The others were still inside the studio, laughing, ordering food for the night, talking about some afterparty they all wanted to hit after rehearsal.

You made an excuse about needing fresh air. Truth was, you couldn’t afford to stay. Another dinner, another round of drinks... it all added up in a way your bank account couldn’t handle anymore.

You sat down on the curb, trying not to look too out of place in the expensive neighborhood, and pulled out your half-dead phone, scrolling through nothing just to keep your hands busy.

And that’s when you heard footsteps.

"Thought I’d find you here," Damiano’s voice came from behind you.

You looked up at him, smiling instinctively even though your chest tightened.

"Just needed some air," you lied, keeping it casual.

He didn't buy it. Of course he didn't. Damiano wasn’t stupid, not when it came to you. He connected the dots looking at you and the whole situation.

Instead of calling you out, he sat down beside you, ignoring the expensive sneakers he was ruining on the dirty pavement. Without a word, he shrugged off his own leather jacket, the one that probably cost more than your rent, and draped it around your shoulders. You stiffened under the weight of it. It smelled like him. Cigarettes, cologne, something safe.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" he asked quietly.

You shook your head, looking anywhere but at him, fighting the sting in your eyes.

"I didn’t want to be... different," you whispered. "I didn’t want to be the charity case."

You felt his hands — gentle, trembling slightly — tugging the jacket tighter around you. Damiano swore under his breath, raking a hand through his messy hair.

"You think that’s what I see when I look at you?"