There was something inherently surreal about standing in front of Sleeping Beauty’s castle while Damiano stood next to you with mouse ears perched cockily on his head and a giant cotton candy in one hand. His other arm was draped lazily around your shoulders, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the fabric of your hoodie as if grounding himself.

You weren’t alone, far from it actually. It had been his idea, somehow, to drag his closest friends and their girlfriends to Disneyland Paris for a 'totally chill, no-pressure getaway.' You’d all laughed at the absurdity of it. A bunch of tattooed musicians swanning around Fantasyland. But here you were, walking in pairs, buzzing with sugar and laughter, and it was strangely... perfect.

“Okay, next stop: Hyperspace Mountain,” Thomas announced, checking the Disneyland app with theatrical urgency.

“Damiano’s gonna puke,” Victoria teased from ahead, holding her girlfriend’s hand tightly.

“I’m not gonna puke,” he muttered, mock-offended, then leaned in close to your ear. “But if I do, it’ll be directly on Thomas’ shoes.”

You snorted, and he looked smugly satisfied with himself.

He tugged you closer, steering you toward the line with the rest of the group, whispering just loud enough for you to hear, “Y’know, of all the rollercoasters I’ve been on lately… you’re still the best ride.”

You rolled your eyes and blushed, swatting his chest. “That was awful.”

“But it worked.” He grinned, stealing a kiss at the corner of your mouth. “You’re smiling.”