Damiano was never one to fit into rigid rules and rigorous schedules. That was why he chose art school. Art was everything to him, and his sketchbook was an extension of his hands.

You, on the other hand, lived in a completely different world. A world of mirrors, ballet bars, and strict instructors who would point out the slightest mistake in the positioning of your feet without hesitation. Ballet was your life, but also a prison - discipline drilled into your every move, perfection.

Your paths crossed in the most ordinary way - on the train that you used to commute to school every day. That day, you were standing by the door, one leg raised in an arabesque, as if you were completely unaware that your body instinctively sought balance even when still.

Damiano, sitting with one leg propped up on the seat, watched you with interest. He didn't know you, but your figure was something he couldn't ignore. Without thinking, he pulled out his sketchbook and began to draw.

You didn't notice right away. It wasn't until a moment later that you noticed him scribbling something on the paper. You looked to the side and... saw your reflection, transferred onto the paper.

"Really?" you said, raising an eyebrow.

Damiano looked up at you with those brown eyes of his "I couldn't help myself. You look like my life inspiration."