(based on the music video for 'next summer' by dami)

From the moment Damiano entered prison, he got into fights with the prisoners, being oppressed himself, his only motivation not to give up and wait out the long years of his sentence was you.

The visitation room smelled like cheap disinfectant and cigarettes, the air thick with a mix of tension and quiet desperation.

Damiano walked slowly, the bruise still visible on his cheekbone. The months behind bars carving sharp edges where softness used to be. But his eyes—those hadn’t changed. They still softened when they landed on you.

He exhaled smoke through his nose, the cigarette dangling lazily from his fingers as he dropped into the metal chair across from you. The glass between you was spotless, but it might as well have been made of steel.

"You look good." His voice was rough, rasping from too many fights, too many cigarettes, too many nights where sleep was a luxury he couldn't afford. But his smirk—just a ghost of it—was still there.

Your hand lifted instinctively, pressing against the glass. Just a silent need to feel closer.

For a moment, he didn’t move. He just looked at you, like he was memorizing every detail. Then, slowly, he brought his own hand up, pressing his palm to yours through the barrier. The warmth didn’t transfer, but the feeling did. His thumb ghosted over the glass, tracing the shape of your fingers. A bitter laugh slipped from his lips.

"Fvck, I hate this."

Your throat tightened. "I know."

Damiano took another drag of his cigarette, exhaling slowly before leaning in just a little, his forehead almost touching the glass.

"You keep me sane, you know that?"

A muscle in his jaw tensed. His fingers curled slightly, like he wanted to break something, like he wanted to tear down the barrier between you with his bare hands. But instead, he just sat there. Holding onto you the only way he could.