It was a clear, crisp night in Rome. An impossibly large crowd of strangers cheer and yell across the venue, all for one band; MÅNESKIN. Everyone had someone: friends, family, lovers.

Everyone except you.

It was the interlude between one of the songs, the entire band taking a break while on stage, hydrating, chatting, tuning. Damiano sat center stage, drinking out of a water bottle. His eyes skimmed the crowd, double taking and landing on you, hidden yet standing out, seemingly alone.