It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him. It was just… hard to explain.

The little twitches. The sharp blinks. The quiet huffs under your breath that sometimes sounded like frustration when they weren’t. And the way your shoulder would jerk up slightly every few minutes, like your body had a mind of its own. Most days, you could play it off — lean into distraction, bite your tongue, clench your fists in your pockets until the urge passed. But it never really passed. Not fully.

You’d been dating for a few months now. Long enough to memorize the slope of his laugh, the exact rasp in his voice when he said your name. Long enough to fall asleep beside him with your back to his chest, but not long enough to fully let go. Not yet. Not when you were still holding onto this one piece of yourself with both hands.

He hadn’t noticed. Or maybe he had — he just hadn’t asked.

But that changed one night in his apartment, somewhere between two glasses of wine and a badly rolled joint. You were sitting on the couch with your knees pulled to your chest, drowning in his hoodie, when the tic hit harder than usual. A sudden jerk of your head, then two soft throat-clears back to back.

You winced before he even looked up. Already bracing.

But Damiano didn’t tease you. Didn’t tilt his head or smirk like others did.

Instead, he reached out slowly, brushing his hand down your arm. “You okay, princess?” he asked gently, his voice low and warm.

You hesitated. Bit the inside of your cheek. Then nodded, even though your shoulder twitched again mid-motion.

He was watching you now, more carefully. Not like you were strange — just like he was trying to understand.

"You do that sometimes,” he said softly. “The little throat thing. And your eye twitches a bit, right?”

Your stomach dropped.

“It’s… Tourette’s,” you whispered, eyes locked on the wine in your hands. “I didn’t tell you. I just— I didn’t want you to see me differently.”

There was a beat of silence. Then the couch dipped beside you, and his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you close.

"Different doesn’t mean worse," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. "Means you’ve been strong this whole time. Just wish you hadn’t felt like you had to hide it from me."