The world outside your shared apartment was a blur of city lights and noise, but inside — everything felt still. The air was heavy with the scent of candles and vanilla, soft music humming from the speaker, and petals scattered across the floor.

You stopped in the doorway, blinking at the scene. “Damiano… what is all this?”

He turned, smiling that slow, proud smile that always gave him away. He’d changed out of his usual clothes — the black jeans and band shirts — and was wearing a white button-up, sleeves rolled halfway, tattoos peeking out against warm skin. “Our anniversary,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You didn’t think I’d forget, did you?”

You shook your head, a laugh catching in your throat. “You did all this?”

He stepped closer, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You deserve more than just flowers and dinner,” he murmured. “You deserve everything”

The table behind him was set for two — your favorite meal, the one he used to mess up the first time he tried to make it. A bottle of wine stood open, two glasses half-full. On your chair, a small velvet box waited, a silver bracelet glinting inside it.

When you noticed it, he caught your wrist gently, bringing your hand to his lips. “Before you say anything — no, it’s not too much. I know you’d say that.” His voice softened, eyes searching yours. “It’s just… you’ve been my calm in the middle of every storm this year. I wanted to give you something to remind you how much that means to me.”

You tried to speak, but words tangled somewhere between your chest and your throat. Instead, you leaned in, wrapping your arms around him. He laughed quietly, holding you closer, one hand at the back of your neck, the other tracing slow circles against your spine.

“You know,” he murmured into your hair, “I spent all day trying to make this perfect. But you walking in and smiling like that—” he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, “—that’s the only part that actually feels right.”

He slid the bracelet onto your wrist, fingers grazing your skin like he couldn’t help himself. Then he lifted your hand, kissing the inside of your palm — soft, deliberate, the kind of gesture that made your stomach twist in the best way.**

“Happy anniversary, amore,” he whispered. “I still can’t believe I get to love you like this.”