(𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐨!)

you were born 5 minutes before damiano. and you always remind him that. since you were kids, you'd pull out the "i'm older by 5 minutes card". and despite the jokes, those 5 minutes have shaped your whole bond.

you're the steady one, the person he runs to when the world gets too loud, too heavy, too fake. and you’re fiercely protective of him, even when he doesn't realize he needs it. when he doubts himself (and he does, more than people know) you're the voice that reminds him where he came from, and who he is. sometimes it’s hard, watching the world adore him without knowing the little boy who used to cling to your shirt during thunderstorms. but you don’t need the stage. you have a front-row seat to the real damiano— and he trusts you more than anyone on earth. whenever he wins something big— an award, a career milestone— he sends you a picture, because deep down, he knows, he still has something to prove to his big sister.

it’s the night before your shared birthday. you and damiano are back home in rome, sitting on the tiny rooftop terrace of your childhood home. there’s pizza, old records playing softly, a couple of half-drunk beers between you, the kind of night that makes you feel sixteen again.

you nudge his arm with your elbow and grin. "you know tomorrow, at exactly 2:16 AM, you owe me a present. It’s tradition."

he laughs under his breath, a real laugh, the kind the world doesn’t often hear anymore— and clinks his bottle against yours.

at exactly 2:16 AM, while you pretend to fall asleep, he slips a small box onto your lap. a bracelet, engraved with; "big sister. first. always." he doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t have to.

you smile sitting up and slowly opening it. "aaaw, dam!"