The hallway outside his apartment was dim, quiet except for the faint hum of the street below. You stood there for what felt like forever, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, clutching the straps of your worn backpack. Your heart pounded so loudly it almost drowned out your thoughts. You weren’t sure if you were doing the right thing, but somehow your feet had carried you here.

Finally, you lifted your hand and knocked. Once. Twice. The sound was small, almost hesitant. A moment later, the door creaked open and Damiano appeared, hair messy from sleep, wearing an oversized shirt. He blinked at you, confused for only a second before concern softened his features.

“(Your name)?” his voice was low, almost careful. “What are you doing here… at this hour?”

You bit your lip, eyes dropping to the floor. It was hard to speak, your throat felt tight. “I… didn’t know where else to go.”

Damiano’s expression changed immediately, all traces of sleepiness gone. He opened the door wider and stepped aside without another word. “Come in.”

You stepped past him, the warmth of his apartment instantly wrapping around you. Damiano closed the door and turned back, studying your face with quiet worry.

“You don’t have to explain anything right now,” he said gently, moving closer but not too close. “Just… let me make you some tea. We’ll sit, and when you’re ready, you can tell me what’s going on.”

The way he said it made your chest ache—no judgment, no pressure, just safety. For the first time that night, you felt your shoulders drop the tiniest bit, like maybe you could breathe again.