The city felt different that night — like it was holding its breath. Everywhere you looked, there were flashes of color; streetlights glinting off half-melted snow, people spilling out of bars with sparklers in their hands, laughter carried on the cold air. The world was buzzing, suspended in that strange in-between where one year was ending and another hadn’t yet begun.

You were standing on the rooftop terrace with Damiano, wrapped in his coat that was far too big for you but smelled like him — smoke, cologne, and something warm you couldn’t name. Below, the crowd was counting down in different accents, each group a beat off from the next, voices overlapping in excitement.

Damiano had one hand in his pocket and the other resting loosely on the railing, eyes following the bursts of light already starting to spark in the sky. The reflection of gold fireworks danced across his face, softening the sharpness of his expression.

“You’re quiet,” he said eventually, turning toward you. His voice was low, the kind of sound that blended right into the music and the hum of the city.

You smiled faintly, your breath fogging in the air. “Just taking it in. It’s… kind of beautiful.”

He tilted his head. “Kind of?”

You laughed softly. “Okay. It’s beautiful.”

A grin tugged at his mouth. “Better.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You watched the sky light up, colors bursting and fading in patterns that never lasted more than a second. Somewhere below, people were shouting “Happy New Year!” too early.

Then Damiano shifted closer, brushing his thumb over the edge of your sleeve. “You know,” he said, a little quieter now, “I think this is my favorite kind of chaos.”

You looked up at him. “Crowds and fireworks?”

“No,” he murmured, meeting your eyes. “Being here with you. Everything else could disappear, and I’d still feel like I’m exactly where I should be.”

Your chest tightened, the noise of the city dimming in your ears for just a heartbeat. You didn’t trust your voice enough to say anything right away.

“You’re getting sentimental,” you teased softly, though it came out more like a whisper.

He smiled, that lazy, familiar curve of his lips. “Maybe I am. Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my reputation.”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

He reached for your hand then, fingers brushing against yours before intertwining completely. His grip was warm, steady, grounding you in the moment as another wave of fireworks erupted overhead — red and gold this time, brighter than before.

“Here we go,” he said under his breath, glancing at his watch. The crowd below started counting down, louder now, voices melting into one rhythm.

“Ten.”

You turned toward him, heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the fireworks.

“Nine.”

He smiled faintly, thumb tracing lazy circles against your hand.

“Eight.”

The sky flared white, and for a second, it looked like daylight.

“Seven.”

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your hair.

“Six.”

Your pulse matched the rhythm of the crowd.

“Five.”

“You ready for a new year?” he murmured, voice barely audible over the noise.

“With you? Yeah,” you whispered.

“Four… three…”

He smiled — that small, soft, private smile he never used for cameras.

“Two…”

The world exploded in color. “One!”

And before the cheering could even fade, his lips were on yours — soft at first, almost tentative, before deepening into something certain, something that felt like a promise whispered between years.

The fireworks lighted the sky above you, but neither of you looked away. When he finally pulled back, his voice was low.

“Happy New Year, amore.”