You were stressed, this was going to be the first time your already somewhat quarreling parents would meet your first boyfriend, Damiano. You were both 15, yet he had already earned a bad reputation as a troublemaker.

"Try not to look like you just climbed out of a dumpster, okay?"

Damiano shot you a look as you adjusted his collar for the tenth time, flattening a stray wrinkle like his entire existence depended on it.

"Relax, princess," he muttered, grabbing your wrist to stop you. "It’s just dinner."

"Yeah. Just dinner. With my parents. Who already don’t like me and are definitely going to hate you."

He smirked. "Well, at least we’ll have that in common."

You groaned, pushing your forehead against his chest. He smelled like cigarette smoke and cheap cologne, an oddly comforting combination.

"I’m serious, Damiano. Just... don’t be you for like, two hours."

"Ouch." He placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. "And here I thought you liked me just the way I am."

"I do. My parents won’t."

"Then I’ll just make them like me." He winked, stepping around you to ring the doorbell to your home. "I’m very charming, you know."

You barely had time to panic before the door swung open, revealing your mother’s cold stare.

"You must be Damiano," she said, her voice flat.

"That’s me," he answered, flashing the most confident grin you’d ever seen. "Your daughter’s personal headache."

You wanted to run away. Right there on the porch.

Your father appeared behind your mom, his expression unreadable but also cold. "Well. Come in, then."

Damiano leaned toward you, whispering just loud enough for you to hear.

"How bad do you think this is gonna be?"

"Horrific."

He grinned. "Perfect."