You had imagined this moment a thousand different ways.

Sometimes it was dramatic, running into each other’s arms at the airport like some cheesy movie. Other times, quiet and clumsy, with awkward smiles and nervous laughter. But none of your mental rehearsals prepared you for the way your heart actually stalled the second you spotted him across the terminal.

Damiano.

Not the grainy FaceTime version. Not the low-lit, sleepy 3 a.m. voice messages or blurry mirror selfies he sent you when he missed you too much.

Him.

He saw you before you could even raise your hand to wave. His eyes widened, like he didn’t fully believe you were real either, and then he was walking toward you, slow at first, then faster. You could hear the chain around his neck clink with every step.

When he stopped in front of you, his smile cracked wide, breath catching.

“Cazzo, you’re shorter than I thought,” he laughed, his voice soft, eyes impossibly warm.

You blinked up at him, nerves in a knot, every word in your brain wiped clean.

“You’re taller,” you breathed back. “And blurrier on screen.”

He grinned, a little crooked, then cupped your face in both hands with so much gentleness it made your chest ache.

“May I?” he asked.

You nodded.

And when he kissed you, tentative, slow, but so full of everything—the months of distance melted in an instant. It was still him. Your Damiano. Just... real now. Touchable. Breathed-in.

He pulled back only slightly, his forehead resting against yours. “I missed you like hell.”