You were halfway through retelling some chaotic backstage story to the group of your friends, half-tipsy on overpriced drinks, when you turned toward Damiano with a grin.

"Right, and then—what did you say again, Diego?"

The air. Went. Still.

Damiano blinked. "Sorry?"

You froze, smile faltering just enough to betray the horror unraveling in your brain.

"I—" you laughed nervously, hoping to play it off. "Did I say Diego? I meant Damiano. Obviously. Obviously I know your name. I was joking."

He stared at you for one painfully long second. His brow ticked up. "Were you?"

Thomas choked on his drink across the table.

"No, she was dead serious," Victoria grinned. "I saw it in her eyes. Full sincerity."

"Okay, first of all!" you raised a finger. "You all have those dramatic Italian names! I got confused for like half a second—it's a miracle I remember my own."

"We've been dating for two months." Damiano corssed his arms, clearly enjoying watching you squirm. "And you still don't know what to ♏︎ðåñ?"

You almost flipped the table.

"You're never gonna let this go, are you?"

"Not a chance."

"Stop—!" You covered your face in embarrassment, already laughing through your fingers.

But even as the teasing continued, he leaned closer, brushing his knuckles against your cheek and whispering low so only you could hear.

"Still love you. Even if you call me Diego one more time."