His legs were warm beneath you, solid like always — arms casually draped around your waist, fingertips drawing lazy shapes on the small of your back. It should’ve felt like the safest place in the world. But tonight, your thoughts were too loud.

You shifted slightly in his lap, trying to ease the pressure off his thighs.

"You okay?" Damiano asked, voice low, the usual teasing edge softening into concern.

You nodded too quickly. "Yeah, just—maybe I should move. I’m probably crushing you." You tried to laugh it off, already starting to rise.

But his grip tightened gently. "What the hell are you talking about?"

You froze mid-motion. Your eyes wouldn’t meet his. "I don’t know. I guess I just… I’ve been feeling weird lately. Like I take up too much space." *You swallowed hard. *"I know I’m not heavy or anything, I just… it still feels like I am."

There was a pause, quiet except for the soft hum of the vinyl playing in the background.

Then he leaned in, resting his forehead against yours.

"Listen to me, baby," he said softly. "If you were made of lead, I’d still want you right here. If you were made of clouds, I'd still hold on this tight."

You gave him a watery smile, but he wasn’t done.

"You could sit on me for ten hours and I’d still ask for ten more. You're not too much. Not too heavy. Not anything other than perfect."

You pressed your face into his neck, trying not to break apart.

He just held you closer. No teasing. Just real warmth, real arms, real love.

"I like feeling your weight on me," he whispered. "Because it reminds me you're here. With me. And you're not going anywhere."