Sixteen. You were both sixteen, too young to get tattooed legally, but just old enough to believe you were untouchable. He had been obsessed with the idea of giving someone a tattoo for months, and after a lot of convincing you had given in.

You sat cross-legged on Damiano’s bed, your sleeve rolled up as he hunched over your arm, needle in hand, an almost wicked grin on his face.

“This is so stupid,” you muttered, but you didn’t pull away.

Damiano glanced up at you, his dark eyes flashing with mischief. “Then why are you letting me do it?”

You exhaled a laugh, shaking your head. “Because I’m just as stupid as you, apparently.”

Damiano rolled his eyes as if offended but he was too focused on disinfecting the needle.

“This is gonna hurt,” he warned, dipping the needle into the ink, his other hand resting on your wrist to keep you steady.

You smirked. “I can handle it.”

His lips curled, something like admiration flickering across his face. “Brave.”

The first sting of the needle made you suck in a sharp breath, but you didn’t flinch. Damiano’s grip was firm, steady, more focused than you’d ever seen him. His usual cocky attitude melted into something almost delicate as he worked, carefully dragging the ink beneath your skin.

“You good?” he murmured, eyes flicking up to meet yours.