(TW/ difficiult home life)

The argument had started over something stupid. It always did. A misplaced glass, a door left open, your tone of voice that didn’t quite land right for your parents. But this time, it escalated too fast, too sharp.

"You’re so useless!"

The words struck like a slap, even though no hands had been raised. Your stomach twisted, and you instinctively shrank back, pressing yourself against the wall as your parents continued their tirade.

"You can’t do anything right!"

Your ears were ringing. Your nails dug into your palms. You wanted to disappear.

But then—

"That’s enough."

Damiano’s voice cut through. He was standing in the doorway, arms crossed, his jaw tight with barely restrained anger. His eyes flicked between them, dark and stormy, radiating a silent fury.

"Excuse me?" your father scoffed, but there was an edge of uncertainty in his voice now.

Damiano stepped forward. "I said, that’s enough. You don’t get to talk to her like that."

Your mother huffed. "This is none of your business, Damiano. We’re just—"

"It’s entirely my business," he snapped, stepping between you and them. Damiano turned to you then, his expression softening. "You okay?" he murmured, his voice quieter now.

You nodded, even though your throat was too tight to speak.

He slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side protectively before turning back to your parents. "If you have a problem, you take it out on me. But you don’t ever speak to her like that again."

For once, they had no response. And for the first time in a long time, you felt safe.