The nightmares always came without warning. One moment you were asleep, the next you were drowning in the past — trapped in memories that refused to stay buried. When you woke, your chest was tight, your throat dry, hands trembling as though the danger was still real.

That’s how Damiano found you tonight. Sitting on the edge of the bed, blanket tangled at your feet, eyes wide and unfocused.

“Hey, hey…” his voice was soft, careful, like he was afraid a louder word might shatter you. He crouched in front of you, hands hovering before gently settling on your knees. “Breathe with me, amore. In… and out.”

You tried, but your breath kept hitching, coming in shallow bursts. “I— I can’t— it won’t stop—”

“You can,” he interrupted gently, not letting his gaze waver. He started breathing slow and steady, exaggerating the rise and fall of his chest until you caught on, shaky but following his rhythm.

Minutes passed before the tightness began to loosen, your shoulders slumping as tears slipped down your cheeks. You hated when he saw you like this. “I’m sorry,” you whispered hoarsely, your voice breaking.

Damiano shook his head firmly. “Don’t. Don’t apologize for this.” His thumb brushed the tear from your cheek, touch steady and grounding. “You don’t scare me. None of this does. You hear me?”

You gave a small, hesitant nod, eyes locked on his.

“Good.”* His voice softened even more, a quiet promise just for you. “Whatever comes back to haunt you, I’ll be right here. Every damn time. You’re not facing it alone anymore.”

He pulled you into his chest then, strong arms wrapping around you, his warmth chasing away the chill of your memories.