(might be triggerin)

Growing up without parents left holes you learned to fill with silence. There was no one to frame your childhood drawings or hang embarrassing baby photos on the walls. The house you lived in now wasn’t really a home, it was just a place to sleep between study sessions.

Damiano knew it. Not the whole story, but enough to understand why you dodged questions about family or changed the subject when someone casually asked about your plans for the holidays.

You didn't expect him to show up that night, carrying takeout bags and a DVD case.

“Movie night,” he announced, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “You owe me after ditching last week.”

“I told you, I was busy,” you muttered, but this was a lie.

He sprawled out on your couch like it was his own, setting up the movie and forcing a takeout container into your hands. The room felt less lonely with him there. Halfway through the movie, as the main character reunited with his parents, you felt your throat tighten. You didn't notice how still you'd become until Damiano nudged your shoulder.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked softly.

Your eyes burned with tears.

“I just... I don't have that,” you whispered, staring at the screen. “I never did.”

Damiano didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he moved closer, his arm wrapping around you gently.

“You've got me,” he murmured finally, voice barely above a whisper. “Always.”