Being the only non-Italian at Måneskin was never easy. The criticism from the Italian media, made you shut yourself off at Italian interviews. Despite trying to learn the language, it was simply too hard for you, even with the help of Damiano who patiently was trying to teach you.

You were currently sitting on the couch between Damiano and Victoria, all stressed out, doing a group interview for Italian TV. The bright studio lights were already making you sweat, but it wasn’t just the heat. You felt the weight of a hundred invisible eyes on you as the interviewer launched into another rapid-fire question—in Italian.

You caught a few words. Enough to know it was directed at you. But your brain stuttered. You blinked at the interviewer, your mouth opening and closing uselessly.

The silence was brutal. You fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve, wishing you could sink into the floor.

Before you could spiral any further, Damiano shifted beside you. His hand brushed against your knee under the table—just a small touch, grounding you—and he leaned forward, flashing the interviewer a grin.

"Scusa," he said, his voice smooth and charming, "give her a second. She's the genius of the band, but sometimes we talk way too fast for her to catch up."

The interviewer chuckled, easing the pressure immediately. Thomas smirked, and Vic elbowed Damiano playfully, whispering something you couldn't catch.

Damiano turned his body slightly toward you, shielding you from the cameras like it was second nature, and dipped his head close enough that his hair brushed your shoulder.

"They're asking how you feel about being the coolest one in the band," he murmured in English, his voice warm and teasing.

You let out a breathless laugh, feeling your shoulders drop with relief.

"Tell them the truth," he added, his eyes twinkling. "Say you're carrying us."