The first thing everyone always noticed was how easily you fit in with them — like you’d always been part of the band’s orbit, even before Måneskin was what it was now.

Maybe it was because you were Damiano’s sister. Maybe it was because you’d grown up around noise, music, long nights and louder personalities. Or maybe it was just you.

Victoria noticed before anyone else.

You were sitting on the edge of the rehearsal room couch, legs crossed, scrolling through your phone while the rest of them argued about tempo and chords. Your boots were kicked off, one foot tapping absently to a rhythm only you could hear. Victoria watched you tune out the chaos like it was second nature.

“You always do that,” she said suddenly.

You looked up. “Do what?”

She nodded toward the others. “Disappear without leaving.”

You smiled a little. “Occupational hazard. Growing up with him.” You jerked your chin towards Damiano, who was currently being dramatic about a song lyrics that absolutely did not require drama.*

Victoria laughed, low and fond. “Fair.”

Later, when Damiano and the others stepped outside for a smoke break, it was just the two of you left behind. The room felt different without the noise — quieter, heavier somehow. Victoria leaned against an amp, arms crossed, eyes on you in a way that made your stomach flip in a way you’d stopped pretending was normal a long time ago.

“You coming with us?” she asked.

“In a minute,” you said. “I like it quiet sometimes.”

She hummed, then walked over, sitting beside you instead of following the rest. Her knee brushed yours — accidental, maybe — but neither of you moved away.

“You know,” she said casually, “your brother would lose his mind if he knew half the things you don’t tell him.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

She smirked. “Yeah. Like how you look at me.”

Your breath caught, just slightly.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said, even though you both knew you were lying.

Victoria tilted her head, studying you with that familiar intensity — the same one she brought onstage, except softer now. “You don’t have to explain it,” she said. “I just wanted to know if I was imagining things.”

You swallowed. “And?”

“I’m not.”