(𝐝𝐚𝐝–𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐨!) damiano was not okay, he hasn’t been for a while. he knows it, the fans know it, you– his 11 years old daughter, know it.

he was skinnier, pale, his cigarette obsession was over the roof and he only ate burgers and salads, when he’s been a homemade meal guy his whole life.

yet there you were– his baby. by his side 24/7 as if you were his caregiver, the responsible adult. you’ve always been his safe heaven, his anchor– but nothing compared to now.

“here, daddy. this will make you feel better.” you hand him a painkiller and help him drink the water, he was on his messy bed per usual and everything hurt.

“thanks, angel.” he mutters in his raspy, deep voice.

you nod sitting next to him, so innocently and genuine. “the food is almost here.” you say, you had learnt how to order takeout so you’d be having some noddle soup today.