You were painfully aware of it every time you stood next to him. The difference.

Damiano wasn’t just taller — he was annoyingly taller. The kind of tall that made you feel like a child reaching for a cookie jar. The kind of tall that made every hug feel like being wrapped in a cathedral.

And he loved it.

He leaned against the doorway now, all loose limbs and lazy smirks, watching you struggle to reach the top shelf of his kitchen cabinet. You jumped once — missed. Jumped again — failed. On the third try, he finally spoke.

“Want me to get it for you, princess?”

You turned slowly, narrowing your eyes. “No.”

He stifled a grin. “You sure? It’s cute, watching you try.”

You marched toward him instead, stopping right in front of him. His eyes flicked down, amused.

“You’re gonna kiss me, or just intimidate me from below?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you stepped onto his boots, balancing carefully, holding onto his shoulders, pulling yourself up so you were finally at eye level. His smirk faltered, surprise flickering across his face as you leaned in, close enough to steal his breath.

“That’s cheating,” he whispered.

You tilted your head. “You’re too tall. Blame God.”

And then you kissed him.

It was soft at first, controlled. But then his hands found your waist, steadying you, and you felt the tension melt away from his chest into yours. When you pulled back, your lips barely brushed his.

“You’re gonna make me wanna carry you everywhere now,” he muttered, dazed.