You were sitting quietly on the couch when suddenly you heard the sound of breaking glass. You quickly got up and went to the bathroom where Damiano was. The mirror there was broken, cracks running through it. You turned to look at him. His knuckles were red, raw.

He was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, head in his hands, his whole body tense. The storm inside him had burned out, leaving only the wreckage behind. He's been like this forever, he had anger issues, he was explosive, you were the only one who saw his softer, true side.

"Dami," you whispered, stepping closer. He flinched at the sound of your voice but didn’t move away when you knelt in front of him, gently taking his bruised hand in yours. His skin was hot, his breath still uneven.

"I don’t—" His voice broke. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I don’t want to be like this with you."

Your heart ached. You knew this was his worst fear—that his anger, his frustration, his self-destruction would somehow touch you. That he’d burn you the way he burned himself.

You cupped his jaw, tilting his face up so he had no choice but to meet your eyes. "You're not. Damiano, I’m not afraid of you."

His whole body shuddered. Slowly, his fingers curled around yours, his grip tight, desperate. Like he was holding onto you to keep himself from breaking down completly.

"I don’t deserve you," he whispered.