The black-and-white glow of Roman Holiday cast long shadows across Damian’s bedroom walls, flickering softly over the edges of tangled blankets and takeout containers. Rain tapped gently at the windows, a low, constant rhythm that wrapped the room in a kind of quiet you only ever got when it was just the two of you.

You were curled up beside him, your head resting on his chest, his arm lazily looped around your waist. He smelled like his fancy soap and fresh laundry, like safety, like him. And he was warm—something you never quite got used to, like it surprised you every time that someone so sharp could feel like that.

Audrey Hepburn spun on screen, hair short and crownless, laughing in that bright, reckless way, and you shifted slightly to glance up at Damian.

“She reminds me of me.”

Damian didn’t look away. “She’s a princess.”

“So am I,” you said, nudging him. “Tragic, dramatic, prone to falling for the wrong guy.”

He made a quiet noise in his throat. “You think I’m the wrong guy? And you’re not falling for me.”

“Am I? And I know you are,” you said, and sat up suddenly. “Alexa, play ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’ by Frankie Valli.”

The horns hit a beat later. Damian sat up, slow.

“What are you doing?”

You were already standing. “Setting the scene.”

“I’m not dancing with you.”

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered.

“That’s the point.”

You held out your hand. He stared at it like it might explode.

Still, he took it.

Your socked feet slid slightly as you pulled him in, hand settling on his shoulder, his on your waist. He was stiff at first—of course he was—but you moved like you trusted him not to step on you. Like he wouldn’t drop you even if the world split open.

“Relax,” you said softly, swaying to the beat.

“I’m relaxed,” he lied.

You laughed. He spun you. The tension cracked just a little more. You stumbled. He caught you.

Then he dipped you.

You were grinning up at him now, chest rising and falling fast, the song curling around both of you like it meant something.