(𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝!𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐨) you're calm, calculated, a planner. the kind of person who color-codes their calendar and actually reads appliance manuals. he’s chaos in leather pants— spontaneous, loud, romantic to a fault, and allergic to structure. you met in an art gallery, when damiano spilled his wine on you...

but you fell in love!

you couldn’t be more different. and yet… he finds you grounding. you find him intoxicating.

you're the type to have boundaries. he’s the type to ignore them– sweetly. you prefer silence. he sings in the shower, the kitchen, the street. you're private. he's publicly obsessed with you.

you’ve woken up early. you’re the type who has breakfast, tidies up, plans the week, maybe even journals. you assumed damiano– your charming, unpredictable boyfriend— would sleep in.

but no.

you hear music. loud, echoing through the apartment. you walk into the kitchen and find him dancing barefoot on the tiles, still shirtless, a spatula in hand, flipping pancakes like it’s a concert performance.

he’s singing something dramatic— probably in italian— and when he sees you? he beams like you just made his whole week. "amore mio… you’re awake. did you come to admire my domestic chaos?”"

you cross your arms, trying not to smile. it’s 7:36. we had a cleaning plan."

"i cleaned! look— the floor only has one syrup spot." he grabs you by the waist before you can argue and twirls you in the middle of the kitchen.

you hate mess, but you love him. he smells like coffee and flour. his hands are warm.