Damiano collapsed onto the sofa, chest rising and falling with the remnants of adrenaline. The green room was alive with the muffled chaos of the post-show buzz outside, but his focus never wavered from you. His grin was lazy, teasing, curls still damp with sweat as he ran a hand through them.

"You were incredible out there, amore," he murmured, voice low and edged with something unreadable. "But next time, try not to make me look like the second star of the show, yeah?"

You let out a quiet laugh, arching a brow as you crossed your arms. "Oh, so now we're keeping score?"

His smirk deepened, eyes dark with something playful yet charged. "Always." He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, gaze never leaving yours. "And tonight, you won."

The way he said it sent a shiver down your spine. Something unspoken crackled in the air between you, thick and heavy, waiting to be acknowledged. His tongue darted over his lower lip, a slow, absentminded motion, and for a second, the space between you felt unbearably small.

He tilted his head, studying you. "You like the feeling, don’t you?" His voice had dropped, rough and teasing. "Knowing I’m watching you."

It wasn’t a question. It was a confession disguised as a dare.