You always knew there was something dangerous about this. Something that made people whisper when they saw you together, something that made Damiano hesitate before his fingers brushed against yours in public.

He was older, too old for you, according to everyone else.

"This isn’t fair to you," Damiano muttered one night, his voice rough as he leaned against the counter of his dimly lit apartment. "You should be out there, living your life. Not… caught up in this mess with me."

You crossed the room before he could pull away further, standing so close that you could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. "You think I don’t know what I’m doing?" You scoffed, tilting your head. "That I don’t want this?"

His jaw tensed, the conflict raging behind his dark eyes. "It’s not about what we want," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "It’s about what’s right."

You shook your head. "Says who?"

Silence. A heavy, unbearable silence. And then, finally, Damiano exhaled, his resolve melting as he reached out, fingertips ghosting over your cheek.

"You ruin me," he admitted, kissing your cheek gently.