You hadn't seen him in months.

Not since those cramped, chaotic days of endless rehearsals in tiny garages, the late-night jam sessions. Not since you made the choice that changed everything—leaving Måneskin to join another band just before everything exploded for both of you.

Sometimes you wondered if he resented you for it. Sometimes, you resented yourself.

Even though you were constantly stalking each other's media, having mutual friends, asking about each other randomly, you were both too busy to actually meet up.

But now? Now you were standing backstage at one of the biggest festivals in Europe, your laminate pass swinging from your neck, the noise of the crowd vibrating in your chest—and there he was.

Damiano David. He was leaning against a stack of flight cases, cigarette dangling between his fingers, black eyeliner smudged just enough to make him look even more like a painting you'd once been stupid enough to fall in love with.

You froze for half a second before forcing yourself to move, head held high. After all, you were no longer that wide-eyed kid dreaming of making it big. You had your own name now. Your own crowds. Your own story.

He spotted you instantly. Of course he did.

A slow, knowing smile spread across his face as he flicked the cigarette away and straightened up.

"Well, well," he drawled. "Look who finally decided to show up to the party."

You crossed your arms, fighting the twitch of a smile. "Pretty sure I got here before you. Different stage, though."

Damiano chuckled under his breath, stepping closer, the distance between you shrinking like it always used to.

"Yeah? Headliner, huh?" He teased, his eyes glinting with something you couldn’t quite place. Pride? Bitterness? Something dangerously close to fondness?

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Seems like we both made it."

For a second, neither of you said anything. The music from the main stage pounded in the background, distant but heavy.

Then Damiano tilted his head slightly, voice softer.

"I missed hearing you play, you know."

And just like that, the years between you felt paper-thin. Your heart lurched in your chest.You swallowed, managing a small, almost-smirk. "Careful, David. Say stuff like that and I might think you still care."

He grinned wider, infuriatingly charming, infuriatingly him.

"Maybe I do, tesoro, maybe I'm just proud of you."