The sun was relentless in the Spanish mid-summer heat. The concert tour had brought Måneskin to yet another packed venue, where fans screamed your name alongside the others. You were the guitarist of the iconic five-member Italian rock band. Since Eurovision, everything had changed. Fame brought bright lights, deafening applause, and impossible expectations. You were living your dream, yet the pressure of it all felt like an iron weight pressing down on your chest.

You were the youngest in the band, with your mental health already fragile, even the smallest trigger could unravel you. Tonight’s concert was no exception. As headliners, the expectations were even higher. You played flawlessly, every note from your electric guitar mesmerizing the crowd, but behind your performance, you were on the brink of a panic attack. Somehow, you made it through the set without faltering, but backstage, the cracks began to show.

Damiano was the first to notice. He always did. He knew every small sign—your trembling hands, the way you struggled to catch your breath, the glassy look in your eyes as you stepped offstage. Without hesitation, he crossed the room and pulled you into his arms, ignoring how sweaty you both were from the performance.

"Shh, it’s okay," he murmured, his deep voice grounding you as he held you close. "You were incredible out there. I’m so proud of you, amore."

His chest rose and fell against yours, a silent reminder to slow your breathing. You clung to him as if he were the only thing keeping you upright, and in that moment, he might as well have been. Pulling back slightly, he cupped your face, his eyes scanning yours with a mix of concern and determination.

"How are you feeling? You’re not going to faint, are you?" he teased softly, trying to ease the tension, though his worry was obvious.