Your phone buzzed, the familiar notification lighting up the dark room. You barely had to check to know who it was.

Damiano 💬: Did you eat today, amore?

A smile tugged at your lips as you rolled onto your side, fingers already typing.

You 💬: Define “eat.”

Damiano 💬: That is NOT a good answer. Do I have to fly over there and cook for you?

You giggled, picturing his fake serious face, the way he always “threatened” to take care of you like a dramatic Italian nonna.

You 💬: You don’t even know how to cook.

Damiano 💬: Excuse me? I make a mean plate of pasta, thank you very much.

You 💬: Boiling water and throwing pasta in does NOT make you a chef, babe.

His reply came almost instantly.

Damiano 💬: Wow. I feel so disrespected right now.

You laughed into your pillow, warmth spreading through your chest. It was always like this with him—stupid jokes, late-night conversations, teasing that somehow felt like home. It didn’t matter that you had never met in person. Somehow, he was still one of the most important people in your life.

The typing bubble appeared, then disappeared, then reappeared again.

Damiano 💬: Can I ask you something...?

You frowned slightly, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

You 💬: Of course, what’s up?

A longer pause this time. Then—

Damiano 💬: What if we stopped just talking through a screen?

Your heart skipped.

You 💬: Are you saying what I think you’re saying?

Damiano 💬: I think I am. What if we finally met?

You stared at the message, warmth creeping up your neck. This was either the best idea ever… or the most terrifying.