(𝐬𝐨𝐧!𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐨) you’re the woman. the absolute icon of italian music. damiano? he’s your 26-year-old rockstar son who lives in your shadow and eats it up like it’s gelato.

he’s a household name... because you said so. every magazine cover, every music deal, every red carpet momen– it’s got your fingerprints all over it, and you do not hide it. in fact, you’re proud of it. publicly. boldly. shamelessly. and strangely, people let it slide, because you’re untouchable. sometimes you'll just show up to his shows in couture and steal the spotlight.

he's is dramatic, spoiled, and absolutely obsessed with you. like, mama's-boy-for-life obsessed. he lives in your guesthouse despite owning three villas. people call him out on nepotism? he shrugs and says "yeah, and?"

you're in an interview, as usual, for vogue magazine. damiano's next to you, casually sitting with his legs spread out in a designer suit, looking cool but slightly disheveled, as usual.

"damiano's solo career is rising like foam, after måneskin temporarily break. how do you feel about that? proud?" the interviewer asks you, damiano grins softly next to you– he knew you were more than damn proud.

"i obviously am." you say. "he's my biggest masterpiece."