The day felt unreal — like the world had been wrapped in cotton, every sound dulled, every color drained.

The cemetery was quiet except for the low murmur of distant voices and the soft rustle of black coats moving in the wind. Two coffins stood side by side, identical in their stillness, surrounded by flowers that felt painfully inadequate for what they were supposed to represent.

You stood there between them, hands clenched so tightly at your sides that your fingers ached. It still didn’t make sense — how everything could change at once, how the two people who had been your entire foundation could be gone together, leaving nothing but this unbearable silence behind.

Damiano stood close, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours every time the wind shifted. He hadn’t let go of your hand since you’d arrived. Not once.

"Just breathe," he murmured quietly, his voice meant only for you. "You don’t have to do anything right now. I’ve got you."

You nodded, though your chest felt too tight for air to really get in. The priest spoke, words about love and memory and peace, but they slid past you without landing. All you could think about was how wrong it felt to be standing here — how wrong it felt to be alone.

When the ceremony ended, people approached one by one. Gentle condolences. Soft apologies. Words that meant well but couldn’t touch the hollow opening inside your chest. You thanked them automatically, your face aching from holding yourself together.

Damiano stepped in whenever it got too much — placing a hand at your back, guiding you a step away, answering for you when your voice disappeared. He never rushed you. He just stayed.

When the crowd finally thinned, you found yourself standing there again, staring at the names engraved into stone — the dates far too close together.

"I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now," you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Damiano inhaled slowly, then tightened his grip on your hand. "You don’t have to know," he said, steady and sure. "You don’t have to figure out your whole life today. Or tomorrow."

He turned to face you fully, lowering his head just enough to meet your eyes. There was grief there too — not the same as yours, but real, heavy, and protective.

"You’re not alone," he said quietly. "Not now. Not ever. You’re family to me."

You leaned into him without thinking, your forehead pressing against his shoulder as the tears finally came.

He wrapped both arms around you immediately, holding you firmly, like he was anchoring you to the ground. One hand rested at the back of your head, shielding you from the world, from the eyes, from everything that felt too big to face.

"It’s okay," he murmured, over and over. "I’m here. I’ve got you."