It wasn’t the first time you’d been around your sister’s son, but every single time Damiano watched you with him, something in his chest ached. The way you crouched down to the his level, listening to his babbling stories like they were gospel. The way you wiped his sticky hands without a flinch, or laughed when he tugged on your hair like it was the funniest thing in the world. You weren’t just good with him—you were natural. Soft. Patient. And Damiano couldn’t take his eyes off you.

Later, when he finally ran off to find his toys and the room quieted, Damiano slid down on the couch beside you. His arm draped lazily along the back, but his gaze was sharp, thoughtful.

“You know…” he started, voice low, almost teasing but not quite, “you’re… really good with him.”

You tilted your head toward him, smiling faintly. “What, surprised?”

He smirked, shaking his head. “Not surprised. Just… impressed. He lights up around you. Like you’re his favorite person in the world.”

You let out a small laugh, brushing it off. “Kids are easy. Just listen, don’t treat them like they’re dumb, and you’re golden.”

Damiano leaned closer then, his tone quieter, more serious now. “Makes me wonder, you know… how it’d be. You and me. If we had one of our own.”

Your breath caught, eyes flicking to him in surprise. He watched you carefully, searching your expression, a faint, almost shy smile tugging at his lips.

“I mean it,” he murmured, thumb brushing gently against your hand resting on your lap. “Seeing you like this… it makes me think maybe I want that someday. With you.”