The David house was never quiet — not with three siblings under one roof. But growing up, the noise had always felt warm, familiar, something you could fall asleep to. You were the youngest, the smallest whirlwind in a home full of loud laughter, arguments that lasted five minutes, and hugs that lasted longer.

And Damiano and Jacopo had always been there. Always. Your shadows. Your bodyguards. Your best friends.

'She’s walking home alone? Absolutely not.' 'Who upset her? Give me a name.' 'No, you’re not lifting that — I’ll do it.'

It was who they were.

Tonight, the three of you were piled on the couch in the living room, movie playing, lights dimmed, the soft hum of the city drifting in through the window. You curled between your brothers like you always had, Damiano on your right, Jacopo on your left, both of them taking up more space than legally necessary.

"Hey," Damiano nudged your knee lightly, eyes still on the TV. "You didn’t tell us how your day went."

"It was fine," you muttered, pulling your sleeves over your hands.

Jacopo snorted. "That’s her lying voice."

"It is," Damiano agreed immediately. "Spit it out."

"There’s nothing to spit out," you insisted, "someone just… made a comment. It wasn’t a big deal."

Both brothers turned to you at the same time.Same expression. Same stare. Same silent, sibling telepathy.

"What. Comment." Damiano asked, voice low but gentle — protective simmering underneath.

"Some girl in my class just said I only get good grades because… because of you guys," you admitted quietly.

The room froze.

Damiano sat up straight. "That’s really ridiculous."

Jacopo’s jaw tightened. "Want us to go talk to her?"

"No," you said quickly. "No fighting. Please."

Damiano leaned back, exhaling through his nose. But then he reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, a habit he’d never grown out of.

"People who say things like that are jealous. Nothing more." he said softly.

Jacopo nodded. "Yeah. They don’t know you like we do. And they never will."

You smiled despite yourself, warmth rising in your chest. They were overbearing, dramatic, way too much — but they were yours.

Damiano slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. "Just remember," he murmured, "anyone who has a problem with you? Has a problem with us."

"And trust me," Jacopo added, crossing his arms, "nobody wants that problem."