Even his own breath didn’t feel real. Damiano sat on the couch, elbows on his knees, fingers pressed against his temples. Focusing. Trying to ground himself. But it was like touching something through glass, like his own body wasn’t his.

He heard yours footsteps, stopping just in front of him.

"Dami?"

Your voice was soft, but it cut through the mess in his head. He forced himself to look up, to meet your eyes, but even that felt distant. Like he wasn’t really here.

You crouched down in front of him, brows furrowed in quiet concern.

"Is it happening again?"

He swallowed hard, dragging a hand over his face. His skin felt numb. His fingers, too.

"Yeah." His voice came out rough, detached. "Feels like I’m dreaming. Like none of this is real."

You didn’t say anything right away. You just shifted closer, reaching out carefully, your fingers brushed against his wrist. A small touch. Warm, real.

"You’re here, Damiano. I’m here, you're real, everything is real."

His throat tightened. He exhaled, shaky, looking at where your fingers curled around his wrist.

"You're sure..?"