The smell of nail polish filled the room. You sat on the couch, carefully painting his nails while Damiano sat next to you. His nails were already half-done—black, as always, with little silver accents.

"You’re weird, you know that?" you teased, dipping the brush back into the bottle.

"Says the one who’s currently painting my nails."

"Hey, you asked for it!"

"I did not! You just grabbed my hand and started painting."

You glanced up at him with a smirk. "And yet, here you are, sitting still like a good boy."

He scoffed, rolling his eyes, but didn’t pull his hand away. Instead, he flexed his fingers, admiring the work in progress.

"You’re actually pretty good at this."

"Obviously. I wouldn’t let you walk around looking like a mess."

"That’s debatable."

You nudged his knee with yours, laughing. He grinned, watching as you carefully painted the last stroke.

"There. We're matching now."

He examined his nails, then yours, and hummed in approval. "Guess that makes us official."

"We’ve been dating for a year, Damiano."

"Yeah, but now we’re matching, slay, queen!"

You rolled your eyes, but your heart did a stupid little flip anyway.