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Luca was not the type to panic.

No, no—he was cool, he was collected, he was a master of sass and an expert in minding his own business.

But when Damien stumbled through their front door, bleeding, bruised, and looking like he had walked through a goddamn warzone—

All that "cool and collected" nonsense?

Gone.

Luca was on his feet in an instant, heart hammering in his chest.

"Damien!"

The man in question barely glanced up, his usually sharp golden eyes dazed, his suit torn, his white dress shirt soaked with blood.

"Hey, sweetheart," Damien rasped, offering a weak smile before his knees buckled.

Luca lunged forward, catching him before he could hit the floor.

"Oh my God—what the hell happened to you?"

Damien grunted as Luca hauled him onto the couch.

"Nothing," he muttered, head lolling back. "Just a little—"

"If you say 'scratch,' I swear to God—"

Damien shut up.

Luca's hands were already moving, yanking off Damien's ruined shirt without ceremony.

And the second he saw the mess underneath, his stomach dropped.

Bruises. Deep, angry ones.

Cuts. Some fresh, some old.

A particularly nasty gash across his ribs, still bleeding.

Luca's breath came shaky, his fingers trembling as he touched the bloodstained skin.

Damien must have noticed, because he sighed, tilting his head to look at him properly.

"Luca—"

"Shut up." Luca's voice was sharp, but his hands were gentle as he grabbed the first-aid kit and started cleaning the wounds.

Damien didn't fight him.

Which meant one thing.

He was in worse shape than he was letting on.

Luca worked in silence, dabbing antiseptic on a cut, wrapping bandages around his ribs, meticulously taking care of him—

But Damien wasn't fooled.

Luca was seething.

And he was scared.

"I know you wanna yell at me," Damien murmured eventually, his voice soft.

Luca's jaw ticked.

"No, I don't." He pulled the bandage a little too tight, and Damien hissed.

"You totally do."

Luca glared at him, eyes blazing.

"You think this is funny? You think it's cute to come home looking like you got run over by a truck?"

Damien sighed, running a tired hand through his hair.

"Sweetheart—"

"No." Luca dropped the first-aid supplies and climbed onto Damien's lap, caging him in with his arms.

Damien's breath hitched.

"You're not invincible," Luca said, voice low, trembling with barely contained emotion.

Damien's hands found Luca's waist, his fingers brushing lightly over the fabric of his shirt.

"I know that," he murmured.

"Then act like it."

Damien's grip tightened.

Luca's eyes burned with frustration, with fear, with something deeper that he wasn't ready to say out loud.

"I can't lose you."

Damien exhaled sharply, heart clenching at the rawness in Luca's voice.

"You won't."

Luca wasn't convinced.

So Damien did the only thing he could do.

He pulled Luca closer, resting his forehead against his.

"I swear to you," Damien whispered, "I'll always come home to you."

Luca hated how easily those words made his heart melt.

He sighed, gripping Damien's face and pressing a kiss to his lips—soft, desperate, full of silent pleas.

"Idiot," Luca mumbled against his mouth.

Damien chuckled, kissing him back just as gently.

But deep down—

He knew.

He was never going to let himself get this hurt again.

Because no bullet, no knife, no rival gang could ever be as terrifying as the thought of losing Luca.

The next morning, Damien tried to get out of bed.

Luca shoved him back down.

"You're not going anywhere."

"I have a meeting—"

"You have a death wish."

Damien sighed, but when Luca curled up next to him, fingers tracing light patterns over his bandages, he decided—

Maybe one day of resting with his sweetheart wasn't so bad.

Maybe, just maybe—

Luca was worth being careful for.

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