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Damien had been watching.

He always did—because Luca was his sweetheart, his everything, and Damien knew when something wasn't right.

And right now? Something was definitely wrong.

Luca wasn't being his usual self.

Not the chaos magnet that drove Damien up the walls but also filled his world with color.

Not the stubborn brat who loved pushing Damien's buttons just to see him snap.

Not the sweetheart who always had a comeback, always had that playful fire in his eyes.

Lately, he was quiet.

Not in a way that screamed 'I'm plotting something,' but in a way that made Damien's gut twist uncomfortably.

And the worst part?

Luca wouldn't say a damn thing about it.

Anytime Damien asked, Luca brushed him off.

"It's nothing, drop it."

"I'm fine, just leave it alone."

"You're overthinking."

Bullshit.

Damien knew better.

And he didn't like secrets between them—especially ones that hurt Luca.

So when Damien found the letter?

Crumpled. Tossed carelessly in the trash.

He didn't even hesitate.

Luca,

It's been a long time. I don't expect you to be happy to hear from me, but I wanted to reach out. I know I wasn't there for you after your mother passed. I know I wasn't the father you deserved.

I don't have excuses—only regrets. But I want to make things right, if you'll let me.

I miss my son.

I want to see you, talk to you, hear your voice again.

Please, Luca. Just give me a chance.

—Dad.

Damien's grip tightened on the paper.

That bastard.

Of course it was him.

Damien knew about Luca's father.

The man who forgot about his own son the second Luca's mother died.

The man who let Luca grieve alone.

The man who should have been there—but wasn't.

And now he wanted to come back? Now?

After all these years?

Damien's jaw clenched. His chest burned with anger.

He could already see it.

Luca's walls shooting up the moment he read this.

The way he shut down, retreating into himself like he had to handle it alone.

He didn't.

Not anymore.

Damien stormed out of the room, the crumpled letter still in his fist.

He needed to find Luca.

And this time—Luca was talking.

Damien found Luca in the kitchen.

Sitting on the counter, barefoot, absentmindedly stirring a cup of tea he clearly forgot about.

Lost in his head.

Damien had seen that look before—when Luca thought no one was watching, when he let his guard down.

It made Damien's chest tighten.

Luca never looked small to him. Not even when he was at his most vulnerable. But right now?

He looked tired.

And Damien hated it.

He stepped forward, dropping the letter onto the counter with a quiet thud.

Luca stiffened. His fingers twitched around his mug. He didn't even look at it.

"Where'd you find that?" His voice was flat.

"You threw it away," Damien said simply. "Figured there was a reason."

Luca scoffed. "Yeah, because it belongs in the trash."

Damien didn't miss the way his fingers tightened around the mug, his knuckles turning pale.

Didn't miss the way his jaw locked, the way his eyes flickered toward the letter like it was something toxic.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Damien asked.

Luca's shoulders tensed. "Because it's not important."

Damien exhaled sharply.

Not important?

His father—the man who abandoned him, who left him to fend for himself during the worst time of his life—was suddenly crawling back, and Luca thought it was nothing?

Damien's fingers itched to crush the letter, but he held himself back.

"Luca." His voice was lower this time, firm.

But Luca wasn't looking at him.

Just staring at his tea, like the swirling liquid held the answers to the universe.

"I don't want to talk about it," Luca muttered.

"I do."

Luca finally looked up, eyes narrowing.

"Of course you do," he snapped. "Because you always want to fix things, Damien. But this? This isn't something you can fix."

Damien's chest tightened.

It wasn't about fixing it.

It was about Luca not carrying it alone.

Damien took a step closer, gently prying the forgotten mug from Luca's hands and setting it aside.

Luca sighed, frustrated. "I don't need a lecture, okay?"

"I wasn't going to give you one," Damien said, voice softer now.

Luca crossed his arms. "Then what?"

Damien hesitated—just for a second.

Then he reached out, slipping his fingers under Luca's chin, tilting his face up so he couldn't look away.

"I need you to understand something, sweetheart," Damien said quietly.

Luca blinked. His lips parted slightly, but he didn't speak.

Damien leaned in, pressing his forehead against Luca's.

"You don't have to go through this alone."

A shaky breath escaped Luca's lips.

"I'm not," he muttered. But it sounded hollow.

Damien hated that.

So he cupped the sides of Luca's face, thumbs brushing against his cheeks.

"Then tell me what you're thinking," Damien urged. "Talk to me."

Luca's eyes flickered toward the letter again—just for a split second—before he shut them tight.

"I hate him," he whispered.

It was the quietest Damien had ever heard him.

Luca's fingers curled around Damien's wrists. Holding on.

"I hate that he left. I hate that he thinks he can just come back like nothing happened," Luca continued, voice shaking. "I hate that he even remembers I exist."

Damien felt his own chest ache.

Luca never spoke about his father.

Not really.

And now that he was finally saying it—

Damien wrapped his arms around him, pulling him in.

Luca let him.

He buried his face in Damien's chest, gripping the front of his shirt so tightly Damien thought he might tear it.

"I don't want to see him," Luca whispered.

Damien pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

"Then you don't have to," he murmured.

Luca stiffened. "But—"

"No 'but,'" Damien cut him off. "You don't owe him anything."

Luca's fingers tightened in his shirt.

Damien knew this wasn't something that could be fixed overnight.

He knew the scars Luca carried—the ones no one could see.

But if Luca needed someone to fight his battles, Damien would do it.

If he needed someone to stand between him and his past, Damien was there.

And if Luca just needed someone to hold him together when the memories tried to pull him apart—

Then Damien would never let him go.

Damien felt when Luca's breathing evened out.

Felt the way the tension in his shoulders melted, the way his fingers loosened their grip on his shirt but didn't let go completely.

He held him like that, silent, steady.

Until Luca finally sighed and leaned back, just enough to look up at him.

"...I'm not crying," he said, deadpan.

Damien huffed a soft laugh. "Never said you were."

"Good."

But Damien could see it. The slight redness in Luca's eyes. The way he blinked a little too fast, as if trying to get rid of something.

He didn't push it.

Didn't need to.

Instead, Damien ran a hand through Luca's hair, fingers threading through the soft strands.

"I was gonna burn the letter," Luca muttered, almost as an afterthought.

Damien raised a brow. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Figured fire would be a good way to handle garbage."

Damien let out a low chuckle. "Dramatic."

Luca finally cracked a small smirk. "You love it."

Damn right, he did.

But Damien just hummed, tilting his head. "We could still do it."

Luca blinked. "What?"

"Burn the letter." Damien shrugged. "If you don't want it, we get rid of it."

Luca stared at him for a long second.

Then he slid off the counter, snatched the letter, and marched toward the living room like he was on a mission.

Damien followed—because of course he did.

Luca grabbed a lighter from one of the drawers, flipping it open with a click.

He hesitated.

Damien watched as his fingers hovered over the flame, the paper trembling just slightly.

Then—

The letter caught fire.

The edges curled, blackened, flames licking up the surface like it had been waiting for this.

And Luca didn't look away.

Didn't flinch.

Didn't hesitate anymore.

He let the paper burn, let it turn into nothing but ashes.

Damien wrapped an arm around Luca's waist as they watched the last piece crumble, leaving behind nothing but a faint trail of smoke.

"Gone," Luca murmured.

"Gone," Damien confirmed.

Luca sighed. Deep. Like he was breathing out something he didn't need anymore.

Then he turned to Damien, tilting his head. "You ever burn something before?"

Damien smirked. "Sweetheart, I've burned a lot of things."

Luca snorted. "Yeah, fair."

And just like that, the weight in his expression lifted.

Damien saw it.

And maybe, just maybe, Luca felt lighter.

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