TO BE ALONE: a series of måneskin oneshots

up to you (måneskin)

A request for user456789034566

TW: eating disorders

"I gotta go get into costume." (Y/N) smiled softly, kissing Damiano's forehead as she left. She had finally gotten him to eat a salad, after he kept fighting her. Damiano was obviously very upset about having to eat. His nerves were getting the best of him. 

Damiano made sure that his door was completely closed before throwing the rest of his salad into the trashcan. 

Damiano tiptoed his way into the dressing room's bathroom. He shut that door and turned the lock. He pressed his back against the wooden door and worked hard to steady his breaths. Damiano pressed his ear against the door solidifying his notion that nobody else was in the dressing room. 

He threw himself onto his knees, taking one more deep breath. Damiano raised his right hand and slowly moved his fingers towards his tongue. 

~~~~~

"Opening positions, please! Thank you!" A Eurovision technician shouted, waving his pen in the air as he looked down at what was written on his clipboard. 

The techs looked up as the members of Måneskin rounded themselves into the formation that they had memorized how to get into by now. They mumbled off some names, checking their names off of their list. 

"Okay, we got Victoria, Thomas, Ethan, (Y/N), and...Damiano. Wait, where is Damiano?" The stagehand froze, asking with a snap. Nobody knew. "Where is your frontman? Who saw him last?"

(Y/N) gently raised her hand. 

"(Y/N)? Go find him." The exhausted yipped at the young girl.

"Yes, Sir." (Y/N) nodded before scattering backstage. Her platform heels heavily click, click, clicked against the stage. 

(Y/N) wandered around the dressing rooms, peeking into ones with the doors open. She came across one of the two Måneskin dressing rooms. 

"Is everyone in here decent?" She asked, making sure she wouldn't walk in on anyone that wasn't dressed. When (Y/N) knocked on the door, this time with more force, the door simply swung open. "Damiano? Are you in here?"

(Y/N) stepped slowly into the dressing room, halting in her place when she heard retching from the opposite side of the door. 

"Damiano?" (Y/N) whispered, pushing the bathroom door open. She gasped delicately at the sight of Damiano, who was still kneeling on the bathroom tile. "Damiano, holy shit!"

"(Y/N)!" Damiano exclaimed as tears welled in his eyes. His voice scratched. "It isn't what it looks like!" 

"Damiano, are you making yourself--"

"(Y/N), listen--!" Damiano tried to explain himself. 

"You are!" (Y/N) bellowed. 

Damiano parted his lips to fight back, but (Y/N) stopped him. 

Her face softened. "Shh...shh..." (Y/N) hushed him, pulling him up out of his puddle of sadness and onto his weak and shaky legs. She helped him over to the sink, locking eyes with his glassy ones through the mirror. 

In silence, (Y/N) pumped soap onto Damiano's palms and helped him in the act of washing his own hands. Once his hands were dried, Damiano gave a few gentle sniffles, and (Y/N) instructed him to sit down on the now shut toilet seat. 

"Do you want to tell me what the hell is going on here?!" (Y/N) shouted, not angry at Damiano, but angry at herself for not seeing that this was happening.