Chapter Text
By the time they reached Damian’s apartment, the sky had darkened into a deep indigo, the first stars barely visible through the haze of city lights. The walk had been quiet—not awkward, not heavy, just calm. Anya hummed softly as they went, occasionally swinging their joined hands, while Damian stayed close, his grip firm, like letting go might undo the fragile peace he’d finally found.
The familiar building came into view, and Damian felt a strange sense of relief settle in his chest. Not just because he was home—but because she was here with him.
He unlocked the door, stepped aside to let her in, and barely had time to shut it behind them before Anya turned and wrapped her arms around him again.
Damian melted immediately.
''Oh,'' she murmured, pressing her cheek against his chest. ''There’s that sigh.''
He hadn’t realized he’d let one out.
His arms came around her automatically, pulling her close, tucking her in against him like she belonged there—because she did. He buried his face in her hair, breathing her in, grounding himself in the warmth and familiarity of her.
''I missed you today,'' he said quietly, the words slipping out without thought. ''I miss you every day.''
She smiled into his shirt. ''I come here every day, though.''
''Still,'' he replied.
She laughed softly but didn’t pull away. If anything, she hugged him tighter.
They stood there for a long moment, coats still on, bags abandoned by the door, the outside world effectively shut out. Damian swayed slightly, a slow, unconscious motion, as if soothing both of them at once.
Anya eventually shifted, tilting her head up to look at him. ''You’re not letting go, are you?''
''No,'' he said immediately.
She grinned. ''Okay.''
She leaned up and kissed him—soft, brief, right at the corner of his mouth. Then another, a little slower this time. Then one more, pressed gently to his cheek.
Damian let out a quiet, almost helpless sound.
''Anya,'' he murmured.
She kissed his jaw. ''Mm?''
''I—'' He shook his head faintly, tightening his hold on her. ''Just... stay.''
''I am staying,'' she said easily, punctuating the promise with another kiss, this one lingering against his lips. ''I’m not leaving you alone tonight. Espacially after what happened.''
That seemed to be enough to finally get him moving. He kicked off his shoes, helped her out of her coat, and guided her further into the apartment—though 'guided' was generous, considering he kept stopping to pull her back into his arms.
She didn’t complain once.
''You know,'' she teased gently, brushing her nose against his, ''if you keep hugging me like this, we’re never going to get dinner.''
''I don’t care,'' he muttered.
She laughed, warm and fond. ''I know you don't, but I do. You need food.''
''I need you,'' he corrected.
Her expression softened instantly.
''Well,'' she said, voice gentler now, ''you can have both.''
She slipped free just long enough to set her bag down, then turned back to him, hands immediately finding the front of his sweater. ''Go sit,'' she instructed. ''I’m making you a bath.''
He blinked. ''You don’t have to—''
''I want to,'' she said, already tugging him toward the bathroom. ''You’ve had a long day. You look like you’ve been carrying the weight of the entire government on your shoulders.''
''...That’s actually accurate.''
She shot him a look over her shoulder. ''Bath. Now.''
He obeyed.
She ran the water while he leaned against the doorframe, watching her move around the bathroom with practiced familiarity. She adjusted the temperature carefully, tested it with her wrist, added a bit of the soap she knew he liked—the one that smelled faintly of cedar and something warm.
When steam began to curl into the air, she turned to him, hands on her hips. ''Okay. Get in. I’ll make dinner while you soak.''
He hesitated. ''You’re sure? I can help you.''
She stepped closer, reaching up to cup his face. ''Damian,'' she said softly, ''let me take care of you.''
Something in her tone—gentle, unwavering—made his throat tighten again. He nodded once.
''Okay.''
She smiled, kissed his forehead, and shooed him toward the tub.
By the time he sank into the warm water, his muscles were already beginning to relax. The heat seeped into him slowly, loosening tension he hadn’t realized he was still holding. He leaned his head back against the edge of the tub, eyes closing.
For the first time all day, his thoughts were quiet.
From the kitchen, he could hear Anya moving around—drawers opening, the soft clatter of utensils, her humming drifting faintly through the apartment. The sound wrapped around him like another blanket.
He stayed there longer than he probably should have, letting the warmth do its work, replaying the day in his mind—but this time, without the sharp edges. The exam still hadn’t gone the way he wanted. The expectations were still there.
But so was she.
When he finally emerged, towel wrapped around his waist, the apartment smelled incredible.
''Dinner will be ready in a bit!'' Anya called. ''Go put on comfy clothes!''
He did as told, pulling on his softest sweater and lounge pants. When he came back into the kitchen, she was at the stove, stirring something with focused intensity, tongue poking out slightly from the corner of her mouth.
He leaned against the counter, watching her.
She glanced over her shoulder and caught him staring. ''What?''
''You’re amazing,'' he said simply.
She flushed and grinned. ''I’m just making pasta, Damian.''
''I stand by what I said.''
She laughed, then turned fully to face him. Before he could react, she stepped into his space, arms wrapping around his waist again. He returned the hug instantly, resting his chin on the top of her head.
She tipped her face up and kissed him—slow, affectionate, unhurried. Then another. And another.
''You’re very kissy tonight,'' he murmured.
''Yeah,'' she admitted. ''You need it.''
He didn’t argue.
They ate together at the small kitchen table, legs tangled beneath it. The food was simple but perfect, warm and filling. Damian hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he started eating.
Anya watched him with quiet satisfaction. ''See? Food helps.''
He nodded, smiling tenderly at her. ''You help more.''
Afterward, they cleaned up together, bumping hips, sharing lazy kisses whenever they crossed paths. The earlier heaviness felt distant now, replaced by something soft and safe.
When they finally retreated to the bedroom, the city outside had gone quiet. Anya changed into one of his oversized shirts without comment, climbing into bed while he brushed his teeth. When he returned, she lifted the covers expectantly.
He slipped in beside her, and she immediately curled into him, head resting against his chest, one leg thrown over his.
His arms came around her without thinking.
They lay there in the dim light, breathing in sync. Damian pressed a kiss to her hair, then her temple, then her forehead.
''Thank you,'' he murmured.
She shifted slightly, looking up at him. ''For what?''
''For today,'' he said. ''For... all of it. For being here with me.''
She smiled, soft and sleepy. ''You don't need to thank me. I wouldn't be anywhere else.''
He held her closer, the last of the day’s tension finally melting away. Outside, the world continued on—demanding, expectant, relentless.
But here, in the quiet of his apartment, wrapped around the person who loved him just as he was, Damian Desmond finally felt at peace.
Morning arrived slowly in Damian’s apartment.
Soft light filtered through the thin curtains, pale and honey-colored, spilling across the rumpled bed and the quiet room beyond. The city outside was awake but unhurried—distant traffic murmured, a bird called from somewhere nearby, and the radiator ticked faintly as it cooled.
Damian stirred first.
For a brief, disoriented moment, he lay still, blinking at the ceiling, his mind reaching instinctively for the familiar knot of dread that usually greeted him upon waking—classes, expectations, unfinished thoughts.
It didn’t come.
Instead, he became aware of warmth.
A small weight was pressed against his side, one leg slung carelessly over his, an arm wrapped around his torso like it belonged there. Pink hair fanned across his chest, soft and slightly messy, rising and falling with slow, even breaths.
Anya.
The memory of yesterday surfaced—not sharply, not painfully, but like something already soothed. The exam. The doubts. Her waiting outside the building. The hug that had undone him. The bath. Dinner. Falling asleep with her tucked against him, his hand in her hair.
Damian exhaled quietly.
His chest felt... lighter.
Not magically fixed, not completely free of worry—but steadier. Like the ground beneath him had stopped shifting for once.
He looked down at her, expression immediately softening. In sleep, Anya looked younger somehow—lashes resting against her cheeks, mouth slightly open, her usual mischief replaced by peaceful calm.
He brushed his thumb gently along her arm.
She stirred immediately.
''Mmm,'' she murmured, shifting closer, her grip tightening. ''Don’t disappear.''
''I won't'' he said quietly.
Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first. Then they landed on him—and lit up.
''Hey, Sy-on boy,'' she said sleepily.
''Hey, gremlin,'' he replied.
She smiled, lazy and warm, then buried her face back against his chest. ''You’re still here.''
He huffed softly. ''It’s my apartment.''
''Still counts,'' she mumbled.
He let her stay there a moment longer, arms loose around her, quietly savoring the closeness—the familiar weight of her against him, the way his shoulders eased without him even thinking about it. Being like this with her always felt instinctive, like his body knew before his mind did that he was safe.
She shifted slightly, then tipped her head back to look at him, studying his face with that thoughtful little squint she got when she was paying close attention. ''...You look better,'' she said.
He huffed a small laugh, brushing his thumb idly along her arm. ''I feel better,'' he admitted. ''Turns out you’re very effective medicine.''
She grinned. ''Wow. I didn’t know emotional support was my hidden talent.''
''It’s not hidden,'' he said easily. ''I’ve known for years.''
Her cheeks warmed just a bit at that, but she covered it quickly by wrinkling her nose. ''You’re unbelievable.''
''Yet here you are,'' he replied, amused. ''Still choosing to stay.''
Anya snorted softly. ''As if I don’t basically live here half the time.''
''That’s not what I meant,'' he said, lips twitching. ''You could’ve gone home this morning.''
She narrowed her eyes at him. ''You’re impossible to leave when you get all quiet and sad. I’d have felt like a criminal.''
He scoffed. ''I was not that bad.''
She looked at him, unimpressed. ''Damian, you hugged me like you were afraid I’d disappear.''
''You kissed me first,'' he shot back. ''Repeatedly. Very aggressively, I might add.''
''Oh please,'' she said, smirking. ''It's not like you didn't want me to. You leaned into every single one.''
''That’s beside the point.''
''Uh-huh.'' She shifted closer anyway, clearly unbothered. ''Face it. You needed me.''
He didn’t argue this time.
''I always need you,'' he admitted quietly.
The teasing faded without either of them really noticing. Anya rested her head against his shoulder, fingers absently hooking into the fabric of his shirt.
''I stay over a lot,'' she said gently. ''But yesterday was different.'' She paused, choosing her words. ''You’d had a really hard day. I didn’t want you to wake up and feel like you had to carry that alone.''
His chest tightened, slow and familiar.
''You don’t have to do that for me,'' he murmured.
She hummed softly. ''Of course I do.'' Then, quieter: ''You do it for me all the time. It's the least I could do.''
He went still for a moment, the words settling deep in his chest.
''...I do?'' he asked, almost unsure.
Anya lifted her head slightly to look at him, brows knitting together like the answer was obvious. ''Yeah. All the time.'' She reached for his hand, threading their fingers together without thinking. ''You listen when I ramble. You let me stay over whenever I want. You make me tea when I can’t sleep and pretend it’s not a big deal.''
His throat tightened.
''And,'' she added with a small smile, ''you always notice when I’m not okay. Even when I don’t say anything.''
He looked down at their joined hands, his thumb brushing gently over her knuckles. ''I just... want you to be happy,'' he said quietly.
She smiled at that, soft and warm. ''I know. That's what I want for you too.''
She leaned in then, pressing a slow, careful kiss to his cheek—not teasing, not rushed. Just there. When she pulled back, she rested her forehead against his.
''We take care of each other,'' she whispered. ''That’s kind of our thing.''
He closed his eyes, breathing her in, the tension he hadn’t even realized he was still holding finally melting away. His arm tightened around her, protective without being heavy, and he pressed his lips briefly to her hair.
''...I love you,'' he said, the words low and certain.
Anya smiled against him, arms slipping more securely around his waist. ''I know,'' she murmured. Then, softer still: ''I love you too.''
They stayed like that for a while—no teasing, no clever remarks—just the quiet comfort of being held, of knowing they didn’t have to keep score.
''I’m really glad you were here,'' he said.
She smiled into his shoulder. ''Me too.''
They settled back into the quiet, limbs tangled, trading lazy touches and half-murmured thoughts that didn’t really need finishing. The morning stretched around them, slow and gentle, until Anya suddenly yawned so widely it bordered on theatrical. She stretched like a cat, somehow managing to sprawl even more across him.
''I’m starving,'' she declared.
He snorted. ''Shocking. Absolutely no one could have predicted this.''
She poked his side. ''Hey, I’ve had a very busy morning.''
''Sleeping?'' he asked.
''Well, when you say it like that...''
He laughed, the sound easy now, and tipped his head back against the pillows. ''Want breakfast?''
Her answer was instant. ''Yes.''
He smiled to himself. ''I figured. I’ve learned that it’s best to feed you before you start causing trouble.''
She grinned, clearly pleased. ''You’re learning fast.''
''I've known you a while, weirdo,'' he said, already shifting as if to get up.
''A very long while,'' she said, curling closer for just a second longer. ''I’d hate for you to forget.''
They eventually disentangled themselves from the bed, though Anya refused to stop holding onto him—one hand hooked into the back of his shirt as they shuffled into the kitchen.
She perched on the counter while he started making coffee, watching him with open fondness.
''You’re smiling,'' she observed.
He glanced at her. ''So are you.''
''Yeah,'' she said, swinging her legs. ''Because I love you.''
''I love you too.''
She tilted her head, eyes sparkling. ''I love you more.''
He raised an eyebrow. ''That’s debatable.''
''Oh really?'' she challenged. ''I love you more than omurice.''
He turned slowly, feigning shock. ''That’s a serious claim.''
''I know,'' she said solemnly. ''You should be honored.''
''I am,'' he replied. ''Given how much you love omurice.''
''Exactly.''
He crossed his arms, considering. ''Well. I love you more than a perfectly structured political argument.''
She blinked. ''You mean like... with good sources?''
''And logical consistency,'' he added gravely.
Her eyes widened. ''Wow.''
''Yeah. Try to top that.''
She hopped down from the counter and stepped into his space, pointing at his chest. ''Okay, but I love you more than breakfast.''
''That’s vague,'' he said. ''Breakfast can be many things.''
''I love you more than pancakes,'' she clarified.
He hissed softly. ''Anya.''
''And more than French toast.''
''That’s just excessive.''
She grinned triumphantly. ''Well, it's true.''
He leaned down slightly, meeting her gaze. ''I love you more than being right.''
Her jaw dropped. ''You’re lying.''
''I am not.''
''That’s impossible. No way.''
''Read my mind and find out, then.''
She stared at him for a long moment, then laughed, the sound bright and delighted. ''Okay, okay. You’re good at this.''
''I’ve had practice,'' he said.
She tapped her chin thoughtfully. ''Hmm. I love you more than winning arguments.''
''That’s also hard to believe.''
''Hey!''
He smiled faintly. ''I love you more than my reputation.''
Her teasing expression softened immediately.
''That’s... a lot,'' she said quietly.
He shrugged. ''It’s true.''
She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him again, hugging him tightly. He returned it without hesitation, resting his chin on her head.
''I love you more than making you flustered,'' she murmured into his shirt.
He scoffed. ''You do not.''
''I absolutely do,'' she looked up at him, smirking. ''I love you more than cake.''
He froze. ''You’re just saying things now.''
''I am not!''
''But you love cake.''
''I do,'' she admitted. ''But I love you more.''
His throat tightened slightly, though he hid it with a soft huff. ''I love you more than peace and quiet.''
''That’s impressive,'' she said. ''Considering I destroy that regularly.''
''Daily,'' he confirmed.
She laughed, leaning up to kiss him—just a brief, affectionate peck. ''See? That’s how much you love me.''
He kissed her back, longer this time, unhurried and warm. When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers, breathing her in like he needed the reminder.
''...You know,'' he said quietly, the faintest smile still on his lips, ''sometimes I think I love you so much it actually scares me.''
She blinked.
Just once.
Then she smiled—soft, not mocking, but still unmistakably Anya.
''Why?'' she asked gently.
He huffed under his breath, eyes flicking away for a moment before coming back to her. ''Because I don’t know when it happened. Or how. I just know that somewhere along the way, you stopped being something good in my life and started being... everything.''
Her teasing grin flickered, then returned—warmer this time.
''That’s a bit dramatic,'' she said. ''Very you.''
He snorted. ''I’m serious.''
''I know,'' she said, squeezing him tighter. ''That’s why I like it.''
He shook his head, but he was smiling again. ''I mean it, Anya. If anything ever—'' He stopped himself, jaw tightening. ''I’d give up anything for you.''
She tilted her head, studying him, eyes bright but steady. ''Anything?''
''Yes.''
She hummed thoughtfully. ''That includes your pride?''
''...Okay, anything except that.''
She laughed, then sobered just enough to meet him eye to eye. ''I feel the same, you know,'' she said quietly.
He stilled.
''If it came down to it,'' she continued, voice light but certain, ''I’d give my life for you. Easy.''
His breath caught—sharp, immediate.
''No,'' he said at once. ''Absolutely not.''
She blinked at him. ''Hey, you started it.''
''I don’t care,'' he replied, frowning. ''You’re not allowed to say that.''
She crossed her arms, unimpressed. ''You just said you’d give up anything.''
''That does not include you,'' he shot back. ''And it definitely doesn’t include your life.''
She smirked. ''Wow. Hypocrite.''
''I’m serious,'' he said, hands tightening at her waist. ''If anyone’s dying for anyone, it’s me.''
''Excuse you?'' she said. ''Absolutely not.''
He raised an eyebrow. ''I’m taller. It makes sense.''
''What?! That’s the worst logic you’ve ever used.''
''I study politics. My logic is impeccable.''
She poked his chest. ''I would never let you do that.''
''Good,'' he said immediately. ''Because I wouldn’t let you either.''
They stared at each other for a second—stubborn, fond, completely sincere.
''...So,'' she said slowly, ''we’ve reached a stalemate.''
''Yes.''
''We both love each other enough to die for the other.''
''Unfortunately.''
''And neither of us would allow it.''
''Correct.''
She smiled, bright and satisfied. ''That’s kind of perfect.''
He laughed softly, pulling her back into his arms. ''It’s terrifying.''
She tucked her face into his shoulder. ''Yeah. But it’s us.''
When they pulled apart, she rested her forehead against his. ''You know,'' she said softly, ''it’s not a competition.''
He smiled. ''I know.''
She grinned. ''But if it were, I’d win.''
He snorted. ''Bold of you to assume that.''
They finished making breakfast together—simple, easy, full of gentle bickering and stolen kisses. Damian felt... normal. Happy. Grounded.
As they ate, Anya watched him thoughtfully.
''You really do feel better,'' she said.
''Yeah,'' he agreed. ''I do.''
She smiled, satisfied. ''Good. Because I plan on loving you aggressively today.''
He sighed. ''I should’ve known.''
She leaned over and kissed his cheek. ''You’re stuck with me, Sy-on boy.''
He smiled, warmth spreading through his chest.
''Good,'' he said. ''I wouldn’t have it any other way.''