Chapter Text
Age 17
The years had passed in a blur, filled with studying, teasing, and the deepening of something neither of them had quite put into words. Anya and Damian’s friendship had evolved, but there was always that pull between them—undeniable, but subtle, like the steady tug of a thread slowly getting tighter.
Their weekly study sessions had become a routine. Damian would joke with her in his mind, she would answer him out loud (sometimes with a smirk, sometimes with a teasing glare), and the rest of the world would fade away. But it wasn’t just friendly banter anymore. Not for him. And, honestly? He was pretty sure it wasn’t just friendly for her either.
Damian couldn’t concentrate. Not that he’d ever really been able to focus with Anya around, but today it felt worse. She was sitting so close to him, casually flipping through her textbook while occasionally glancing at him with that smile of hers.
He felt his pulse quicken just by being near her. The way her hair moved as she absentmindedly tucked a loose strand behind her ear, the way the sunlight caught the green in her eyes—damn it, he was distracted again. But the worst part? She knew why.
Every time he thought about how beautiful she looked, every time his mind wandered to the fact that his feelings for her had long stopped being "just friends," she was right there to catch it. He was convinced she did it on purpose, too. She always seemed to look at him at the exact moment he thought about how perfect she was.
And that... that made it harder.
Today, it was no different. They were supposed to be studying, but every time their hands brushed or their legs nudged against each other under the table, Damian’s concentration would crumble. He’d find himself thinking about her again, and without a doubt, Anya would look up at him, her eyes sparkling knowingly.
She tilted her head as if she was waiting for him to say something. I know you think I’m beautiful, her expression seemed to say. You always do.
Damian’s face flushed, but he wasn’t about to let her win this round. Not today.
But Anya had other plans.
With a small, teasing smile, she leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as she looked at him with those damn green eyes. She’d learned years ago how to use her power to her advantage, and today was no different. She knew exactly what he was thinking—again.
“You know,” He started, his voice soft and light, “I don't think I told you that your eyes look so amazing in the sunshine.”
“Oh Damian,” She slid her hand on top of his resting on the table. “You don’t seem to get tired of saying it.”
Damian froze at the contact. She was playing with him. She knew that he noticed her eyes every single time he saw her. The way they glowed in the sunlight, like jewels, sparkling and bright. He had said it so many times—out loud, in his head—that it felt like it was branded on his brain.
“I... it’s true,” he muttered, trying to sound casual, but failing miserably. He couldn’t help the way his voice wavered, or the way he kept glancing at her lips.
Anya grinned, obviously savoring his reaction. She didn’t even need to say anything, but it was clear she was enjoying the way he fumbled around, trying to act nonchalant while his thoughts betrayed him. She was a step ahead, as usual.
Damian’s heart raced when she casually leaned closer, her hand brushing his arm. It was subtle—just a touch of skin on skin—but it felt like fire. His breath caught in his throat.
Anya let her fingers linger for just a moment before drawing her hand away. She didn’t need to say anything for Damian to know that she was well aware of the effect she had on him.
“You’re awfully quiet today,” Anya teased, her voice dripping with something dangerously close to flirtation. “Don’t tell me you’ve lost your words again, Damian.”
Damian’s mind was a blur of nervous thoughts. He had a million things he could say, but they all seemed too... obvious. Too much. So, instead of speaking, he just gave a half-smile and shifted in his seat, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. He could feel her eyes on him. She wasn’t even pretending she didn’t know how she affected him.
Anya’s gaze held him, unblinking, for a beat longer than necessary. Then, with one fluid motion, she leaned her shoulder lightly against his, just enough to make him tense up. The contact was casual, but it made his heart thud in his chest. He could barely focus on the words she was saying, even though they were harmless.
“You know, I think you could study a little more seriously,” she murmured, but the way she said it made it sound like a challenge.
Damian opened his mouth to reply, but the words got stuck. His brain was full of nothing but Anya—her touch, her smile, and the way she knew what he was thinking. She knew exactly how badly he wanted her. It was impossible to hide it.
He tried to ignore her teasing but then she said something that he never figured he would hear. “Come on, Damian. I know you think about me when you’re lying in bed. I can hear your thoughts when you don’t think I’m paying attention.”
His face went redder at the thought. Damn it. Of course she knew. And he’s not stupid, he knew she was plotting to get exactly what she wanted. And he was playing right into it, but he loved it, loved her.
Anya must’ve caught the shift in his expression because her smirk deepened. She wasn’t even trying to hide how much she enjoyed seeing him squirm. She moved even closer, her hand brushing against his again—this time, it was longer, her fingers curling around his wrist lightly as she pulled his arm closer to her.
“You really should stop thinking so much about me,” she teased. “I can hear all of it, you know.”
Damian’s heart pounded, his breath catching in his throat. “Anya...” His voice came out barely above a whisper. “You’re... you’re unbelievable.”
Anya’s eyes flickered to his lips, then back to his eyes, and her expression softened. "What?" she asked, her voice low and playful. "You’ve been thinking about me all day, haven’t you?"
He couldn’t deny it. He had. Every time she touched him, every time her voice teased him, every time she gave him that knowing smile, his thoughts raced.
“Yeah,” he breathed, his voice shaky. “I have.”
Anya let out a soft laugh, her hand still resting on his arm, her fingers drawing gentle circles on his skin. “I thought so,” she whispered, leaning in just enough so that their faces were inches apart. “You know, I like it when you think about me.”
Damian’s pulse spiked. ‘Is she teasing me?’ His thoughts tumbled in a rush.
Anya’s smile was full of mischief. “So... when are you going to admit that you’ve wanted this for a while?” she asked, her lips brushing against his ear.
Damian froze, his heart slamming against his ribcage. He didn’t have to say anything—he could feel her eyes on him, the weight of her words sinking in. She already knew.
And honestly, he was done pretending.
“Okay,” he finally said, his voice rough with something he couldn’t hide. “Okay, I want this. I want you, Anya.”
Her hand slid up his arm, resting on his shoulder as she leaned in to kiss him—soft and slow, but full of promise. The tension they’d built up over the years exploded in that single moment. Damian barely had time to think before his hands moved on their own, tangling into the soft strands of her pink hair. He pulled her closer, deepening the kiss, no longer holding back the feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface for years.
Anya let out a small, surprised sound against his lips before melting into him completely. She clutched at the front of his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer, as if she was just as desperate for this as he was. And maybe she was—maybe she had been waiting just as long.
The kiss was messy, unpracticed, but neither of them cared. It wasn’t about perfection. It was about them. About every moment, every glance, every unspoken word that had led them here. Damian could feel her breath, warm against his skin, feel the way her fingers trembled slightly as they ran up his arms, clinging to him like she was afraid he might disappear.
When they finally broke apart, their breaths were ragged, their foreheads resting against each other’s. Anya’s eyes were lidded, her lips slightly swollen, and Damian thought she had never looked more beautiful.
He exhaled shakily, his grip still firm in her hair. “Anya,” he murmured, voice hoarse, “I—I love you.”
Her breath hitched. She pulled back just enough to look at him fully, her green eyes searching for him, as if making sure she hadn’t misheard. But when she saw the raw honesty in his expression, something in her softened.
A slow, breathtaking smile spread across her face. “You idiot,” she whispered, cupping his face in her hands. “I’ve only ever wanted to be with you. I always have.”
Damian felt something in his chest tighten—something warm, something overwhelming. He had always known she was impossible, infuriating, but now he knew something else, too.
She was his.
And he was hers.
Anya leaned in again, pressing a softer kiss to his lips this time, lingering as she whispered, “I want forever, Damian.”
His heart pounded at the words. No teasing, no playful banter—just sincerity.
Forever.
He smiled against her lips. “Then forever it is.” He kissed her again, trying to put every ounce of his love into it. Anya’s hands slid down his chest and rested on his upper thighs.
Damian couldn't where his mind wondered, and with the way her hands squeezed his pants he knew she read his mind. She liked it too, as she bit his lip he knew he was going to take her back to his dorm.
Age 20
The soft glow of the TV flickered across the room, casting gentle shadows as Damian and Anya lay curled up on the couch together. His arm was draped lazily around her shoulders, and her head rested against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was a sound that had become her favorite over the years—constant, steady, safe.
For a long time, they just lay there in comfortable silence, the only sound coming from the low hum of whatever show they had been pretending to watch. But then, Anya shifted slightly, curling in closer, as if she were gathering courage for something.
“…Damian,” she murmured, her voice quieter than usual.
He glanced down at her, immediately catching the slight tension in her expression. “What is it?”
She hesitated, fingers gripping the fabric of his hoodie. “…There’s something I need to tell you.”
His stomach twisted. He had never seen her look so… uncertain. Anya, who was always so confident, so teasing, so effortlessly her, was suddenly hesitant. And that scared him.
“You can tell me anything,” he said softly, rubbing slow circles into her back.
She inhaled deeply. And then, she told him everything.
About the lab. The experiments. The fear. The pain. How she had spent so many years terrified that if anyone ever found out what she was, she’d be taken back. How she had buried it so deep, too scared to even let herself think about it for too long.
But she had always known one thing: she trusted Damian. She had trusted him for years, and now she was proving it by telling him what no one else knew.
Damian felt his throat tighten, his heart aching at the thought of a younger Anya, alone and afraid. “Anya…” His voice cracked slightly. “I—”
But before he could speak, she kept going. She told him about her father. About how Loid Forger had adopted her for a mission. About how her mother, sweet and slightly terrifying Yor, was an assassin. About how it had all been a game—world peace balanced on a little girl’s shoulders.
And then she said the words that sent a sharp pang through his chest.
“I was supposed to befriend you.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “That was the whole reason I got adopted. So my father could get close to yours.”
Silence.
Damian’s heart pounded, a strange mix of emotions swirling inside him. Shock. Hurt. Anger. Confusion.
So his friendship—his everything—had started as just another move on a chessboard? He had been a pawn in this world peace game just like she had?
He swallowed hard, trying to process it all. But then, she spoke again, and this time, her voice was softer, steadier.
“But I stopped caring about the mission a long time ago.”
He turned to look at her.
“The night of the dance,” she continued, eyes filled with something so raw it made his breath hitch, “when you spun me around like I was a princess… I realized I didn’t care about the mission anymore. I just wanted to be your friend.”
A small, shaky laugh escaped her lips. “And then, well… then I fell in love with you.”
Damian’s mind went blank.
She—what?
She loved him.
She had been manipulated her whole life, forced into a mission she never asked for, but in the end, she chose him. Not because of orders, not because of world peace, but because she wanted to.
And just like that, all his anger, all the hurt, melted away. Because none of that mattered anymore. Not the mission, not their parents, not the past.
All that mattered was her.
Damian felt his heart squeeze so tight it almost hurt. He wanted to say something, anything, but his brain was short-circuiting. His thoughts were a complete mess, and before he even realized it, one of them slipped out—
I want to marry her.
Anya blinked.
Then, she burst out laughing.
Damian froze, his entire body going rigid.
Oh. Oh, no.
He had forgotten—of course she could hear his thoughts.
Anya clutched her stomach, laughing so hard she could barely breathe. “M-Marriage?! Damian, why would you—”
His face burned hotter than the sun. “Shut up!” he groaned, shoving a pillow over his face. “Forget I thought that! Forget it right now!”
But she wasn’t stopping. She was crying from laughter now, wiping at her eyes as she tried to catch her breath. “Oh my God, Damian, that was—”
“I swear to God, if you ever bring this up again—”
Anya finally calmed down, a soft giggle escaping as she wiped her tears away. Then, before he could hide from her completely, she pulled the pillow off his face and kissed his cheek.
Damian instantly went silent.
His heart stopped.
Anya smiled at him, her expression softer now. “You’re such an idiot.”
He swallowed, his face still burning. “I—”
She rested her forehead against his, closing her eyes. “But… if it makes you feel better,” she murmured, “I think I’m more in love with you every day, too.”
Damian felt his breath catch. The TV hummed quietly in the background, long forgotten as Anya curled closer to Damian, her fingers gripping the fabric of his hoodie like she was afraid he might slip away. Her confession still hung in the air, fragile and raw.
She had told him everything. The lab. The mission. The truth about her family. How she had been meant to befriend him, how it had started as nothing more than a mission for world peace. How he had been just another piece on the board.
And then—how none of it had mattered anymore. How she had chosen him, loved him, for real.
Damian hadn't spoken since. He hadn't needed to. His mind was a whirlwind, but through it all, one thought rang louder than anything else:
She loves me. She chose me.
But then—
"I don’t understand."
Her voice was barely above a whisper, and when she pulled back to look at him, her green eyes were filled with something heartbreaking. Doubt.
"Why do you still want me after everything I just told you?"
His heart clenched painfully.
"Anya—"
"Really, Damian." She let out a weak laugh, but it lacked her usual mischief. It was hollow. "I was a pawn. You were a pawn. I lied to you for so long. I—I don’t deserve—"
Before she could finish, he cupped her face, tilting it up so she could see him, so she could feel the truth in his touch. His thumb brushed gently against her cheek, and he shook his head.
"You don’t get it, do you?" His voice was thick, but steady. "I don’t care about any of that. I don’t care how it started, or what our parents wanted, or what the mission was supposed to be."
His fingers tangled in her hair, and he swallowed hard, emotions pressing so fiercely against his chest that it hurt.
"All I care about is you."
Anya’s breath hitched, her lips parting slightly in surprise.
He wanted to tell her everything, to say the words pressing against his throat, but they felt too big. Too much. His heart was screaming, I love you, I love you, I love you, but it still wasn’t enough.
So instead, the words burst through his thoughts, so loud, so clear, that he knew she would hear them.
I want to marry you.
Anya gasped.
I want to give you the world. I want to make sure you never feel afraid or alone ever again. I want to give you anything you ever want, anything you ever need. Because you are everything to me, and I will spend the rest of my life proving that to you.
Anya clapped a hand over her mouth, her wide, teary eyes locked onto his.
And then, her hand trembled as she reached for him, pressing her palm against his chest, right over his heart. It was racing beneath her touch, a wild, frantic rhythm that matched her own.
"...Yes," she whispered.
Damian barely had time to process it before she launched herself at him, crashing her lips against his, wrapping her arms around him so tightly it knocked the breath from his lungs.
He melted into her instantly, pulling her closer, kissing her like he had been waiting his entire life for this moment. Because maybe he had.
When they finally pulled apart, gasping for air, Anya let out a small, breathless laugh, her forehead resting against his. "You really want to marry me, huh?"
Damian exhaled shakily, brushing his nose against hers. "I don’t just want to. I will. And you will say yes again, and again, every time I ask, because there’s no way in hell I’m letting you go."
She grinned, eyes sparkling with something deep and endless. "Forever, then?"
His heart stuttered.
He had never been so sure of anything in his life.
"Forever."