Work Text:
Sunlight pooled into the vacuous hallway through a single window, minute particles visibly dancing around in the paused air. In front of a golden-framed portrait stood the boy with neat dark hair, luminous hazel orbs and an immaculate outfit put together by two of his servants.
Summer vacations had never piqued the young man's interest. Everytime he received a call from Jeeves at the end of the term, he would simply refuse to go home. If he could even call that a home. The entire Cecile hall chattered about their vacation plans in a blithe manner, while Damian sat at the very back, in the very corner of the classroom and only thought about his summer classes and other extracurricular activities that he could do within the school premises itself.
Some would talk about riding the tides with their surfboards, some about travelling across the nation in an aeroplane and some about visiting several historic landmarks with their families. Ah yes, families.
What did the word even mean?
The scion was clueless. To him, the only ones he considered remotely close to a 'family' were his goons. But again, they had their own parents, their own siblings, their own loved ones to hang out with and care about during the holidays. They couldn't stay with Damian all the time, and he couldn't stop them from leaving either no matter how much his insides screamed in contradiction.
It was infuriating.
It was infuriating how he felt like an orphan despite having both of his parents and an older brother. It was infuriating how none of them ever cared to talk, or even spare him a glance. It was infuriating how envious he would get after hearing the Forger talk about her experiences with her 'papa' and 'mama' or how the Blackbell's parents would spend time with her on huge trips to grand palaces and such.
It was infuriating how in spite of all of his achievements, all of his merits, he didn't mean anything to his father.
Nothing, absolutely nothing.
"Father, I-I got a Stella star! I know it's only one but…I was pretty close in other subjects too!"
He was six when he conjured up all the courage that he could and said that out loud. For a second, he celebrated the fact that the man might have awarded him with an ounce of appreciation. But the more he looked into it as he grew older, he realized that he was simply trying to pry his son off him once and for all. It wasn't genuine. At all. The last time he talked to the chairman in flesh, he was thirteen, wearing an ebony cloak with golden appurtenances in the front and eight Stella badges permanently glued to his uniform.
"I'm an imperial scholar now, father! Look, I did it!"
"Still nowhere as successful as Demetrius."
One single sentence was enough to shatter all of his dreams and his hopes, as though they were made out of porcelain in the first place. He distinctly recollects the desolate expression worn by the man while flatly spitting that out. It felt like a jab in the scion's back. And just like that, the Head of the Unity Party walked out of the room, stomping over any remnants of his son's ambitions that were left. Damian only stood there with a barren heart and welled up eyes, crushed, addled, completely and utterly vanquished in his own game of life.
At the age of fourteen, the boy took a dive in the depths of the Stella lake just to 'see what happens'. If it wasn't for a certain stubby legged girl saving him, he would have never made it out alive. Which is precisely what he wanted. He wanted to culminate it all. All of this pain. His father didn't care about his child even after the incident took place, which could have ended horribly. His mother followed this practice of ignoring her children which was said to incentivize them further somehow. It made no sense to him. Furthermore, his brother detested him. He just knew that he did.
Why was he betokened to be alone? Why was he supposed to live up to the entire Ostania's expectations? Why did that one person whom he always wrought strenuously for, always remained diligent for, lost countless nights for, didn't even regard him as his son?
Then he realized his fist was pummeled against a brittle surface, followed by the sound of something shattering, just like himself. He was back inside his mansion. Whenever he tried to recall the reason why he agreed to come here out of all the places, his mind went stark.
He stared at his knuckles which were drenched in a crimson liquid. Oh no. Damian took a step back, aghast, only to hear something crack underneath his feet. Glass.
He stared back at the portrait in front of him. The portrait of the very adult with cold, bulging eyes, who had completely devasted him. The glass pieces were missing in the area where the man's heart was supposed to be, even though he never had one. Even if he did, it was either frozen or fossilized.
Damian plopped onto the floor near the glass shards, blood-stained fingers digging deep into his hair. Hot tears ran down his face as he felt his entire world collapse around him.
"Would you even feel it if I punched you in the heart?"
Now he stood in the present, the very first day of his tenth grade. He was ready to give up. There was no reason for him to keep striving anymore.
A tiny force tugged at his golden hemmed sleeve and his lonesome hazels widened at the sight in front of him.
"Sy-on boy, what's wrong with your hand!?"