Chapter Text
At six years old, it was absolutely nothing. Yes; Damian Desmond—future Imperial Scholar and second son of Donovan Desmond—felt absolutely nothing when he stood in front of Anya Forger. Not a thing.
Despite the completely truthful facts that were clearly stated, Anya defied all logic that little Damian knew. Only two people in his class didn’t suck up to him; Anya Forger and Becky Blackbell. Blackbell, quote, ‘cared not for your presence, as I have my wonderful Loid to love!’ (Which was convenient for him, as he ‘cared not for her presence’ either.)
Anya Forger, however, was a vastly different story. She was a tiny little thing, with stubby legs and wide eyes that screamed stupid (and stupid she was, as she only just barely passed her classes).
And she punched him! On the first day of school! What the hell was wrong with her?!
Who would possibly dare to send Damian Desmond—future Imperial Scholar and second son of Donovan Desmond —flying into a trash can?
Anya Forger, he supposed, was the answer.
Damian didn’t know what came over him every time he found himself looking (down) at Anya Forger. He couldn’t speak. His throat was dry. His heart pounded so fast he thought he was going to die. His face was hot, but his hands were cold, and he felt the strong urge to run away as fast as he could.
You might be wondering: Oh my gosh! Is the great Damian Desmond, future Imperial Scholar and second son of Donovan Desmond, feeling fear when he faces off against the commoner racoon runt Anya Forger?!?!
You are completely wrong! Ha ha ha! Damian Desmond would never, and will never, feel fear! Especially not from a commoner racoon runt like Anya Forger!
But if not fear, then what was he experiencing?
(It was just a little bit of lov—)
Lov—?! No, no, no, loathing! That was what he was feeling. Don’t mind the narrator; only Damian Desmond, future Imperial Scholar and—you get it—was correct in his statement that:
He felt a little bit of loathing for Anya Forger, and that was all.
(Damian Desmond feels a little bit of loathing.)
At ten years old, Damian Desmond was a changed boy. That’s right, he had grown taller. But so had Anya Forger. So much, in fact, that now she looked down on him . (But not that far!)
And damn, did she abuse the hell out of it.
“Dinky Damian! What’s the weather like down there~?” Anya dropped her messenger bag onto the ground and sat down right beside Damian on the bench (too closeeeeeeee, wailed his traitorous heart).
Dinky Damian was a new nickname. Damian excused the beat his heart had skipped. “You’re the dinky one!” He scowled, but she patted his head, grinning.
“Mm-hm~ Says the Sy-on Boy who’s only— ” she paused for dramatic effect, “—a hundred twenty-nine point two centimetres.”
She had memorized his exact height?! Since when? The physical exam? Why would she do that?
“Y-you’re only two centimetres taller than me, you big-headed commoner racoon runt!” Damian reached up (goddammit) and took her ear in between his fingers, pulling on it playfully.
Through the years, they had fallen into this habit; banter always being exchanged, insults and pain quickly laughed away. Anya wailed, and Damian noticed the tips of his ears felt unusually hot. Once he mercifully released her, he hurriedly swept his hair over them.
Somehow, due to some god-sent miracle (or maybe due to Loid Forger’s interference), Anya had been in Damian’s class every single year since the first. And he sat behind her. Every. Single. Time.
(He was happy about it.)
Okay, he was not!
Still, there was a sort of nervous bliss when she turned around to look at him, a look that meant she was reading his face (or something else, perhaps), and he would whisper-yell at her to turn around and pay attention to the class instead of his handsome face.
Anya would snort and turn back around, but not five minutes later he’d see her pink head bobbing slightly, accompanied with one Becky Blackbell shaking her shoulder to attempt to bring her best friend back to consciousness. And, perhaps, she would wake up in time to scribble down something super important in her notebook. Then Damian would realise he was wasting time that he should be using to pay attention to class on a commoner raccoon runt.
Despite all of that, Damian was satisfied with the way they had turned out. With banter becoming a part of their everyday life, and just playing around with their friends; as kids should.
Because Damian Desmond liked Anya Forger as a friend would like a friend.
(Damian Desmond and Anya Forger are friends. Damian can’t say that there isn’t some sense of bittersweetness that comes with this fact.)
At fourteen years old, Becky Blackbell had finally (finally!!) successfully cornered Damian Desmond. (Oh, and how she relished in his fearful face.) She had one goal, one goal only; and she was determined to see it through to the end.
“Tell me, Desmond. How long has it been since you’ve met my dear Miss Anya?” Becky crossed her arms and tapped her foot threateningly, dark brown pigtails bouncing slightly behind her, and Damian actually considered intentionally getting it wrong, just to see how Becky would explode in anger. However, he valued his life.
“Eight years.”
“That’s right. Good job, Desmond.”
“Okay. And?” he snapped.
Becky tried not to curse at him. “Well? Can’t you do something about that puppy crush of yours?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He bashfully looked away with a little ‘hmph’.
Oho, an interesting change in tone! Gotcha now, Desmond.
“Yeah, right.” Becky snorted and pulled out a polaroid of…Anya? “You can see her well, right? Aren’t I a lovely photographer?”
“Yeah, it’s cute,” he said without thinking. Once he processed what he had said, he slapped a hand over his mouth, mind running laps around Ostania’s border as Becky made an approving noise and shoved the photo into his face.
“Come on, Sy-on Boy! ” Becky—damn her voice acting skills—mimicked her best friend’s voice, only causing Damian to flinch and flush harder. “Look at that cute picture of Anya.”
As if she had to tell him. He drank in the picture. It seemed that Anya was in the middle of consuming a bag of peanuts, her mouth open and her green eyes wide in adorable surprise as Becky snapped a photo. The brand of peanuts was quickly stored into his long-term memory, and he noted to himself that he would buy her the biggest bag he could find for her birthday (...whenever that was).
“Rate it out of ten. Right now.”
Damian figured that if Becky Blackbell didn’t want to become a voice actor, she’d make a damn good interrogator.
He responded not a second after she had commanded him to. “Ten. Wait, I mean, um, three! C-clearly! How could I rate a commoner raccoon runt like A-Anya F-F-Forger anything higher?!” Damian coughed and stood a little stiffer. “I will admit that she’s somewhat aesthetically pleasing, due to your talents as a photographer, but I will rate her a three at absolute maximum!”
“Liar, liar, pants on fire.” Becky’s shoe hit the back of Damian’s leg, and his knees buckled for a moment, glaring daggers at the girl.
“Come on, Damian~ I won’t tell her, promise. I’ll even wingman you,” she offered sweetly. But Damian shook his head stubbornly.
“You’re wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.” He realized that he was saying it more to himself than to Becky.
Becky pulled the photo away and put it back in her pocket. “Say, Desmond, have you read romance before?”
Damian thought back to the romantic novel that Becky had been gushing about to Anya. Damian had bought the entire series in hopes that he would find something to talk about with Anya, but he wound up getting deathly invested in the series (and finding out that Anya didn’t read it anyway). He nodded.
“What happens when someone’s in love?”
“They blush and start to sweat and they get bashful,” he said. He had memorized this exact description, because he’d imagined Anya with a similar expression countless times. For research purposes.
Becky showed him a pocket mirror. “So tell me, what do you look like right now?”
Damian blinked, processing the fact that he was looking at his own face. He looked like every tropey teenager who was experiencing their first love (which he was… not! ).
“ What?! Why— how— I’m not—!” He snatched the mirror out of her hands in record speed, but Becky had a look of triumph on her face as she stood on her toes to retrieve it from his grip.
“This is how you look when you gaze wistfully at Anya Forger, the love of your life.”
“She is not the—”
“—which proves my point, so there’s no lying to me now, Damian Desmond! Do you, or do you not, like Anya Forger?”
Damian felt like crumpling like a paper ball under Becky’s glare.
“ Yes…I… I like Forger…as a friend! ”
Becky nearly choked. “As a friend?! Excuse my language, but that is absolute bullshit, and you know it!” She poked a painted nail into Damian’s chest, frustrated.
It seemed that Damian was regressing in age, because he let out a childish whine and stomped his feet on the floor. “Don’t make me say it, Blackbell! Of course I know it’s complete bullshit , but what do you want me to do about it?! Huh?! I’ve never even said it to myself in my head, because it feels like if I say it in my head she’ll just randomly find out somehow! ”
Becky paused to let him catch his breath. “So what you’re saying is that, you know you like her, but you just can’t tell yourself.”
Damian let out a series of pained gremlin noises, which Becky took as a resounding yes.
“But what’d be so bad about her finding out?” she asked innocently.
Thus, Damian Desmond, Imperial Scholar and second son of Donovan Desmond, found himself sprinting in the direction of his dorms (ignoring Becky’s enraged order of ‘get back here!’ ). He fell stomach-first onto his bed, groaning.
And, once again, he couldn’t get Anya’s face out of his mind. Back in the days, when he was smaller and stupider, he ran when he saw too much of that face. Too much of her smirks and laughs. And it was like she was always right behind him, ready to unleash another attack on his (probably) pounding heart.
And, again, he would run. Eyes squeezed shut and face completely flushed, hoping it was all just going to pass, because what else could he do, when he was like this? In the back of his mind, even at that young age, a part of him longed to be someone to her. Was it as a classmate? An acquaintance?
No, no, a friend. That was what he wanted, back when he was sensitive and starved for familial affection. He hoped to hell and back that all that was just a phase. Because if he acted like that for too long, Anya would grow tired of chasing him and he would never come to be her friend.
What’d be so bad about her finding out?
Becky’s words bounced around in his mind (accompanied by a lot of tormented screaming noises). Once it hit the corner, he started gaining some form of coherent thinking.
What’d be so bad about Anya Forger, friend of eight years and love interest for around the same, finding out that I have a big, fat crush on her?
He rolled onto his back and chuckled dryly to himself. She would get a big head. She would be dumb enough to take it the wrong way. She’d tell him she already had a boyfriend. Or that she wasn’t into guys at all.
Despite that, Damian knew: logically, nothing that bad would happen if she found out. This was an opportunity to get a girlfriend. To experience the ups and downs of a romantic relationship before the pressures of a higher grade got to him.
What’d be so bad about her finding out? he thought again.
Damian didn’t think that someone as beautiful, kind, and pure as Anya could ever love someone like him.
(Damian Desmond and Anya Forger live in completely separate worlds.)