Chapter Text
“Becky, I have something to confess.”
Anya looked up at her best friend sitting straight across from her, who was busy plucking her eyebrows in her pocket mirror.
“I’m listening,” Becky replied, keeping her focus on not taking out the wrong hairs.
Anya bit her lip. If she said it now, it would be out there forever. She could never take it back, especially not with Becky. This would hang over her like a dark cloud for the rest of her days. Was she really prepared to do this?
“I…” Anya started. She curled her lips inward. In a hushed voice she spoke, “I think I’m in love with Damian.”
Becky stopped and slammed her mirror shut with a clap so loud, one would think someone got smacked across the face.
“Did I just hear you correctly?” Becky asked.
Anya nodded.
“You just said you were in love?” Her volume increased.
She nodded again.
“With Damian Desm— ”
“Shhh!!!!” Anya cried out as she reached over the table and put her hands over her friend’s mouth. “Shut up! We’re in public!” Anya looked around her. Thankfully, all of the students surrounding them were too busy with their own gossip.
“Holy shit, Anya finally,” Becky spoke. “It only took you like ten years. I’ve been cheering you two on forever. What finally made you crack?” She put her head in her hands and leaned in towards her friend.
Anya knew exactly when she cracked.
One month ago, at the first orchestra concert of the school year. Damian had a large part in one of the pieces they were playing – some new modern piece by some new age composer (an alumnus of Eden, if he remembered correctly) – and he was a nervous wreck. He ran through it every single day – to the point his lips were all puffy. His part went above the staff and had strings and strings of fast runs, and Damian was nervous that his embouchure and his fingers would fail him. Damian cursed this alumnus under his breath for writing something so difficult.
“Hey Sy-on boy,” Anya said to him while chipping away at her reeds before rehearsal one day. “I’m no brass player, but I’m pretty sure if you keep playing, you’re going to bruise your lips. Then you definitely won’t be able to play.” She turned around to face him and smiled. “You sound amazing, and you’re going to do great! Just breathe.”
Damian lowered his trumpet from his mouth and sighed. “You’re right. I’m getting too much into my head.” He shuffled his music on his stand.
“Remember when we played Swan Lake last year? And I had that huge solo?”
“Yeah,” Damian responded. He was toying with his valves.
“You said the same thing to me then. I was so nervous – I carved so many reeds that my room looked like shop class! I was so scared that I was going to crack, or that my reeds would be bad, or I was going to be so out of tune, but I really was just in my own head. And in the end, everything was fine.”
Damian cracked a tiny smile, his lips all red from playing. “You’re right, ducky.”
Ducky . That nickname came from when the school’s symphony orchestra played Prokofiev’s Peter and the Wolf two years ago. It was both Anya and Damian’s first year in the orchestra and since Anya was the only oboe player, she had to play the solo. So therefore, she was the duck. (She also cried when she realized her fate at the hands of the wolf – and Damian, representing the hunters, of course, laughed.)
Anya stuck her tongue out to Damian. “I need to go back to perfecting my reeds. And you need to rest your lips.”
On the night of the concert, Anya had never seen Damian so nervous. He was wiping his palms on his pant legs to try and dry some of the sweat. He was buzzing his lips and fingering the notes on his trumpet. This confused Anya, because they had played much harder pieces in orchestra, but it was this one that was giving him an issue? It only made sense when she heard whispers among the second violins that Donovan Desmond was actually in the audience tonight.
With her reed in her mouth, she turned around to face Damian, now seated in his chair with his leg bouncing like crazy. She tried to give him a smile, but he was too preoccupied on his music. She crowed into her reed and he turned to face her. She placed her reed in her instrument and gave him a thumbs up.
“Break a leg, Sy-on boy!” she mouthed.
Damian smiled – genuinely smiled, and mouthed back, “Thank you, Anya.”
The concert went amazingly – no tears, everyone was in tune, and hardly any mistakes were made by anyone. Damian played his part perfectly, and Anya could have sworn she had seen tears in his eyes at the conclusion of the concert.
Loid and Yor rushed up to the stage after they finished, handed Anya a bouquet, congratulated her, and took plenty of pictures with their daughter. They attended every single concert they could. Anya thought her parents must have spent a fortune on flowers by this point. After the pictures, Anya noticed Damian off to the other side of the stage, where he and his father stood engaged in conversation.
“I’m glad Damian’s father was able to make it to the concert,” she said. She turned to her parents. “He’s been stressing about this for weeks.”
Donovan Desmond gave his son a pat on the head, and he was soon off, surrounded by a dozen security guards. And then Damian was left alone.
“Sy-on boy!” Anya called. “Come here!” She motioned over to her and her parents. “Let’s take a picture together!”
Damian walked over, his trumpet still in his hands. “Good evening Dr. and Mrs. Forger. Thank you so much for coming tonight.”
The Forgers smiled. “You sounded wonderful, Damian! Everything was so clear and strong!” Yor cheered.
“I agree,” Loid added. “You have a wonderful tone. Bravo.”
“Now get close,” Yor motioned them together. “And smile!”
Anya and Damian stood next to each other closely and smiled while Yor snapped their picture.
Back in the classroom, Anya and Damian were packing up their instruments. Anya was mindlessly pulling a swab through her oboe, when Damian came up behind her. She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn’t even hear him approach her.
“Thanks for earlier,” he said softly. Anya jumped and turned her head. They were the only ones left in the classroom.
She gently placed her oboe in its case and zipped it up, the keychains adorning it jingling. “You’re welcome,” she smiled.
He was close to her – closer than she had anticipated. Anya had to look up at him to meet his gaze. Since when did he get so tall? She started fidgeting with her dress as she became overwhelmed with his presence. He was so close she could smell his cologne, and in that moment, she pinched her arms to her side because she was sure she reeked due to sweating underneath the stage lights.
His suit was perfectly tailored for him. His jacket hugged his broad shoulders and arms, and his pants accentuated a figure as to what Anya could only attribute to playing soccer for half his life.
“I mean it,” Damian interrupted the silence. “Thank you. I was going to lose my mind, especially since I learned my father was going to be in attendance. He actually said he was proud of me. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Anya forced a smile – she was so nervous she was afraid she was going to crack from the pressure. “You’re welcome,” she managed to whisper.
She found herself staring at his lips. They were red, puffy, and had a faint circular mark from his mouthpiece. He had a cute little birthmark to the right of his lips, the same one his mother had.
Damian furrowed his brow. “Is there something on my face?”
Anya couldn’t even make a joke; she was so hypnotized.
“Uh, earth to Anya?” Damian asked. He noticed her eyes were focused on a point below his nose. Did he miss a spot when shaving? (Impossible, someone would have told him before he left his room.)
Damian looked down to Anya’s lips. They were slightly red from all the pressure she had to exert to get a sound out on her instrument. Because she played a woodwind instrument, she couldn’t wear any sort of lipstick.
They were both staring at each other’s puffy lips in the empty classroom, embraced by the gentle hum of the fluorescent lights.
“God, I want to kiss her so bad.”
“God, I want to kiss him so bad.”