Chapter Text
Anya gripped her hall pass in her hand as she trotted down the hall to the nurse's station. P.E. had been unusually loud, auditorily and telepathically, and she was getting a headache. The lights were starting to bother her eyes, so she walked while looking at her feet, glancing up every ten seconds or so to make sure she wasn't veering off course. It had been about ten seconds when her shoulders were suddenly grabbed.
“Why don't you watch where you're going?” asked Damian, more mildly than usual.
She looked up and gasped in shock. Glancing around, she saw they were the only two people in the hallway. Maybe that's why he hadn't yelled at her.
“Sy-on Boy! You're here after all!”
Damian took a step back and released her. “I just had an appointment. Not that it matters to…” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “What are you doing out of class, twerp?”
His face was doing that thing where it turned super red, and his mind was doing that thing where the top track thoughts were about how much he hated commoners and there were about fifteen other tracks playing at the same time. At least Papa's loud thoughts are in order. Anya’s head pounded, but she hardly ever had a moment with Second Son without his flunkies or Becky, and This Was Her Chance.
“Anya,” she stated firmly.
“Huh?”
“It's ‘Anya,’ not twerp.”
“Whaa…that's…” he sputtered. “Oh, suddenly you've got any right to talk? ‘Sy-on Boy’ this and ‘Second Son’ that. Like I want to be known as just a second-tier Desmond. Get out of my way…stubby legs.”
Anya remembered the dachshund Yor had gushed over. “Stubby legs are cute.”
“THEY ARE NOT!” Damian brushed past her, which seemed a little unnecessary considering how wide the hallway was, but Anya suddenly had an idea.
“Sy-on Boy!” she ordered, holding an arm out impressively. “Anya challenges you to a bet!”
“What kind of bet?” he asked, suspicion and curiosity fighting for the upper hand in his voice.
“Anya bets you can't call her by her name for a week. No insults. No nicknames.”
“Easy enough. I just won't talk to you at all. It'll be the best week of my whole time at Eden.”
“To make it fair, Anya will call you Damian.”
His intake of breath was as sharp as if she had just punched him in the stomach. “You can't do that,” he muttered.
“Can, too.”
“What will people think?”
Anya tilted her head, trying to concentrate on what Damian himself was thinking, but his thoughts were a whirlwind that she couldn't slow down.
“Deal,” he decided aloud. “If it's only when nobody is around. Wouldn't want anybody to think we were friends. Unless…” he fidgeted with the edge of his tunic. “For the week…since we'd already be using names…”
“We could be secret friends,” Anya suggested for him, voicing the one thought that had risen to the top of his mind.
He shrugged. “Whatever. If those are your rules for this stupid bet.”
Second Son is not good at being polite. Anya held out her hand. “Deal.”
He flushed. “I don't need to touch your sticky hand. Gross.”
“Is this how you talk to your real friends…Damian? Or just your fake secret friends?”
No response.
“Remember,” she threw out casually, “you were still going to pay me back for the hankychief I loaned you. Especially since you never gave it back.”
“Urgh, I've told you a dozen times, I lost it, okay?” [This was a lie.] “And no, you still can't come look for it at my house. It wouldn't do any good.” [The handkerchief was in his pocket as they spoke.] “Besides, I thought I was supposed to bring you cake.”
“You're bringing me cake?!”
“No! Maybe. I don't know.”
“So you refuse the bet?”
“Gimme a minute to get used to this.” What are Emile and Ewen going to say?
“You can tell your friends that it's just a bet, if you want.”
His shoulders relaxed. Yeah, of course! If I slipped and called her Anya in front of them, I wouldn't want them to think it was a real friendship!
“I'd rather not tell anybody I talked to you at all.” He shoved his hands in his pockets again. “I need to get to class.”
She nodded. It was worth a try. She turned to continue to the nurse's office.
“Anya.”
It sounded a little strangled, but Anya’s heart leapt. Plan B moves forward!
“Um…here. I found this in my pocket.” He held out a handkerchief. She took it and stared in confusion at the ornate “D” embroidered in the corner. “You can keep it. Since I lost yours.”
Anya looked up at him.
Why does she look so disappointed?
“Are we even now, Sy…Damian?”
“For a Tonitrus Bolt? Nah. That's just a down-payment, you id…Anya.”
Her eyes glinted. “Okay. See you soon, secret friend Damian.”
“We don't need to say each other's names in every single sentence. That's weird.”
“Whatever Damian says. And Damian still owes me cake. Heh.” She skipped off down the hall, a jostling of thoughts following her. This time, the foremost was: This is going to be a long week.
But it wasn't exactly an unhappy thought.