Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The announcement crackled over the microphone like a royal decree. Mr. Henderson stood rigid at the podium, addressing the first-year students with his usual air of austere authority.

“As students of Eden College, part of your training to become well-rounded individuals includes fostering friendships, practicing generosity, and valuing goodwill. To celebrate camaraderie among all first-year students, I hereby declare the start of our annual Secret Pal event!”

He tapped his cane against the wooden stage with a sharp, echoing thud, as if punctuating his words with irrefutable gravity.

Damian felt his stomach do a triple flip. No. No. No.

He knew exactly how this would go. He knew. His gaze immediately darted toward Anya Forger, sitting two rows over, emerald green eyes wide with that excited gaze fixed on the Cecile Hall Housemaster. 

And that infuriatingly oblivious smile of hers. 

The universe had a cruel sense of humor, and Damian had a feeling it was poised to strike him square in the chest.

“Names of all first-year students have been placed inside this large ceramic vessel. Upon leaving the Assembly Hall, you will walk by in a single file line and draw a name out. That name will be your Secret Pal over the next two weeks. Consider thoughtfully the gifts you choose, for all will be revealed in the end! And don’t risk a Tonitrus Bolt by spoiling any surprises for the group. Let the event begin!”

One by one, the students shuffled toward the collection bowl. One by one, hands plunged in and sealed their fate.

Damian’s own hand trembled slightly as he reached in. Squeezing his eyes shut, his fingers brushed against the folded papers, and he snatched one out like a kid stealing a piece of candy before getting caught. He scurried out of the door and pressed his back up against the wall, opening the slip of paper inside his cupped hands.

Anya Forger.

His gut roiled, the world narrowing to the two typewritten words on the tiny piece of folded paper.

“I knew this would happen,” he growled under his breath, his teeth grinding in frustration. Then louder, as if speaking might convince the universe otherwise: “I knew it.” He was about to let loose an angry roar, but Ewen and Emile appeared.

“Hey, Lord Damian!” Ewen whispered loudly. “Stubby Legs is about to pick! Wonder who she’ll get! Hope it’s someone dumb like Bill or Connie!

Damian shoved past his friends to watch as Anya drew her slip. Not that it helped. Her eyes met his midair like lasers locking onto a target. Damian panicked, because it was what he always did whenever her gaze found him. It was absolutely maddening! She looked at her paper and gave him that stupid smirk. The one he just wanted to smack right off her idiot face…

His heart sank. But…what if she drew someone…she liked better than him? No! He would not think like that! He couldn’t think like that. Why did he always think like that!

He forced himself to calm down. “It’s just… a gift exchange,” he hissed, turning around to march toward the boy’s dormitory. Ewen and Emile jogged to catch up with his furious pace. “A stupid, infantile gift exchange. It doesn’t matter anyway!”

But his heartbeat argued otherwise.

><><><><><><><><

“Ugh. It figures,” Becky snorted as she opened her slip of paper in the hallway. “This is so stupid.” 

“Who is it?” Anya’s eyes widened as she leaned toward her.

“I’m technically not supposed to say,” Becky replied, lifting her chin.

Anya gasped. “Right! A Tonitrus Bolt! Never mind.” She wilted a little and stared down at her own paper: George Glooman.

Before Anya could question it, Becky grabbed her wrist and tugged her into an empty classroom. With a triumphant flourish, she held up her slip.

Anya’s eyes went saucer-wide. “YOU picked Second Son?!”

Becky giggled, smug. “Mm-hm. Now—who did you get?”

“Gloomyhead,” Anya grumbled, nose wrinkling. “How is he supposed to help me get world peace?”

“George?” Becky tapped her chin thoughtfully—then grinned like a mastermind. “Oh, I can definitely work with that. Come on—we’ve got some planning to do!”

><><><><><><><><

“Come on, Lord Damian, just tell us!” Emile whined as the three of them lounged on the oversized couches in the dormitory common room. “We won’t say anything, promise!”

“Yeah!” Ewen added eagerly. “We’re your best friends—you can trust us!”

Damian’s eye twitched. “For the last time, NO. I’m not telling anyone. If you two are itching for Tonitrus Bolts, that’s your business—just don’t drag me into it!”

That shut them up fast.

“And I don’t need your help, either!” he snapped, springing to his feet. “Just drop it already! Seriously!”

With a stormy huff, he spun on his heel and stalked off toward his room.

Once inside, he slammed the door and leaned against it, arms crossed, jaw tight.

Anya.

Why—of all possible names—did it have to be her?

Now he was expected to get her…something. Gifts. For two whole weeks.

Ridiculous.

She didn’t deserve anything from him. Not one single, stupid—

His gaze drifted to the bookshelf across the room.

And slowly…very slowly…a mischievous grin tugged at his lips.

Well.

Maybe this could be fun.

><><><><><><><><

“I’m telling you, Anya, this will work,” Becky declared confidently, folding delicate tissue paper around the luxurious scarf. “Jealousy is the quickest path to a man’s heart. I just watched the latest episode of Berlint in Love, and Sonia made Vincent so jealous he practically chased her across the city. A brilliant strategy, really.”

“Huh.” Anya stared at the exquisite box and tilted her head at it. “But how will this make Second Son jealous? He doesn’t even know who my Secret Pal is.”

“Yet,” Becky corrected, closing the lid with theatrical flair before placing it into a glossy boutique bag. “He doesn’t know yet.”

“But I thought we weren’t supposed to—”

“Oh please,” Becky waved her hand. “There’s no rule against Damian finding out… naturally.”

Anya gasped. “Or—gammicky?”

“No,” Becky sighed, amused. “Organically. Meaning: we don’t tell him—we just drop hints. He’s annoying, but he’s not dumb. If we make it obvious enough that you’ve got George and you’re giving him very nice gifts, Damian will notice. And once he notices—he’ll get jealous. And once he’s jealous—” She clasped her hands dramatically. “That’s when his heart becomes yours.”

Anya blinked, impressed. “Ooooh. Genius.”

Becky grinned. “Naturally. Now come on—Martha’s waiting to drive us to school.”

“Okay!” Anya grabbed the bag with both hands. “Thanks for helping me shop. It was fun! And maybe if we get Second Son or-gammicky jealous, the world won’t be doomed!

Becky laughed. “Sure, Anya. Whatever you say.”

Chapter Text

Soft, stockinged footsteps slipped out of the shared dorm room and down the hall of the boys’ wing. At the entrance, Damian shoved on his loafers, and the quiet pattering turned into sharp, hurried clicks as he sprinted across the courtyard toward the Assembly Hall. He had to get there first—before anyone else arrived, before anyone had reason to suspect him.

And—well—there was also the small advantage of being able to hide behind the back staircase and maybe catch a glimpse of—

Damian clenched his jaw and forced the thought away.

That didn’t matter. Not even a little.

He eased open the side doors of the auditorium and peeked in. Empty. Silent. Perfect. Holding his breath, he crossed the room to the large, tastefully arranged display table behind the podium and set the wrapped gift precisely in the center.

He stepped back, folded his arms, and allowed himself a smug little smile.

This was gonna be good. At least he wouldn’t absolutely hate the next two weeks.

At the sound of muffled voices behind thick wooden doors, He bolted behind the staircase, heart hammering. If anyone saw him like this—

Well. They wouldn’t. End of discussion.

Students began filtering in—slowly at first, then in clusters—filling the hall. Soon the table overflowed with gifts: bags, boxes, ribbons, and a few oddly unwrapped offerings, each marked with a small tag.

“I wonder where Lord Damian is,” Ewen’s voice could be heard coming around the back of the table. 

“Yeah, he left without us! That’s not like him.” Emile agreed. “He probably had to meet with Mr. Henderson or one of the teachers. He’s always trying to find ways to earn a stella.”

“Yeah, that’s probably it. Let’s go to class, he’s probably there already.” The two boys took one more look around the hall and then walked toward the door.

Damian let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. That was close. If anyone had seen him—why was he even still hiding here—

“You really think this will work?” The small, familiar sweet voice hit him like an anvil to the chest.

Anya.

“Of course it will, Anya. Have any of my plans ever failed?” Becky giggled. “You’ll win his heart before this is over—I’m sure of it.”

Something hot and electric fizzed in his chest—spreading down through his stomach and up, up up, all the way to the tips of his ears.

Win his heart?!

Slowly, carefully, he craned his neck just enough to see. Anya placed her gift at the edge of the table—an elegant bag he recognized instantly. It was from the luxury tie shop at the Berlint Department Store.

His eyes widened.

That wasn’t a commoner’s gift. That was—That meant—She had actually—

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no.

Crap!

><><><><><><><

Damian barely absorbed a single lesson all day. His mind kept circling back to that gift bag—the expensive one he absolutely couldn’t stop thinking about. And what if Anya opened her present from him right after he opened—

Nope. No. Disaster.

Crap. Crap. CRAP.

“Damian Desmond! Third time!” The Geometry teacher barked.

Ewen jabbed him with an elbow. “Lord Damian! What is wrong with you today?”

“I’m here!” Damian snapped, practically growling the attendance response. Then through clenched teeth: “I’m fine, Ewen. Seriously. Just—thinking.”

“Ooh, same!” Emile whispered. “I keep wondering what my Secret Pal got me. I hope it’s candy!”

The rest of the day crawled by at a torturous pace. Everything hinged on last period—when everyone would be dismissed early to the Assembly Hall to open their gifts. The whole schedule was probably designed so nobody could remember who placed what on the table.

But he remembered. Of course he did. He knew exactly which gift was meant for him.

Before long, the day was finally over, and everyone was heading over to the Assembly hall. Damian tried and failed to swallow back the lump in his throat. He let out a groan.

It was too late now. So unfair. And he couldn’t even enjoy that stupid look on her face when she realized what she’d gotten because she had to go and get something that was so nice it was supposed to win his—

“Woah, George! That’s the nicest scarf I’ve ever seen! Lucky!”

Connie’s excited voice sliced through his panicked  thoughts. Damian’s head snapped up.

George stood frozen, holding a cashmere scarf in Eden plaid in one hand… and in the other—

THE BAG.

It hit Damian like a blow to the ribs.

Wait. But— She said—

That gift was for—

Did that mean—?

Before the thought could finish, Becky squealed, “Aww! These flowers are beautiful!” She clasped her hands under her chin, admiring a cheerful bouquet and a note that read: Hope this brightens your day!

“Pretty flowers!” Anya agreed, leaning in to sniff.

“Well go on, Anya—open yours!” Becky urged, tapping the neatly wrapped box in Anya’s hands.

“Okie!”

Anya tore the paper off in one quick motion and dropped the scraps to the floor.

“What?”  Her expression shifted from confused, to unimpressed, to offended.

Becky gasped. “A math book?! Who does that?! That’s like—the lamest gift anyone could give!”

“Maybe they wanted to help her with her academics,” Bill Watkins announced proudly. “Very thoughtful, actually!”

“Oh, shut up, Bill,” Becky scoffed. “It’s awful. You’re supposed to give something fun, not something boring!”

“Math isn’t boring, you moron!” Damian thundered before he could stop himself.

“Math is boring.” Anya muttered with a pout, sending the red flushing right back into his cheeks.

Why—WHY—did she have that effect on him every time she spoke?! It was absolutely infuriating!

“You haven’t opened your gift, Damian,” Becky sneered as she held out a gift back toward him. “Or were you expecting a different one?”

“I—I—wasn’t! I was just watching everybody else open them first!” Now his face was tomato red and there was no hiding it now.  “Just give me the stupid present already, GEEZ!” He snatched it out of her hands with a growl.

Muttering under his breath he pulled out the tin from the bag and popped the lid.

Oh, no.

Nestled inside of the pretty tin can in little individual wrappers were his favorite flavor of macarons. He felt his cheeks heat even more. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

He jabbed the tin back into the bag and turned away before anyone could see his expression crumble.

“You’re all ridiculous! I don’t care about any of this!”

With one final huff, he stomped out of the hall—fury, embarrassment, and something else tangled tight in his chest.

Stupid Secret Pals.

Chapter Text

“Oh, this plan is going even better than I expected!” Becky squealed, looping her arm through Anya’s as they headed toward her car. “I’m so glad you’re staying with us for the next two weeks—this makes the whole Secret Pals thing way easier!”

“Mama and Papa have big work missions,” Anya said seriously, nodding. “They gotta work hard!!”

“We all have our missions, I suppose,” Becky sighed dramatically. “And ours is only just beginning, Anya! Did you see Damian today? I’ve never watched a plan work that fast!” She cackled and climbed into the backseat of the sleek sedan. “He was redder than the lining of his brother’s cape!”

“Second Son likes math,” Anya said with an indifferent shrug.

Becky leaned forward. “I think he’s your Secret Pal.”

“What? But George is my Secret Pal.” Anya blinked, puzzled.

“No, no—” Becky waved her hand. “I mean I think Damian drew your name.”

Anya gasped. “How do you know?! You’re not supposed to know!”

“Oh, please,” Becky snorted. “I wasn’t born yesterday. Did you see his face when George opened his gift? His head nearly exploded. His heart is already putty in your hands.”

“Second Son is a terrible gift giver,” Anya grumbled. “What am I supposed to do with a math book?”

Becky giggled knowingly. “I have a feeling his next gift will be…very different.”

“Hmph.”

“So. Let’s figure out what we’ll give these boys next, shall we?” Becky’s brown eyes sparkled with excitement.

><><><><><><><

“You’ll win his heart before this is over. I’m sure of it!”

Becky’s voice wouldn’t leave him alone. It played in his head on repeat—annoying, persistent, impossible to shut off. Win his heart. What was that even supposed to mean? That sounded like love. But she couldn’t have meant that. She must’ve been talking about the cashmere scarf.

Right?

But George Glooman? 

Damian scowled into the dark. In all the time he’d known Anya, she barely acknowledged George unless she was annoyed with him. She literally tattled on George for him during playground cleanup that one time—when he didn’t even ask for her help. There was no universe where she just…suddenly liked George.

Still…

You’ll win his heart before this is over…

A sharp, frustrated growl escaped before he could stop it. He sat up, gripping his blanket until his knuckles went white. This was useless. He was never going to sleep while his brain was tying itself into knots.

Quietly, he climbed out of bed and made his way to the closet. The hinges squeaked and he froze, glancing toward his roommates. Their soft snores continued, oblivious. Holding his breath, he reached inside and pulled out a familiar, homemade contraption. He slid it onto his arm. It had worked once. Maybe it could work again.

The dormitory lounge was hushed, wrapped in silver moonlight. Soft shadows stretched across the couches, and for once, no one else was around to witness his spiraling thoughts.

He stared at his arm and swallowed hard. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt the buzz of jealousy. He’d made peace with it before. So Anya liked someone else enough to give them something meaningful. So what? Why should it matter? So what if Anya wanted someone else to have something special? So what if she put that kind of effort into someone who wasn’t him?

Why should he care?

…Except he did. He hated that he did. So. Much.

And the worst part? He’d had his chance—to be thoughtful, to be kind—and instead he’d given her the most pathetic excuse for a gift imaginable. He’d practically gone out of his way to make fun of her.

Brilliant. Truly. A masterclass in stupidity.

His hand curled tight inside the cardboard. Perhaps…perhaps he could make up for his lousy gift today and be a better friend. Yeah. Then maybe—

He lifted his gaze toward the moon shining through the windows. If he wanted to become an Imperial Scholar—someone worthy of respect—then he needed to act like it. Leaders showed generosity. Leaders set examples, even for the lowliest of the low.

Even with someone like Anya Forger.

Resolute, he turned, padded back to his room, and crawled into bed. He pulled the blankets over himself and tucked his cardboard-covered arm close to his chest.

Tomorrow, he’d try again.

><><><><><><

“Incorrect.” The Geometry teacher didn’t even sound disappointed—just tired—as he wiped away Anya’s work with one quick swipe of the eraser. “Who can demonstrate the correct formula for the area of a triangle?”

Anya’s shoulders sank. The usual spark in her emerald eyes dimmed under the weight of yet another public mistake.

Before he could think—or stop himself—Damian was already standing.

“Yeah, I’ll do it,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. His face warmed. He hated how his body betrayed him every time she needed rescuing.

“Thank you, Master Desmond.”

As he reached the board, Anya glanced up at him, startled and hopeful. His chest tightened, and he covered it with a scowl.

“You only forgot one-half,” he said, tone softer than he meant it to be. He rewrote the formula carefully. “Multiply that by the base and the height. That’s it. The rest of your work was right.”

“Oh,” she replied softly.

“Yeah, well. That math book you got yesterday? It's on page fifty, if you feel like studying it.” He shrugged and walked back to his desk with a grunt, his cheeks pink. He was always bailing her out. God, she was so annoying!.

You’ll win his heart before this is all over…

“Shut up!” He hissed to himself, plopping down into his chair.

Emile leaned closer. “Uh—are you talking to me, or—?”

“I’m fine, alright?” Damian muttered, swatting his friend’s hand away like a fly. “Just leave me alone.”

><><><><><><><

It was a couple of days until the next gift exchange. But when Damian found himself standing in front of the large gift table yet again, the buzz of jealousy had returned. He squeezed his now unencumbered left fist and pressed his lips together. He could do this.

Becky opened hers first.

“Ooooh, Ostania’s Premier Chocolatier! Fancy! And in a little heart-shaped box, too. I’m so intrigued!” Her cheeks reddened as she clutched the box to her chest and grinned. “Thank you, Secret Pal!”

“Oh yeah! This is awesome!” Emile shouted as he ripped open a gift revealing his favorite salty snacks. “My Secret Pal is THE BEST!”

Squeals, laughter, and gleeful exclamations resonated throughout the hall as the first years opened their gifts one by one.

There was only one reaction that mattered to Damian. Not that he was watching, of course. Well, maybe he was watching a little. He was just…monitoring the ongoing success of his well-rounded Imperial Scholar development plan.

Yeah. That was it.

“This better not be a school book,” Anya muttered as she picked up the gift bag off the table.

He nearly shouted at her. In what universe did that little bag look like it could remotely contain a book? Was she brainless?!

“Don’t be silly, Anya! There’s no way a book could fit in there. What is it?” Becky’s voice was way too excited as she leaned in to look.

He tried not to look too interested as her little fingers reached into the bag…and tried not to grip the chest of his uniform too hard to stop his heart from racing. If she hated it—

The soft, surprised gasp that escaped her lips was enough to send him through the stratosphere. His only tell was a slight widening of his eyes and parting of his lips as he watched her drop the bag to the floor and gaze at the fuzzy little charm in her hand.

“It looks just like Bond!” Her green eyes danced with delight as she fingered the fuzzy white dog on the end of a small, silver keychain.

“Oh, Anya! This is way better than your last gift! It looks like someone finally understood the assignment!” Becky squealed. “This is so cute!”

“But how did my secret pal know what my dog looks like?” Anya tilted her head and scrunched her little nose, trying to puzzle it out.

Damian’s stomach dropped.

Oh no.

“Tch.” He marched up beside her, cheeks warming in betrayal. “You never shut up about that dumb dog. Literally anyone could’ve figured it out. Do you even listen to yourself half the time?”

She blinked at him slowly… lifted one eyebrow…

…and smirked.

That smirk was going to be the death of him. He could practically feel the urge to explode rising in his chest.

Before his irritation reached critical mass, a voice cut through the moment.

“Whoa—George! You hit the jackpot!”

Damian snapped his head around. George stood frozen, clutching an expensive leather padfolio stuffed with high-end pens and pencils like it was a royal treasure.

“Your Secret Pal must really like you,” one girl whispered, hand over her mouth.

George flushed bright red. “I—I…I don’t…uh—”

That was it. Damian could feel the rage creeping up his arm. This entire exchange was turning into an emotional circus, and he was done.

“Here you go, Damian!” Becky chimed, stepping forward with her trademark sing-song tone. “Saving yours for last again?”

He snatched the giftwrapped present before she could say another word. It was heavy. Unexpectedly so.

He tore the wrapping, paused, and stared, open-mouthed.

A hardcover book, intricate gold edging, beautifully bound, read:

A History of Ancient Civilizations.

His breath stuttered, his amber eyes wide.

He looked up. Becky and Anya were definitely trying—and failing—not to look smug.

He narrowed his eyes, gritted his teeth,  tucked the book under his arm…

…and stormed off before the visceral, excited grin threatening to break loose from the thrill exploding inside his chest betrayed him completely.

Chapter Text

He hated admitting it—even to himself—but the flawlessly bound encyclopedia sitting on his desk was easily the most beautiful book he owned now. He traced the gold-edged spine with careful fingertips, sitting perfectly still in his chair.  He glanced at the clock, the snores of his chums a white noise in the background. 

3:00 am. 

He exhaled slowly, eyes closing, brow pinching with suspicion. This had to be Becky’s doing. There was no way Anya could afford something like this.

Anya.

Only she would notice enough to pick something so perfect. Sure, anyone could’ve seen he’d gotten the stella for highest marks in History—but knowing Ancient Civilizations was his favorite? That was different. That felt personal. Almost uncanny.

The fizzing feeling in his chest returned—unwanted and uninvited.

What was that? Whatever it meant, he didn’t like it. Not one bit.

And if this really was from Anya, then the cheap keychain he’d had Jeeves fetch didn’t even come close. What sort of leader let himself benefit more than the people beneath him?

He couldn’t let her outdo him—not even if Becky was the mastermind. And surely Anya wasn’t clever enough to—

He picked up the book before the thought finished forming and pulled it tightly against his chest. He still couldn’t believe it. He could spend weeks reading this—months, even.

Quietly, he slipped it beneath his blankets with him. He wasn’t about to let anyone catch him sleeping with a book—that would be mortifying—but holding it made him feel warm in a way he couldn’t explain.

Minutes later, his gentle snores blended seamlessly with the others as sleep finally claimed him.

><><><><><><

“I think we may have made a misstep,” Becky mused as the two sat down for dinner the Monday of the second week of the event.

“Huh? I didn’t see you trip today,” Anya popped a stuffed mushroom in her mouth.

“No, Anya. I mean I think we may have miscalculated. With Damian’s gift. I think you went too big too fast.”

“But you’re his secret pal,” Anya scrunched her nose. “I thought something expensive was supposed to make Second Son orgammick-y jealous and promote world peace! You said that was the fastest way to his heart. Or whatever.”

“Yes, but if he starts to suspect I’m the one sending everything, the plan could backfire. What if he starts… liking me?”

Her thoughts slammed into Anya’s mind like a bad smell forcing its way under a door.

<< I mean—obviously I’m prettier and have way more going for me. If these gifts stir up unexpected emotions and he falls hopelessly in love with me, then what are we supposed to do?! >>

“Augh!” The two girls shrieked together, eyes wide.

“I just got a shiver,” Anya frowned.

“That’s not a thought I’d like to entertain again. Ugh.” Becky shivered. “Anyway—we need a new strategy. His next gift needs to be smaller. Subtle. Something that keeps him guessing.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s already figured it out,” Anya looked at her flatly.

“Oh dear, then it may already be too late!” Becky wailed. “Quick! We need to fix this, and fast!”

><><><><><><><

“So…George.” Damian tried for a casual tone as his classmate walked past his table in the cafeteria the next day at lunch.

George stopped dead, eyes wide. “Uh—yeah?”

“Got any guesses who your secret pal is?” Damian asked, staring down at his tray. “You’ve been getting some pretty fancy stuff.”

“Oh. Um…no. Not really.” George lifted a shoulder in a helpless shrug. A faint blush crept across his usually ghost-white cheeks. “Someone suggested it might be from a secret admirer or something—that the gifts are so nice because they, you know…like me. But that’s ridiculous, right?”

Damian’s head snapped toward him. That familiar, electric panic hit his ribs like a hammer. His jaw tightened.

“That is the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard,” he snapped. “This is the most prestigious school in Ostania. Of course the gifts are expensive, you moron!”

George’s face crumpled. “You’re so mean! Why did you even talk to me?!” he wailed before bolting.

Ewen set his fork down and stared. “Okay, Boss-man, what is going on with you? You’ve been weird ever since this Secret Pal thing started. Are you hiding something?”

Cold dread shot straight through Damian. He was being obvious. Way too obvious. Idiot. What was wrong with him?!

“I’m fine, Ewen,” he barked, maybe a little too fast. “I’m just sick of everyone freaking out over his presents like he’s—like there's—like—” He cut himself off and let out a frustrated sigh, gripping his utensils hard enough to bend them. “This whole thing is just dumb and exhausting.”

Emile, mid–giant bite of noodles, blinked. “But getting gifts is fun. Speaking of—what’d you get? I didn’t see it before you ran off the other day.”

“Nothing special.” Damian muttered, shoving food around his tray. “I’ll just be happy when this whole thing is over.”

><><><><><><><

She’d always been a glutton for punishment, but this was going to be painful to witness. Damian crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair as Anya—for once looking focused instead of bewildered—stood up and marched confidently to the front of the room.

“Miss Forger, are you certain you’d like to demonstrate?” the teacher asked cautiously. “It’s perfectly acceptable to let someone el—”

“Anya can do it!” she cut in, chin lifted in determination. “I practiced with Papa! I even used my new math book!”

Damian’s head snapped up at that. His eyes widened before he could stop himself.

She’d used it?

She was actually using the book he’d given her—not as a joke, not as an insult, but seriously?

Something unpleasant and fluttery twisted in his stomach. Irritated by his own reaction, he narrowed his eyes, watching her scribble on the board. No way—no way—was he letting anyone see whatever was happening in his chest right now. The fact that she’d turned a gift meant to embarrass her into something helpful made him feel ridiculous enough already.

“That’s correct, Miss Forger. Excellent work!” the geometry teacher announced, sounding genuinely shocked.

The whole class gasped.

“I…got it right?” Anya blinked, stunned.

“It appears your studying is working. Keep it up. Please return to your seat.”

On her way back, she shot him that familiar cocky smirk—and for the first time, he didn’t immediately want to wipe it off her face. Even if she still looked…very stupid.

“Who would’ve thought?” Emile whispered. “Old stub legs actually answered something right for once.”

“Miracles happen,” Damian muttered back, turning his face away and propping his chin on his hand—because looking at her felt suddenly, annoyingly complicated.

><><><><><><

That afternoon during the gift exchange, Damian could barely keep still. Too many feelings were twisting through him—irritation, nerves, anticipation—none of which were remotely enjoyable. Mr. Henderson had said this whole event was supposed to be fun.

Mr. Henderson was a liar.

“Well, well…Damian.”

He stiffened. He’d recognize Becky’s smug voice anywhere. Turning slowly, he found her standing behind him, Anya at her side, while Emile and Ewen remained as his loyal shadows.

“What do you want?” Ewen snapped, fists already balled like he was preparing for war.

“Oh, nothing.” Becky shrugged dramatically. “I was just wondering if someone wanted to open his gift first this time, since he waited until last the last two rounds.” Her grin suggested she knew exactly what she was doing.

“I don’t care when I open my present, stupid!” Damian barked. “You’re the only one who cares!”

“Geez, Damian, no need to be a jerk,” Becky shot back, teeth bared. “You probably don’t deserve whatever you’re opening anyway! She shoved it into his stomach hard enough to knock the breath out of him. “Come on, Anya. We’d better find somewhere else to stand in case being a blockhead is contagious.” 

The two girls stormed off, Becky dragging a protesting Anya along with her.

“Geez, those girls are the worst, Boss-man!” Ewen sneered. 

“Is she your secret pal or something? Talk about bad luck, Lord Damian,” Emile chimed in. “Should we just throw whatever that is away? Like maybe they poisoned it or something.”

“Shut up, there’s not poison, don’t be an idiot.” Damian growled. “I’ll open it. It’s probably a dumb gift anyway…” His voice trailed off as he pulled out the tissue paper from the bag. 

His lips parted in genuine surprise as he pulled a sleek, professional-grade soccer ball out of the bag.

“Woah! Lord Damian, that’s the coolest ball ever!” Emile’s voice was a near yell.

“And it’s in school colors! That’s awesome!” Ewen added, all suspicion forgotten.

“Y-yeah,” Damian murmured, swallowing hard. “Pretty…cool.”

His brain scrambled. She knew exactly what he liked. 

Exactly what he wanted.

Against his better judgment, he glanced across the room. Becky and Anya were at the far end of the table, giggling as Becky opened her gift—some hair clips. Then it was Anya’s turn.

“Boss-man?” Ewen asked.

“Shut up.”

“What are you—oh.” Ewen’s voice dropped the moment he followed Damian’s stare.

“Why is your face red?” Emile whispered loudly.

“I SAID SHUT UP!” Damian hissed. “She hasn’t opened hers yet. I just—I wanna see if it’s stupid, okay? And my face is red because I’m MAD!”

“Oh. Right.” Emile nodded, satisfied. “Hope it’s dumb.”

But Damian barely heard him. His world had narrowed to one girl, tearing wrapping paper like her life depended on it. His heartbeat thundered in his ears.

As she pulled open the flaps of the fancy box, his heart raced. Would it be better than his encyclopedia? She talked about that stupid show all the time…she…she might even already have them—

“Bondman?!” The word came out of her mouth as a gasp. “Princess Honey?!” She gingerly plucked out two boxed action figures, her eyes sparkling with delight. “They’re so cool!”

“There’s something else, Anya—look!” Becky pointed to a second, much larger box.

Anya dropped to her knees and opened it carefully.

Damian’s chest swelled, something smug and warm pushing up under his ribs.

“The complete Spy Wars comic collection?!” Anya squeaked. “HOW?!”

“…Anya,” Becky breathed, staring. “They’re signed.”

Ewen let out a low whistle. “Guess her secret pal really likes her. That had to cost more than George’s gift. This whole thing is spiraling, don’t you think, Boss-ma—”

But when he turned to ask, Damian was gone.

Chapter Text

Anya sat, frozen on the Assembly Hall floor, the two action figure boxes tucked securely under her arms while she stared in awe at the stack of signed comics in front of her.

“Sy-on boy…got these? For me?” she whispered—then her voice exploded into full volume.

“THESE ARE THE MOST AMAZINGEST PRESENTS IN THE WHOLE UNIVERSE!”

Her shout echoed through the hall, heads whipping toward her as she bounced up and down in pure joy.

“I take everything back! He’s the best gift giver EVER!”

“We don’t actually know who your secret pal is,” Becky hissed, crouching beside her. “It could be someone from another class! Whoever it is clearly has connections. I mean—my daddy could pull this off, but there aren’t many families at Eden with access like that.”

Anya didn’t bother replying. She gathered the comics in one swift motion and tucked them safely into her schoolbag. With her face set in fierce determination, she swung the bag over her shoulder.

“I have to find Second Son. I’ll be right back!”

“Anya—wait! We should think about this first!” Becky cried, scrambling after her as Anya bolted through the door and out into the courtyard.

><><><><><><

Damian could hear her excited squealing clear across the courtyard. Even though a self-satisfied, toothy grin started spreading across his face, he didn’t want to face her.

Not yet, anyway. 

He’d probably do something dumb like turn red as a tomato and forget how words were supposed to work. He sprinted for the boys dorm, the giggle escaping his lips carried away by the breeze before anyone heard.

Once inside, he hopped on his bed, thinking. There was only one gift left. What should he get? He’d have to reveal himself as her Secret Pal, so he didn’t want it to be something like he’d given today. That would be WAY too embarrassing in front of everyone. But it couldn’t be something dumb, either. Ugh! Why was this so stupid hard?

“There you are, Boss-Man!” Emile’s cheerful voice interrupted his thoughts. “We’ve been looking all over for you!

“Yeah!” Ewen added. “You missed Raccoon Face completely losing her mind over that gift. She was so loud I thought my ears were gonna fall off.”

“Oh?” Damian replied, forcing his tone into bored indifference. “Sounds about right. She’d lose it over something like that.”

“It was a pretty crazy gift though,” Ewen added. “I mean, I like Spy Wars. I think there’s a lot of people who’d kill for a complete signed set of the comics. I just don’t know who would like that little brat enough to get her that nice of a gift. Tch. It’s probably Becky.”

Damian shrugged like the thought barely registered. “Could just be competition. Everyone wants to one-up each other. You don’t have to actually like someone to flex the fanciest present.”

“Ohhh,” Emile hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah, that makes sense. Didn’t think of it like that.”

“Speaking of gifts,” Damian continued casually, “you guys know what you’re doing for the reveal round?”

“Yeah, I’m saving the best gift for that one, I think.” Ewen smiled. “Then everyone’ll know it’s from me and not forget!”

“Me too,” Emile agreed. “Definitely saving the best for last. What about you, boss-man?”

“Dunno. Haven’t decided.”

“You can’t tell us who it is?” Emile grinned. “Mine is—”

“No!” Damian shot upright. “I already told you—you’ll find out Friday. Just like everyone else.”

“Fine, fine,” Emile pouted. “Sorry I asked.”

“Hey, so uh…” Damian hesitated, trying to sound casual. “Did you see what George got?”

“George?” Ewen frowned, thinking. “I think he got a big box full of macarons or something. Why?” 

“No reason.” Damian replied, a bit too quickly. “I’m gonna go study. See you guys later.”

><><><><><><

It was rare for Damian to ever feel less intelligent than anyone else. Embarrassment or a moment of foolishness was one thing—but genuinely dumber? That almost never happened. He was a straight-A student, at the top of his class, and from a family of Imperial Scholars. Being the smartest wasn’t optional—it was expected. Failure simply didn’t exist in the Desmond household.

Unless, of course, you wanted to be disowned.

So there he sat, staring at the empty verb conjugation chart on his desk, as if it were taunting him, feeling the cold dread coil tight in his stomach.

What did amare translate to anyway? Why was his mind going blank? This shouldn’t be so hard. He was a Desmond. Crap. He couldn’t think of first person singular let alone plural and all the other persons! Why did language have so many persons?! Why was language so stup—

“Master Desmond. Will you please come to the front and conjugate amare for the class?” The Language Studies teacher’s voice jarred him out of his thought-spiraling.

Crap. Crap Crap Crap Crap Crap—

“Master Desmond!”

“Yeah, I’m coming…” Panic gripped his heart. He was going to make a fool of himself in front of the entire class! Bring shame to his family's name…he'd never live this down and stories like this always got back to Father—

A gentle hand around his. He'd forgotten she was his seat mate. He felt his face warm as he turned to look at her. What was she doing??

“Amo, amas, amat, amamus, amatis, amant!” she whispered quickly.

“What?” What was she—?

His eyes widened. 

“Amo, amas, amat, amamus, amatis, amant! You've got this, Second Son!” She whispered again, squeezing his hand from underneath the table and then leaving his palm suddenly cold when she let go.

He swallowed hard, tore his gaze away from her bright green eyes, and forced himself to stand. Jaw tight, he willed his feet to move and walked down to the front. His cheeks burned but the dread had vanished. 

And just like that, he was in her debt. Again. Infuriating.

He felt his hackles rise as he successfully recited the verb conjugation and turned to face the teacher with a scowl.

“Well, Master Desmond!” The teacher’s voice conveyed mild surprise. “Looks like your studying is doing some good! You’ve conjugated the Latin verb, ‘to love’  correctly! Well done!”

“What?!” He spun around to look at the board and then looked back out at the class. Of all the verbs it had to be that one? Several girls had their hands over their mouths, giggling. Most of the boys were smirking.

A frustrated groan slipped out from under his breath. Language class was the absolute worst.

><><><><><><

The day of the final gift exchange had finally arrived, and instead of feeling any sort of excitement, Damian just felt sick to his stomach. The universe had returned for round two, and it had another sucker punch waiting just for him. 

He sighed as he clenched the handles of the gift bag in his hand with a death grip. The only thing he could hope for was that people wouldn’t get the wrong idea.

He’d just been trying to out-gift everyone. Nothing more! He was first in nearly everything else, it just made sense he’d be the best at giving, too, right? No hearts were being claimed (he shot a glance at Anya, who’d taken her assigned seat several rows down). Nobody was making any stupid declarations today. They were just handing their gifts to their secret pals and then that was that, and then this whole fiasco would finally be over.

Henderson had them lined up in two lines facing each other behind the stage. They each sat in an assigned seat, their final offerings perched on their laps. 

“We will begin at the end of the line,” Henderson announced, his tone crisp with ceremony. “When it is your turn, stand and walk to the person you selected. Present your final gift, and express gratitude for the kindness shown to you over these past two weeks. An elegant ending is as important as a thoughtful beginning.”

He paused, surveying them all.

“Let us begin.”

One by one, the first-years rose to reveal themselves to their classmates. Smiles, giggles, and whispered thank-yous filled the room, along with a few awkward hugs. Damian’s heart hammered faster with every passing student.

“Becky Blackbell,” Bill Watkins stood up, gift in hand. “I was your Secret Pal. I hope you found my gifts thoughtful and to your liking.” He bowed low as Becky, her cheeks tinged pink, walked up to him and accepted his gift. 

“Thank you, Bill,” she murmured contritely. “Your gifts were super thoughtful and sweet.” She reached in and pulled out a small, delicate vial. “Oh, my goodness, and this is my favorite fragrance of perfume! However did you know?!”

“My daddy knows your daddy, so naturally I was able to get intel on things that you liked. I hope that is all right and not too personal,” Bill’s cheeks reddened as he stood as stiff as a soldier. “It was merely intended to increase your enjoyment of the gift.”

“Y-yes, of course, Bill. It did, thank you!” She scampered back to her seat, blushing.

Emile shot up out of his seat.

“This was the best Secret Pal ever! Ewen, I was yours!” He walked up to his friend and thrust out his gift bag.

“No way! How did you keep that secret so good!?” Ewen shouted. “Your gifts were so awesome! And you got my favorite candy, too!” He squeaked with glee, peering into the bag. “I should have figured out it was you, man! Thank you!”

Then it was George who stood.

“Emile, I hope you liked your gifts. I know they weren’t much, but I did what I could.” He held a box out in his hand.

“They were great, George! And the snacks? Amazing! Wait… a chocolate MUMMY?!” Emile practically drooled over the boxed treat.

Slowly, Becky rose from her seat and made her way toward him, a sly smile on her face.

“Damian,” she drawled.

He set his own bag down next to his chair, swallowed, and stood up. 

“I put a lot of thought into this last gift, I hope you like it.” She had a glint in her eye that made him nervous.

“Uh, thanks. For the other stuff too. Th-the book was…was really cool.” He felt the color rise in his cheeks.

She leaned in with a mischievous grin. “Oh that? I may have bought that, but that was all Anya, really. I had no idea what to get you, so I had to rely on her to figure it out. Guess she knows you better than I thought she did, hm?”

“I–uh…” His tongue suddenly didn’t work. He pressed his lips together and reached into his bag. Something hard-bound. Another book? He looked down and read the cover.

Intensive Basic Latin: A Grammar and Workbook.

“What the—!” His jaw dropped open in shock and he shot her a murderous glare.

“Thought this could come in handy for someone aspiring to be an Imperial Scholar,” Becky lifted her chin, her tone as smug as a cat showing off a caught mouse. “Verb conjugation. Page twenty-five, if you feel like studying.” As Damian’s face grew redder, she added, “Oh, and this gift? All me. It was fun being your Secret Pal!” 

Oh she was going to regret this. He stared daggers at her back as she practically skipped back to her seat. Stupid, uggo-faced little—

“Master Damian,” Mr. Henderson’s calm, clipped voice cut through his fury.  “It’s your turn. I suggest you make sure your next move is an elegant one.”

His breath caught. Oh. Crap. This was it.

Every eye was on him now. His chest tightened, but he took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly, then stepped forward.

He moved toward Anya, each step measured, as the first-years held their collective breath. Even Becky watched, intrigued. Damian muttered, “Forger,” and held out his gift bag.

This had to be the most humiliating—

Her eyes lit up, and something in his chest reacted. He hated it. And didn’t. Mostly hated it.

“Second Son! I loved your gift, I don’t know how you did it, but it was the best gift of all the gifts ever! You’re the number one gift giver! You should get a stella for how good you give gifts!” She happily plucked the bag out of his hand and peered inside.

“Are these…those tea cakes?! YAY! I cannot wait to eat them!” She squealed, and then without warning, she threw her arms around him in a tight hug. “Thank you!” It was over as quickly as it started, leaving him bright red and speechless. Humiliated, he returned to his seat.

Before he could gauge the damage, Anya bounded up to George with her final gift.

“Gloomyhead, here’s your last present,” she said with a mischievous smile. “I figured you might need some extra-special gifts since you don’t have many friends. You’re welcome, please!”

George blinked, unsure. “Th-thanks, Anya. I really liked all my gifts. They were…very thoughtful and um, extravagant.”

Anya waved him off with her hand. “Yeah, whatever. Becky helped me too. Don’t eat your macarons all in one day.” Then hopped back to her seat.

Several more exchanges happened, but Damian barely noticed. All he could think about were those bright, excited eyes and the unexpected warmth of a hug. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had hugged him—Mother, maybe? His brow furrowed. She’d wrapped her arms around him like it didn’t matter that the whole class was watching. It had felt…genuine.

Not like she was trying to curry favor or anything. And that, irritatingly, made his chest flutter.

Becky’s teasing words echoed in his mind. You’ll win his heart before this is all over…

No. Absolutely not. A commoner could never have his heart. Never, ever, ever.

And then the fluttering vanished, replaced by a hollow loneliness.

He wandered out to the courtyard and collapsed into the grass beneath a tree. Ewen and Emile had already dashed back to the dorms for their snacks, and Damian just wanted to be alone—a feeling he’d grown accustomed to. Nobody could really understand him anyway.

“Second Son?”

His head snapped up. His mouth gaped in surprise.

“What’re you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be going home with Becky or something?” His tone came out sharper than intended.

Unfazed, Anya plopped down next to him in the grass.

“What’re you doing?!” he demanded, leaning away, heart thundering in his chest.

“Friends share snacks.” She dipped a hand into her tea cakes box and pulled out one particularly tempting treat.

He stared at it…then at her eyes…then back at the snack, his cheeks flaming.

“D-Don’t get the wrong idea! I only got these for you because I had to!” He snatched it from her hand, struggling to keep his voice steady.

“Did you have to write the little note too?” She grinned and held up the paper.

“That was—! It’s just normal courtesy! I wrote it because I had to reveal myself for the last gift. Don’t read into it!”

“But you walked up and handed the bag to me first… and said you were my Secret Pal—”

“I said knock it off! I was just being polite! God, you’re so annoying, you dummyhead!”

“You’re the dummyhead!”

“No, YOU ARE!” He growled.

“Just eat the snacks with me, Sy-on Boy. I know you like them.”

He couldn’t deny it. Maybe enduring her nonsense was worth it for a few of the sweet treats he’d been craving since Jeeves dropped off the box that morning.

“Fine. But shut up and let me enjoy them. You talk too much.”

The offended look she gave him almost made him smile.

Almost.

Chapter Text