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Damian Desmond stood outside the Forger household, hands clenched tightly at his sides, heart hammering in a way that no business negotiation or political meeting had ever managed.
He, Damian Desmond, usually untouchable, untamed, utterly composed, was now reduced to a nervous wreck over one single question.
One simple, terrifying question: could he spend the rest of his life with Anya Forger? The girl of his dreams, the love of his life, the only one that saw him beyond the Desmond surname.
Yor forger opened the door before he could knock.
Her eyes widened instantly, taking in the tall, impeccably dressed young man before her.
She didn’t say anything at first, but Damian could see the flicker of worry, the pulse of emotion behind her eyes. She opened the door wider, indicating Damian to enter, he complied without hesitation. He stood in the living room, Loid forger was reading a newspaper, his eyes widening as he saw Damian.
“Ms. Forger… pops,” he said, voice steady even though his stomach was twisting into knots. “I’ve come to ask… permission. Permission to marry your only daughter-Anya.”
“ I promise to make her happy and love-I already love her-“ Damian slowed his nervous blabbering.
And then it happened.
Yor’s hands flew to her mouth, tears spilling freely down her cheeks, and Loid, that composed, ever-calm man who had somehow become a father figure to Anya, walked over and pulled Damian into a fierce fatherly hug. It felt nice.
The warmth of it, the unconditional support, caught him completely off guard. And suddenly, all the years—the betrayals, the confusion, the laughter, the stolen glances—rushed back.
Damian’s mind wandered, replaying their history like a series of small, precious scenes.
Eden Academy, age six: Anya punched him, his feelings got confusing toward her then.
age seven: Anya, tiny and mischievous, darting past him with her usual grin, somehow insisting on including him in her adventures.
At first, he’d been annoyed—he was Damian Desmond, after all—but slowly, slowly, her persistence had wormed its way into his world.
Age thirteen. That was the turning point. The day he realised that his feelings for Anya were more than friendship.
He couldn’t tolerate anyone else looking at her the way he did, and the thought of sharing her with another boy ignited a strange, possessive fire inside him.
From that day on, Damian kept all the boys at bay, fiercely protective, even if he didn’t quite understand why his heart raced when she laughed.
Seventeen. Their first kiss. Damian still remembered the sharp, shocking taste of surprise on her lips, the way she blinked at him in stunned silence.
He had kissed her—and then ran. Weeks passed with nothing but silence between them, a torturous period of longing and regret.
Finally, at the end-of-term gala, he had confessed his feelings, awkward and messy, and Anya had told him she needed time. He had learned patience that day, a patience that had only grown with the years.
Eighteen. Graduation year. Damian remembered it vividly: the hallway, Anya’s fist connecting with his chest as she finally admitted her own feelings.
Love at first punch, he had called it in his mind, and it was true. From that moment on, they were officially theirs, two halves of the same complicated, wonderful, chaotic whole.
And now, years later, at twenty-five, he stood inside the Forger house, about to ask the most important question of his life.
He had dated Anya ever since that first confession, their relationship growing deeper with each shared memory, each quiet smile and playful argument.
He could still recall their countless late-night study sessions, their secret hand-holding under the stars, the way her head fit perfectly against his shoulder on the rare evenings they were alone.
Every laugh, every playful shove, every quiet moment had carved itself into his heart.
After leaving the Forgers’ house, he couldn’t resist calling Becky first. He had to tell her, she was, as much as he hated to admit, the one that saw through his bullshit and gave him tips on how to approach Anya.
“Becky,” he said, his normally stern voice carrying an odd excitement, “ her parents said yes, I’m proposing tomorrow.”
Becky’s squeal echoed through the phone, followed by the familiar chaos of Ewen and Emile. “Finally!” Ewen shouted.
Emile’s voice was more composed but no less cheerful. “Congratulations, Damian.” Damian let himself smile, feeling lighter than he had in years.
The next day, Damian had rented the entire Eden Academy for them. Every hallway, every classroom, every corner where memories had been made—he wanted to relive it all with her. Tonight was the full moon which ensured Anya couldn’t read his mind, which he silently considered an advantage.
Walking beside her, Damian watched her eyes light up as she noticed the familiar spots: the library where they had studied together, the garden where they had hidden from teachers, the spot by the fountain where she had once yelled at him for spilling juice.
He felt his chest tighten with longing and adoration.
She was breathtaking—more than he had words for—and he wanted nothing more than to spend every day, every night, every memory with her.
Finally, they reached the hallway. The very hallway. Where it had all begun with her punch. Anya stopped, green eyes wide, and exclaimed, “Damian, this is where I punched you!”
Damian’s heart jumped, nerves tingling. She
was beautiful, radiant, impossibly perfect, and the thought of asking her to be his forever made his stomach spin.
Taking a deep breath, he bent down on one knee while she was distracted by the memory.
His hands shook slightly, but the determination in his heart was unshakable.
“Anya Forger,” he began, voice steady but thick with emotion.
“I know I’m probably terrible at this, and I’ve spent years… I’ve spent all my years trying to be worthy of you, trying to figure out how to tell you what I feel without scaring you away. But I can’t wait any longer. I’ve loved you since I was thirteen, maybe even before I understood what love was, and every day since then… you’ve made me better, you’ve made me laugh, you’ve made me want to be the man you deserve. Anya Forger, will you—”
She spun around, eyes wide, and without another second of hesitation, jumped on him. “Yes!” she shouted, laughing and crying all at once.
Damian laughed too, a mixture of relief and pure joy, pulling her close. Tears streaked both of their faces as their lips met in a long, messy, perfect kiss. Slowly, carefully, he slid the ring—a delicate pearl band with a shining emerald in the center—onto her finger.
Outside, Ewen, Emile, and Becky were waiting.
Damian and Anya emerged hand in hand, smiling through tears, and the three friends celebrated with a pop of champagne. Damian watched Anya’s eyes sparkle in the sunlight, her laughter ringing in his ears, and he knew—finally—that every moment, every memory, every chaotic punch and kiss had led to this. Forever with her.
All it took was a punch to the face.