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Before the Proposals:
Damian had expected a lot from his life.
Yet, he had not expected to be twenty years old, following a madwoman of a spy across the globe because she called him her ‘Watson’, and there was no escaping such a force of nature.
Even more so, he had not planned on falling in love with said madwoman.
And certainly, he never meant to propose.
While Strategizing:
Normally, when Anya was yelling, that was Damian’s clue to hide from her for a good couple of days.
Not this time.
This time, she wasn’t yelling at him; she was yelling at a piece of paper, sitting silently on the table, her shouts and stomping shaking the single hanging light above him.
“It’s so STUPID!” she proclaimed, slamming her fist against yet another wall of the boarding room they had been calling their home for the past week. “Unmarried women can’t do anything here! How am I supposed to complete a case when they think I can’t handle entering a damn crime scene?”
Damian watched her pace, staying silent for a moment before cutting in. “You know, if we got married…”
“I appreciate the offer, Sy-on, but that’s not how I do things.” She shook her head, finally ceasing her pacing to sit across from him for a moment. “I have to-”
“Make your own way.” Damian finished. He’d heard it all before. “But, what’s the point of bringing me along if you insist on doing everything on your own?”
“You’re my Watson,” Anya replied in a final tone, before standing up without elaboration. It was clear he’d be getting no more useful answers from her that night.
While Drunk:
The next time it happened, they had both been drunk. Probably. It was entirely possible that Anya had been faking it, but he, at least, had been verrryyy drunk.
“You’re so… pretty,” he’d muttered happily, resting his head against the greasy table they were sitting at.
Anya had turned to look behind her, then back at him, entirely confused. “Are you alright, Damian? I don’t see any mirrors or girls behind me.”
“I’m talking about you,” Damian said, each syllable drawn out.
“Me?” Anya repeated, incredulous.
“Let’s… get married,” he mumbled.
“Damian…” Anya said softly. “You’re drunk.”
“So are you!” he countered. “And you haven’t said no.”
“No, Damian,” she sighed.
That was the last he remembered of that conversation. The next thing he knew, strong arms were carrying him down the street, back to the hotel they had been staying at. Anya swayed slightly as she walked, but Damian knew she wouldn’t fall.
“I can walk on my own, Anya,” he protested quietly.
“I can’t risk you getting hurt,” was her only whispered reply.
In a Hotel:
It was a shitty motel. It barely even qualified as a motel, honestly. Walls were so crumbled that it was hard to tell indoors from outdoors. And “there was only one bed” wasn’t really an accurate description because there was only a pile of very used pillows and blankets in the vague shape of a rectangle where a bed was supposed to be.
Anya, obviously, didn’t mind. To her, the place had an ‘open floor plan’ and ‘unique style’, and that was, apparently, that. Perhaps it was because, as a spy, she had slept in much worse places, but Damian could never be sure as to what was going through her head.
He waited until he was certain she was asleep.
“Hey, Anya.”
The only response was the gentle sound of her breathing.
“Marry me.”
“Mm… no,” came the sleepily mumbled reply, before she kicked the blankets off and gave a small sort of sigh.
His heart sank at that. He’d only wanted to say the words, to vocalize it, but a response… especially that response…
“Do you even care for me at all?”
That question went unanswered.
Running From Gunmen
One could never be sure what led Anya Forger to do things. Incredibly stupid things. Like throwing not one, but four oranges at gang members she was passing by, all of whom CLEARLY had guns.
“You’re an idiot, Anya.” Damian gasped as he struggled to keep up with the girl. (How she ran that fast on heels, he’d never know).
“And yet you still follow me!” she called back, with the same tone of voice one would normally hear on a casual stroll with their neighbor, not during an active gun threat.
In an instant, she grabbed his wrist, pulled him into an alleyway, and pressed him against the wall, pressing a finger to her lips.
He could see her shoulders rising and falling now, evidence that the run was a bit of a workout for her after all. Still, he held perfectly still until the mob had run past, entirely missing the hidden pair.
As soon as they were gone, Damian said it again.
“Marry me.”
Anya didn’t react with shock this time. She just chuckled.
“Is that really your response to me almost getting us killed?”
“It seems to be my response to everything you do lately.”
“For the millionth time, no!” She laughed. “And honestly, this joke of yours is getting a bit old.”
He jolted at that. She wasn’t being cruel. She thought he was joking. Somehow, it hurt even more that she’d never even considered he might be sincere.
“Anya, I mean it.” He spoke quietly, but she heard him anyway.
“What do you mean you-”
“I’m in love with you.”
She stared at him, mouth opening then closing, then opening once again. “You’re… what?”
“I’m in love with you,” he repeated. “Hell, I’ve been in love with you since we were six! That’s how I knew you couldn’t read my mind, because you never talked to me about what I felt! And I’ve been trying to find a way to tell you for a year. But every time, I just slip up and fucking propose!”
The pause that followed was painfully lengthy.
“You’re in love with me?” Anya finally repeated. She seemed incapable of forming a coherent thought at that very moment.
“Forget it,” he mumbled, turning away.
“Damian, I can’t just-”
“Leave it alone.” He shook his head, voice sounding watery. “We’ve lived our whole lives without you knowing. Let’s just live like that’s still the case, okay?”
Anya pressed her lips together, her nails digging into her palms. She took a breath, shut her eyes, and let her fists uncurl.
“Fine. If that’s what you want, then that’s what we’ll do.”
The Second to Last Time
It was on a small bridge over a waterway in some country Anya couldn’t pronounce. They were supposed to be watching the sunset. It was supposed to be a break from their demanding jobs. Yet, out of the corner of her eyes, Anya kept catching golden eyes sneaking glimpses of her before swiftly returning to the sunset. And each glimpse made her heart skip a little more.
And… admittedly… she was sneaking glimpses of him too.
They hadn’t really talked about Damian’s confession a month earlier. He had stopped proposing after that, and she… well, she had spent time trying to understand her own heart. The way it skipped whenever he smiled at her, how it squeezed whenever a lady flirted with him at yet another bar, or when it melted because he had simply looked her way. It was clear.
She loved him, too.
“Damian?” She whispered. Their hands were so close, she wanted so desperately to reach over and hold his.
He gave a non-committal hum in response, but she knew he was listening.
“This is going to sound crazy.”
“Half of what you say is crazy.”
“Will you marry me?”
“What?”
“Not now, of course. We could wait a few years, try out dating first.”
“What?”
“It’s just that I’ve discovered that I love you too, and I really don’t want to go another second without-”
“Can I kiss you?”
“What?” Anya laughed, but she was already wrapping her arms around his neck, eyes shut as she pressed her lips to his.
She felt his hands running through her hair, which she had worked so hard to style, but found it hard to care. All that mattered to her was him.
When he finally stepped back, she found it hard not to pull him back towards her.
“You really love me too?”
“I really do.” She smiled, pressing her forehead against his. She felt like standing on top of the bridge, screaming to the whole world that she loved this man.
Instead, she pushed his hair back, leaned in, and sank into another kiss.