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Anya hid herself in a supply closet at the end of the day, sitting in the dark, breaths coming out laboured, mind sluggish. She hadn't had an overstimulation episode in years, thinking that she grew out of it—being fourteen and all—but today's excitement and stress overwhelmed her as classmates and teachers scurried through the hallways, preparing for the snowstorm and the extra students staying at Eden overnight.
The storm had started in earnest a little after lunch, and by the time everyone was in last period, nobody was able to see out the windows, and it sounded as though the roofs would collapse and the windows shatter from the howling winds.
It wasn't safe, and the school certainly wasn't about to risk an accident and lawsuit if they were to put the children of the country's most important people onto the school buses to take them home. Even Becky's father, who had apparently wanted to send a tank out on the streets to pick up his dear daughter, was told by both school officials and Berlint police to stand down.
How exciting!
Will they even have enough bedsheets for the students?
We were supposed to have Hamburg steak tonight!
Such an inelegant situation.
I hope mom and dad will be okay.
Good thing the cooks haven't gone home yet.
I can't sleep without Teddy!
She put her hands to her ears, as though it could muffle the voices in her head. Hopefully the building would clear out as everyone moved towards the dorms and cafeterias. There were a few spare beds in various dormitories, and the lucky few who would be sleeping there were chosen at random. Everyone else would be camping out in the cafeterias and classrooms near there on old cots and blankets from storage. Apparently, all the mattresses, pillows, and such were from the school's emergency equipment which had been put together during the Second East-West War of Unification in case students had to stay at Eden for prolonged periods of time.
Anya's name had been picked to sleep in one of the spare beds in Rose Hall. She was relieved; even sleeping at home, Mama and Papa's dreams oftentimes bled into her own, an effect of her telepathy. At first, it was hard to tell—dreams were weird in general. But Mama's blonde coworker, Papa's boss, and scientists from Bond's past often appeared in her dreams, and she felt as though that wouldn't happen if she was a normal teen. Sleeping near so many people in the cafeteria was just a recipe for a nightmare.
The supply closet's door creaked open slowly, and Anya squinted up at the figure standing in the doorway. As her eyes adjusted to the sudden bright light, Damian Desmond slowly materialized in her vision.
She frowned up at him, annoyed at being found. "What are you doing?" she asked in a huff, pulling her knees up closer to her chest and resting her forehead there, avoiding his gaze.
"What are you doing?"
Anya watched as the light on the floor faded as Damian shut the door. There was some shuffling as he presumably sat down across from her.
"Why are you here?" And, before Damian could volley the same question back to her again, she added sourly, "People don't really hide in supply closets hoping to find company. Leave me alone."
There was a long beat of silence before Damian said, "Did you know this used to be the supply closet I used to go to when I wanted to be alone? It was hard to slip away from Emile and Ewen, but sometimes they were a little much." At this, he let out a quiet chuckle. "I would sit here for an hour or so to decompress in the darkness. It's…nice…isn't it?"
Anya's eyes were readjusting back to the pitch-black room, and she could just make out Damian, leaned back with his hands supporting his weight, legs outstretched. He was staring up at the ceiling, a strange sort of scowl on his face.
Able to take a hint, she abruptly stood, manoeuvred around Damian, and pushed open the door to the supply closet again. "Well don't let me keep you from your peace and quiet." As she stiffly walked away, she heard his thoughts:
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
At least some things never changed. Despite Damian's strange behaviour over the last year, it was almost comforting knowing that he still despised her guts.
~~~
Anya quickly made her way down the hallway, towards the underground tunnels that connected all the buildings. They were hardly used anymore, another precaution during the war, but only accessible now to allow students and staff to get around without having to brave the storm.
She shot a glance over her shoulder in case Damian decided to follow her, but she didn't see his tall frame.
Ever since the beginning of the school year, Damian had begun to increasingly act like a leech, always there in her periphery, not as snarky as he usually was. And yet, his thoughts remained unchanged. At least, before, his actions lined up with his thoughts. It was clear to everyone—including Anya, who'd never been great at social cues—that Damian disliked her.
These days, Damian acted differently. He was more reserved, less prone to verbal threats and name-calling. Not to mention the leech-like traits.
Becky told her it was because he had finally realized his feelings for her.
But Becky wasn't a mind reader and, if anything, Damian's thoughts were more hateful than before. It wasn't the words themselves—his vocabulary hadn’t expanded that much—but the vehemence behind them.
Luckily, over the summer, Ostania-Westalis relations had stabilized, Donovan Desmond was no longer a threat to world peace, and Operation Strix continued on as a general ongoing reconnaissance mission in case any other threats appeared in the country, meaning that the Forger family would continue on. A huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders, as well as from Mama and Papa's.
Which meant that the Friendship Scheme could be permanently shelved, and Damian Desmond was no longer her problem.
Unfortunately, he had, for whatever reason, decided he was going to be her problem, whether she wanted it or not.
She was civil with him whenever they were in the same vicinity, but never anything more, channelling Papa's spy stoicism.
Despite it all, Damian never ceased in trying to incorporate her into his conversations with Emile and Ewen.
"Forger! Did you see the Spy Wars movie? What did you think?"
She had, and she'd been unable to shut up about it for the following week after seeing it with Becky. (They'd made a deal where Becky would come to the theatre to watch the Spy Wars movie, and Anya would sleep over at Becky's and watch one of her steamy romances). Why Damian, who wasn't a fan of Spy Wars, would go to see the movie on opening weekend was beyond her. All she'd said was, "Yeah, I liked it," before turning to walk in the other direction.
"That test was brutal, wasn't it?"
She'd studied her butt off with Papa, Uncle Yuri, and Becky, and still she struggled with a lot of the questions. She knew Damian had had no problem with it and was just making conversation. (She'd been reading his mind to get enough right answers to get a 70%). But she'd shrugged and said, "I guess so."
"I bought these pickle-flavoured peanuts awhile back, but I don't want them anymore. Do you?"
Anya loved both pickles and peanuts, and she would have liked to try some under literally any other circumstance. But she was stronger than that and wasn't about to eat Damian's scraps. So, she'd replied, "No thanks, I'm full." (She'd gotten Papa to pick up some that weekend on his next grocery run and loved them).
If Anya wasn't a telepath, she would have been fooled by Damian's sudden niceness. Because it was all too easy to do so. To pretend that he cared about her thoughts and opinions, to want a friendship with her.
Because, deep down, a part of her wanted that too. Maybe even something more than a friendship, even though she hated to admit it. To like the boy who had tormented her from the moment she'd stepped inside Eden Academy didn't sound like it was right or would work. But he wasn't always so mean—there were moments of softness she'd gleaned—and he was a product of his parents.
She'd tried to befriend Damian for the sole purpose of bringing about world peace and ensuring Papa's mission was a success and, as she grew older, a small, small part of her wondered if something like Mama and Papa's relationship would happen to her, too. A relationship under false pretenses blossoming into something real.
Like something out of Becky's movies and soap operas.
But that wasn't reality. Her and Damian's fraught relationship was nothing like Mama and Papa's. Her parents had genuinely cared for and respected each other before any real feelings appeared. Anya couldn't say the same.
And so, when Donovan Desmond was deemed no longer a threat to Ostania-Westalis relations, Anya decided to stop trying to force a friendship with someone who was so prickly, it was hard to see the boy beneath all the thorns.
~~~
"You're so lucky," Becky grumbled at suppertime. "Sleeping in an actual bed."
The cafeteria was packed with students and teachers alike, and she could hear everyone's thoughts buzzing in the back of her mind, like an incessant fly zipping around her head that wouldn't leave.
"You could come sneak into bed with me," Anya said, across from her. While Becky's bed at home was enough to fit four adults comfortably and was never an issue when Anya slept over, the times Becky had sleepovers at Anya's, the other girl always curled up with her in her small, single bed. The beds in the dormitories were likely no different.
Papa had bought an air mattress the first time Becky slept over, but Becky claimed she didn't want to sleep on the floor, despite her "precious Loid" buying her such a thoughtful gift.
What Anya learned that night was that Becky was always ice cold. She'd place her freezing feet on Anya's legs, her frigid fingers against her neck.
They hadn't run into this before while at Becky's house, because Becky's bedroom's heat was always cranked up, almost to a suffocating degree.
"You're like a hot water bottle," Becky had sighed with contentment, the two of them facing each other in Anya's bed, their hands clasped together.
"And you're an ice cube," Anya said, although she really didn't mind.
When she’d woken up in the middle of the night with Becky's legs wrapped around her, her arms snuggled around her midsection like a little monkey, Anya just grinned into the darkness and promptly fell back asleep.
She'd always felt safe being at home—it came with having a spy for a dad and an assassin for a mom—but Becky was like an extra layer of protection around her, and her dreams were filled with romance plots, Wiesel, and a glittering, pink tank.
Becky sighed as she twirled her fork around in the air. "I wish, but I think the teachers will do head counts. I don't want you to get in trouble. Besides, someone might snitch on us." Two younger students rushed behind Becky and must have jostled her slightly, as her fork landed onto her tray with a clatter. "Hey! Watch where you're going!" she exclaimed, glaring at their backs, before turning her attention towards Anya once again.
Anya scooped some noodles into her mouth, chewed and swallowed, before saying, "Maybe the storm will have passed by tomorrow and we'll be able to make snowmen and snow angels."
Oh Anya, you're still so childish. I hope you never change. Becky's thoughts were said in a loving way, and she nodded enthusiastically. "Good thing I brought my mitts and scarf. We'll ask the cooks for a carrot."
Anya might have been annoyed by being called childish in the past, but it was something she had grown to accept and embrace. There was nothing wrong with it. The adults in her life had moments of playfulness and wonder—Mama, and Scruffy Head, and even Uncle Yuri and Papa. And, despite Becky always acting so grown, she was also just a fifteen-year-old.
Anya had never had a normal childhood; first being an experiment, then helping bring about world peace. Anya felt as though she deserved to reclaim her childhood now, when war wasn't on the horizon, when her family was safe, when she wasn't worried about the future.
Except that she still was. Not about war or the end of her family, but for her own future.
She had spent most of her life both simultaneously in the moment—surviving day to day, taking each problem as it came—and in the future, as all her actions and decisions revolved around protecting her family and world peace. And it had been exhausting.
But now, most of those worries were no longer a thing (and world peace was completely unrealistic), and Anya saw the long, unknown path of her future suddenly lengthen before her very eyes. What was her new goal? What was she working towards? She was unmoored, unsure, and completely lost.
Graduation, sure, but after that? What next? Who did she want to be?
She'd always admired spies, and she knew her mind reading skills would be a significant bolster, but Anya didn't think such a career was actually in the cards for her. She was uncoordinated with a terrible memory, hated lying (and was bad at it!), and listened to her heart more than her head. And while she could be trained to be a good spy (Papa had explained it all to her), the idea of years of more studying was absolutely unappealing. Besides, being a real spy wasn't exactly a fun job, despite what Spy Wars depicted. It was scary, hard work, and dangerous.
Anya needed something less stressful. She'd had enough of the feeling already.
She was jolted out of her thoughts as Damian, Emile, and Ewen sat down with their trays full of food at the end of the table, a couple feet away from her and Becky.
Ewen started talking about some sci-fi TV show and, surprisingly, Becky recognized the title and jumped into the conversation, mooning over some actor, scooting herself and her tray towards Ewen.
Traitor, Anya thought glumly. Although she couldn't really blame her friend for fraternizing with the enemy—Becky had no idea that the only reason she'd wanted to get closer to Damian was for the Friendship Scheme.
Not wanting to be left out, she pushed her tray down the table as well, towards Damian.
"Stupid cook gave me an extra drink. What am I supposed to do with this?" Damian suddenly grumbled, looking down at his tray with two mugs, eyebrows furrowed.
"But Damian, didn't you—?"
"—You want it?" Quickly cutting off Emile with a glare, Damian glanced over at Anya and her tray of food. She hadn't been thirsty when she'd ordered, so she didn't have a drink. "It's hot cocoa."
She forced herself not to wet her lips. Eden's hot cocoa was perfectly sweet and chocolate-y, and she probably ordered too many of them when they were offered in the cafeterias during the chillier months.
This was different from the pickle peanuts he had offered her before. One of the cooks had made a mistake (although, they were usually pretty good with giving students their accurate orders, but maybe even they messed up sometimes); this wasn't scraps, per se. It was…a bonus.
At the same time, though, she didn't want to interact with Damian more than the bare minimum required. Surely accepting a hot cocoa from him was going above that.
But before Anya could debate further on whether to accept or not, Becky made the decision for her. "Of course she'll take it—she loves them!" Becky was still convinced that she and Damian would make the perfect couple.
Unable to back out now, Anya met Damian's gaze for a brief moment, muttering a curt "thanks."
Damian lifted the mug off his tray and offered it out to her. She clutched the bottom half of the mug. At the same time, there was a whoosh of air as some students rushed past behind them, and Anya saw the flash of an elbow strike Damian right between his shoulder blades just as the flap of an Imperial Scholar cape fluttered before her eyes.
Anya was momentarily unable to see, and Damian must have lurched upon impact, but then she saw the mug tumbling out of his hands and clattering onto the floor, the hot liquid splashing onto her chest, her uniform soaking it all in. Anya just stared down at herself, feeling her face go as hot as the cocoa.
"What did I tell you before?" Becky exclaimed, on her feet in an instant. She shook her fist at the students who had been responsible. "Watch it!" She huffed. "Don't worry, Anya, we'll go to the nurse's office. She usually has spare uniforms."
Carefully, Anya got to her feet, slowly meeting Becky's gaze, feeling very small but grateful that most people hadn't heard the commotion over the loud voices and conversations from others. She could see Damian in her periphery, frozen, eyes wide, mouth flapping like a fish. "I—I—"
Becky spun, pointing a finger at him. "Take off your jacket."
Damian blinked a couple of times before he glanced over at her. "Huh? What?"
"Dummy, take off your jacket so that Anya can wear it while we go to the nurse's so she doesn't have to walk through the cafeteria with that huge stain on her front." She glared at Ewen and Emile. "Go grab some rags from the cooks to clean up the rest of the spill."
The two of them scrambled up and away, and Damian quickly shed his dark jacket and offered it to Anya.
Mutely, she took it, their fingertips brushing slightly, and Damian pulled away as though he'd been electrocuted, as though he couldn't stand being touched by a commoner.
Anya slipped on his jacket and buttoned it up, feeling strangely cold despite the hot cocoa and embarrassment, and Becky rushed around the table to be at her side. "Let's go."
Damian's thoughts were as sharp as a knife as she and Becky walked towards the exit.
Wow, you really know how to make a mess of things, don't you?
~~~
Usually, sleep came easily to her, and she could often fall asleep in strange places and in strange positions. However, tonight, as the rest of the students around her slept, Anya was wide awake.
Eventually, her legs became restless, and she quietly pulled herself out of bed, the cold air instantly nipping at her body. The pajamas Eden had handed out—yet another precaution during the war period—were made of thin material, as though the person in charge hadn't thought war would come during winter, and she quickly grabbed Damian's jacket at the foot of the bed and shrugged it on.
She crept out of the dorm and into the hallways of the school, unsure where she was going, but that seemed to reflect her own inner turmoil.
Wandering aimlessly through underground tunnels at random, Anya didn't think she'd ever roamed Eden's corridors so late. There was something about how the usually bright halls filled with chatter and laughter were now dark and deserted. Outside, the winds had died down, although large, thick snowflakes still fell from the sky, illuminated by streetlights.
Anya found herself walking towards a dead-end where she knew a large window was with a plush seat just below it. She and Becky had sat there once, to admire a rainbow one lunch period.
There were Year 1 art projects lining the hallway, and Anya slowed down to look at them all, admiring the creativity and whimsy. There were a lot of unicorns, cats, and dogs, although there were more exotic creatures as well like an ostrich and a lemur.
She thought back to her own Year 1 Arts & Crafts classes with a sort of fondness.
"I don't think any of them could really surpass the griffins we made," a voice cut through the silence, and Anya whirled to find that Damian was seated beneath the window in his warm pajamas, an open book in his lap.
Instantly, she stiffened and made to turn back. "I'm gonna go—"
"—No wait!" Damian exclaimed, voice going up a tone, and he snapped his book shut. "Don't go. At least…not yet." He paused. "Please."
It was strange hearing him say "please." Not just that, but the tone he said it in, almost begging, and Anya froze in the middle of the hallway, not exactly leaving, but not getting any closer, either.
"Are you…you're okay? You weren't burned or anything?"
The question was so unlike anything she'd been expecting, that her mind momentarily went blank, the words unable to form in her mouth. It threw her off kilter and, in retaliation, she steeled herself and said, "Why do you care?" Her voice came out icier than she intended.
Damian went to respond, but his mouth suddenly snapped shut, and his eyes flickered with something like surprise. She's wearing my jacket. She's wearing my jacket. The thought was rapid, the tone panicky.
Anya rolled her eyes. Of course that was what he was worried about. His precious Eden jacket being worn by a commoner—the horror! He'd have to thoroughly wash it or he might catch cooties. She began to take it off. "Here, you can have it back." She refused to thank him for letting her borrow it in the first place if this was how he was going to act.
One arm out, a piece of paper from the jacket pocket fluttered to the floor, and Anya bent to pick it up. She squinted at the little letters, recognizing it as Damian's receipt from supper. And there, nestled between "Egg Tart (x1)" and "Vegetable Stew (x1)," was "Hot Cocoa (x2)."
Anya blinked at the line, as though the number might be a phantom of her imagination, and the two would turn into a one after enough time, but it never changed. She looked up at Damian, a tangle of emotions running through her, but mostly confusion. "You bought the second hot cocoa." Slowly, she drifted closer to him.
Damian's eyes were wide in the dim light, and his thoughts were racing. Oh no, oh no. Stupid dummy!
Anya frowned at the familiar insults, although the thoughts continued to crash and rattle through his head.
You dumbass, Damian. Why didn't you throw out your receipt? You're always messing everything up, stupid.
It was like electricity fizzled through her body at the sudden realization. She almost let go of the receipt clutched in her hand, and her jaw loosened. Those insults…he wasn't talking about me. At least, certainly not since the start of the year.
But what did that mean?
Anya stood a short distance away from Damian, close enough to see that he had been reading ahead in their history textbook. "Why did you buy me a hot cocoa and then lie about it?"
Anya could see Damian swallow, his thoughts now a swirling hurricane of fragments and words that she couldn't make any sense out of. "I didn't think you'd accept it if you knew I'd bought it."
"No, I wouldn't have," Anya said curtly. It would have felt like a weird gesture. "But why'd you do it in the first place?"
Damian shifted uncomfortably, although his eyes never left hers. "You…hate me now, more than…more than usual, anyway." His voice lowered, and he said his next sentence all in a rush. "I wanted to do something nice or whatever." A scowl had formed on his face. What a way with words. 'Or whatever.' Shut up! Shut up!
"I didn't think you'd care. Or notice," Anya told him bluntly. Now that things were starting to make a bit more sense in the way of Damian's contrasting thoughts, spoken words, and actions, she couldn't help but be honest with him.
"I do notice things," Damian said awkwardly, but he regained some confidence as he added, "Like how you've been acting weird all year."
This time, it was Anya's turn to feel frozen. She tried to shrug it off and said, "I decided to give up."
"Give up?" Damian repeated, brows furrowed. "That doesn't sound like you at all."
"Well, you've always hated me, so I decided to give up on trying to be your friend. Honestly, I thought you'd prefer it that way." But, even as Anya said the words, her most recent epiphany made her unsure of it all.
Damian scowled again. "I don't…I don't hate you." Wow Damian, very charming. 'I don't hate you.' She's totally going to like you back now!
Anya blinked. Like you back? Back? As in…?
Anya took a couple swift steps forward and sat down next to Damian below the window. She crossed her legs and turned so she was sideways on the seat, fully facing him.
Damian's eyes grew wide as saucers, and he scootched backwards a little bit. "Uh."
"You aren't very good at showing it," she said.
"What do you mean?" Damian sputtered, suddenly defensive. "I bought you a hot cocoa! And peanuts, and even watched that Spy Wars movie!"
"You kicked me out of the supply closet, though," Anya said, frowning, more things clicking into place, although a few pieces were still missing.
Damian frowned, and his voice lost its edge. "I wasn't kicking you out. I was trying to connect with you. Share my own experience. I don't know!" He threw up his hands. "You're impossible!"
"I'm impossible?" Anya retorted, and she stuck a finger in his face. "You've spent the last decade tormenting me! What am I supposed to think?"
"Listen, I'm sorry, okay?" Damian said. "I was a stupid kid who didn't know how to process his feelings. I've been trying to make up for it, although I guess now I know I've been going about it all wrong." He ran a hand through his hair. "I've been trying to be better—really."
Anya sighed heavily. "I'm sorry too. For always thinking the worst of you and not believing you were legitimately trying to be nice." She did think that she'd had a harder time, considering his mean-spirited thoughts, but it wasn't as though she could tell him that.
They sat in silence for a moment, and Anya turned to stare out the window to watch the snowflakes lazily float through the air. When she glanced back at Damian, he was already staring at her, an inscrutable expression on his face. When she tried listening to his thoughts, to give her a clue, she heard static.
Nothing.
"There's something else," Damian said after another second. "There's something else going on in your head." Urgh. Is that weird? Yeah, that's definitely a weird thing to say. "Er, not that—not that you have to tell me, or anything!"
"I guess so," Anya eventually said, hunching a little so that she could rest her chin on her fist. She'd never voiced these thoughts aloud before, although it felt safe to in the almost-dark. "I've just been thinking a lot about the future and who I want to be after graduation." She then frowned. "I guess you wouldn't really understand, huh? Have you always wanted to become a politician like your dad?"
The silence went on longer than she expected. But, eventually, Damian said, "Demetrius would be a better politician than me."
"Really?" Anya said, wrinkling her nose.
Damian shrugged. "Yeah, I mean, he's smarter than I am—"
"—Well, he is older than you—"
"And just…has the aura of a politician more than me," Damian finished.
"I would say that your brother has the aura of your dad, which isn't the same thing. There are plenty of ways to be a politician that aren't like them," Anya said simply. All the news Papa liked to watch (when she wasn't watching Spy Wars) had introduced her to all sorts of politicians, and some of them actually seemed nice and personable and had normal-looking eyes.
He stared down at his hands. "But I'm a Desmond. I should be like my brother and father." That's what everyone expects.
"Your dad's not a politician anymore, though," Anya pointed out. "And your brother isn't one yet. It also doesn't look like he's planning to take up your father's old position either." She pursed her lips as soon as she said it. She only knew Demetrius wasn't trying to become the next chairman of the National Unity Party because Papa spied on him sometimes at the university and deemed him not a threat to world peace (at least at the moment).
But Damian didn't seem suspicious how she knew that despite the fact that she hadn't even seen Demetrius since he graduated from Eden. Yeah, I guess so. He glanced back up at her. "Okay, so what about your future, then? What do you want to do? What do you like doing?"
"Will you actually like being a politician, or do you just want to be one because your dad was one?"
"Both," Damian said fiercely. It doesn't matter if I like it or not; there's no other path. I need to fix his mistakes. "I want to make Ostania a better place."
"You don't have to be a politician to make positive changes to this country," Anya stated before saying, "I want world peace." It felt like she was saying that she wished for a pet unicorn or for money to fall from the sky.
Damian hesitated. "That's kind of a big goal. Maybe a bit unrealistic. When has the world ever been at peace?" His eyes cut to his history textbook, and his thoughts whirled around again, completely inscrutable to Anya, although they slowed as he said, "What about starting small? Like a sort of translator or interpreter job? You're good with languages. Help people who don't speak the same language understand each other better."
"I don't know," she said, although the more she thought about it, the more it sounded doable. Languages did come easy to her, and she'd always been frustrated reading the thoughts of someone who spoke and thought in a different language. "It seems like a lot of studying," she added in honestly.
"Well, achieving world peace isn't going to be easy."
"That's true," Anya eventually conceded. "Besides, the first step towards world peace is understanding each other better, that we're all just humans living on a shared planet." She remembered Papa's watered-down, child-friendly version of how he became friends with Franky despite being on opposite sides of the war. (And she remembered the true, raw version she couldn't help but simultaneously hearing from Papa's thoughts. He'd been so apologetic that he'd given her an extra mug of hot cocoa before bed and stayed up all night trying to train his thoughts to do his bidding. It didn't work, of course. Thoughts couldn't be controlled.)
There was another long beat of silence, and Anya felt a little lighter from just the act of speaking her worry out loud and having Damian talk to her about it. She wasn't burdened by this alone. Despite Damian's insistence on becoming a politician, it was clear that even he was unsure of his future, feeling a sort of obligation towards the career rather than wanting the job for his own interests. She was still only fourteen—she had plenty of years left at Eden to figure herself out and what she wanted to do with her life. And maybe…maybe she would start picking up another language. Just for fun.
Anya felt her cheeks lift as a smile found its way onto her face. "You know, you aren't so bad after all," she told Damian.
A tentative smile grew on Damian's lips as well. She's acting like herself again. That's good.
"But you should stop overworking yourself," Anya said, swiping the history textbook away from Damian. He went to grab it back, but she was too fast and hid it behind her back. "One day, you'll collapse from exhaustion or from your brain growing too big, and then I'll cry over your grave."
"You make a pretty good argument," Damian said. "But those Stella Stars won't just appear out of thin air."
"What do you need more Stellas for? You're already an Imperial Scholar. You deserve to relax a bit." It didn't seem like he was vying for more to impress his dad any longer, so Anya was legitimately curious.
It proves that I'm worthy. That I mean something. Because if I don't have my Stellas, if I'm not an Imperial Scholar, then who am I? A Desmond? That holds no weight anymore. Why do I need more Stellas? It's all I know how to do. I study hard; I get good grades. Do I even know how to relax?
Anya instantly regretted asking him the question. Damian had a lot of things to work through; a part of her wondered if he'd agree to speak with someone about it. Definitely not her Papa, but another psychiatrist or a psychologist. She winced as she tried imagining bringing it up to him—telling him he should bare his heart out to a complete stranger because he needed their help. Yeah, maybe it was too early for that. She'd have to slowly build him up to the idea at a later date.
Amid his spiralling of self-doubt, Anya took his hands into her own. They were chilly and slightly clammy, and his gaze immediately snapped to meet her's. "You're an Imperial Scholar, Damian," she repeated to him, slowly, and his thoughts instantly quieted. "We were some of the youngest Imperial Scholars in Eden history. That's impressive. But you know what? When we graduate, nobody's going to care." Damian's grip on her hands tightened, and she hoped she didn't sound too harsh. "All anybody will know is that we went to Eden. Maybe they'll know we were Imperial Scholars, but definitely not how many Stellas or Tonitrus Bolts we received. Apart from your own family, can you name any other former Imperial Scholar and how many Stellas they had at school?"
Damian opened his mouth, but no words came out. It didn't seem as dark as before, and Anya noticed that his cheeks had turned a funny shade of pink. "I—I suppose a little bit of…relaxing wouldn't do too much harm." Her hand is warm. She's wearing my jacket. I think I might die.
She had no intention of pushing their relationship into romantic territory, at least not yet. She wasn't ready, and Damian definitely wasn't either. But later, when they had a more solid foundation, when Damian was a little more in tune with his feelings, if they still liked each other in that way…the future was bright.
Anya caught a glimpse out the window from her periphery, and her eyes widened. She let go of one of his hands to point. "Look! The sun is rising!" She turned her body another ninety degrees so she was facing the window.
A sliver of golden sun was peaking above the roofs on the horizon. It had stopped snowing completely by now, and Anya couldn't peel her eyes away from the way the colour slowly seeped back into the world, the golden hue at the edges of everything. How the pure white snow sparkled like the finest glitter.
There was movement as Damian shifted around to face the window too, although he never let go of her hand. "Wow," he breathed beside her.
Not taking her eyes off the view outside, she muttered quietly, "It's so pretty."
"It really is," Damian agreed.