Christmas was a pain. He didn't mean to sound like the Grinch or Scrooge or any other surprisingly lovable anti-Christmas character, but there were just...so many things that could go wrong. Everything had a possibility of going wrong, and considering he wasn't exactly the luckiest guy on the planet (sans his face as he had been told before) no-one could blame him for having low expectations.
He had read somewhere that the death toll sky-rocketed around the Christmas season, and although he didn't expect to die, he had started to realise that, taking into account his past experiences, death may be the least painful (or at least the least embarrassing option).
And so Daimon took the liberty of planning everything in advance, down to the last second. Giving someone a present was no easy task in itself, but giving Quecchon a present he knew would be a far more...strenuous task.
He vowed to attack when the moment was right. If he gave it to her while she was wearing her mask, at the very least, she would accept it with grace. There was no guarantee she wouldn't bin it as soon as the mask came off, but he decided if he could just express his affections without completely and utterly humiliating himself, that would be enough.
Every day, club time ran after school until 4:30, in which all the members of the Quiz Society would leave, except Quecchon and himself who would always stay behind to stack the question cards and fold away the chairs. This would be the perfect time to strike, she would be in her more agreeable mode and they would be alone. Unless she had an event booked, her grandmothers birthday for example, and had to leave early, meaning he would have to chase her down the hallways. And what if he did something stupid, like tripping over his own feet.
She would help him up; she didn't take off her mask until she got to the changing room. The gentle, caring Quecchon would be in close proximity to him, and although they might not be alone, it would make another perfect opportunity.
But what if her mask fell of as she helped him up. It was a very likely possibility. And then what would happen? An outstanding level of mortification slapping him in the face is what would happen. And then he would be subject to the taunts of not only her, but the bystanders also.
She would easily spot the present in his hands and she would reject it, possibly stepping on it as a final act of dismissal, before turning away, flipping her perfect hair behind her.
Daimon chided himself. Sure, he was unlucky, but there was absolutely no way all of those things could happen to him. He tapped a gold bow to the top of the festive paper and smiled.
No way.