Disclamer: Spy x Family belongs to Tatsuya Endo
.
.
Anya thinks her world is still and filled with colors. Everything is just the way she wishes to be.
Until Sy-on boy joins her little picture, swimming through her world, and she finds that she likes to have him there. He paints the world with rainbows. Even if he's not aware of it.
But there's something else that she has not learned with time. Something that the whole class teases them about—and Anya has a hard time to believe them, even if she can read their minds.
The thing is, Sy-on boy is overprotective. Sometimes. And not in general, with everyone. Just with her.
Anya wonders if it's a way to annoy her.
And yet.
When she's five years old and shivering because of thunder, he holds her hand. She looks at him. His eyes are golden and his cheeks are red. The sky is gray and scary but it doesn't matter because holding his hand is like holding summer.
Anya stops crying.
Then she peeks at his mind, and it calms her heart of wounded birds.
The world is a kaleidoscope.
Anya doesn't let go of his hand for the rest of the day.
.
.
That little dusty moment lives in the memory of her childhood for years, and Anya doesn't know why she holds it dear. But they grow up, little by little, and Operation Strix is long forgotten in her family, and in her mind. Sy-on boy is just Sy-on boy. Not a target, not the son of the bad guy, just a boy who is annoyed by her and she's annoyed by him just the same. The problem is that his mind is still noisy, and filled with colors, and Anya has a long time to learn to read it well. His brain turns pink whenever she's around, his cheeks red, the yellow of his eyes shining like gold whenever he meets her gaze.
Sy-on boy still looks angry at her whenever she comes around. Anya bets he doesn't even like her.
And yet.
.
.
Slowly they start to tolerate each other, enjoying each other's worlds. They still get into stupid arguments about who got the biggest score in the exams (it's Sy-on boy) or about which one of them started throwing balls of paper at class (it's Anya). But then there are the moments where Sy-on boy's gaze becomes tender. Putting his cape over her shoulders when it's too cold, giving all his cookies to her when they run out and she cries about it, making sure she doesn't trip or hurt herself during P.E class.
It's the unfamiliar Sy-on boy, the one Anya is trying to get used to, the one that was always in his mind. Always thinking about her. About why she is talking to that boy again, about why she skipped class, if she fell sick. All thoughts about her. Before, Anya would have seen it as an advantage to get closer to him, to go to his house, to help papa out. Now all she can do is tilt her head in confusion, wondering, feeling her heartbeat yell like loud music whenever she catches a thread of his thoughts.
It's weird, it's strange, it's unlike him. Everyone knows, and Sy-on boy knows too. But he still does it, as if fighting against his own nature, taking care of her in a grumpy, irritated way. But his mind is always pink and free and Anya loves relaxing around it.
She likes the colors. She likes his mind. She likes him.
.
.
She's thirteen years old when Sy-on boy gets into his first fight.
Defending her.
Someone had insulted her status, and instead of mocking her as well, Sy-on boy had jumped at them in a stormy rage.
Anya doesn't know how she managed to stop him.
Red sunset. Red capes. Red nosebleed.
Anya pouts when he doesn't let her treat him. "Just be quiet already!"
"Shut up!"
But she doesn't stop. And he falls silent. And the world is red and fixed and he lets her pat his head, his hair. Fluffy hair. Anya understands that she likes Sy-on boy's hair—and his hands, and his mind.
She understands that she likes Sy-on boy.
.
.
Anya is fourteen when they begin spending all their afternoons in the garden.
"Don't fall over," he warns. "I'm not going to catch you."
Anya smiles, she has learned to comprehend his mind. She's free and wide and filled with rainbows. She's on the top of the apple tree trying to grab a fruit, hungry after she finished her bag of peanuts.
"Are you worried?"
Sy-on boy blushes and comes back to his book. "No," he says. "I'm going to study. Don't interrupt me."
Liar.
Sy-on boy is a terrible liar. She can read his mind. It's a scale of kaleidoscopes. But then Anya trips and falls over, and Sy-on boy is already there, trying to catch her in bridal-style.
He fails.
His complaints are yellow. Her giggles little bubbles of pink. The sky is wide blue.
.
.
Another time where he glares too much at a boy who is talking to her. He looks grumpy, and blushy, but Anya knows that he's very aware and listening to whatever this nameless boy is telling her. Becky has said that the boys in other classes have been staring at her for too long, that with her hair longer and her shiny eyes she attracts more attention—popularity, or whatever. But Anya has lost all interest in world dominance so she doesn't care. It isn't until this boy insults her when she rejects him that Sy-on boy suddenly appears beside them.
There's a fight. But Sy-on wins with his big mouth. Gladly, he doesn't get a Tonitrus Bolt.
When Anya pulls on the sleeve of his uniform to thank him, voice little and cheeks too pink, he's red enough to yell at her and run as quickly as possible.
She doesn't understand him.
"Do you like Damian?" Becky asks when she reaches her side. A teasing smile. Anya still feels heat in her cheeks.
Anya blinks. What a dumb question.
"…No?", she answers, asking herself for a moment.
That's a weird word for a spoiled boy who has always been mean to her. Objectively, Sy-on boy is a jerk, always glaring or offending people. That is a truth almost as to how she can read minds or how her mama's cooking can kill a man.
"What?" Becky says, sounding surprised. "Not at all?"
"He's mean, and he's always complaining about me."
"But… you spend all your time together!"
"Well, I like spending time with him. It's always really fun when we're together. But that doesn't mean I like him."
Becky puts a hand on her forehead, tired. "Whatever, I still can't with you. At least you know he likes you, right? He's always looking at you, or finding excuses to be next to you."
"Yeah, 'cause he likes to mess with me."
Becky sighs again. "You should still talk to him about it at some point."
Anya nods, confused with the idea. She doesn't know what is there even to talk about.
She suddenly finds herself missing Sy-on boy's mind. Or him in general.
.
.
When she's fifteen, the colors escalate.
"Sy-on boy, what do you think of me?"
"I think you're too short."
Anya holds back the urge to punch him, just like mama taught her. "I mean, like, do you like me?"
The world becomes red. Blushed cheeks. Panicked mind. The dusky sky.
Sy-on boy pretends to read again.
"Didn't you say you can read my mind?"
"...Yes?"
"Then you already know."
It's all he says. It's all that's needed.
Anya sinks into his mind, floating away, and her face becomes the color of her hair.
"Oh, alright."
Silence. The sun goes down until it's cold and she shivers. Anya wants to leave, to run from the cold and hide her embarrassment. But she doesn't want to leave Sy-on boy. She would miss him like she always does. So she stays there, shivering, wrapping her own arms around her as she waits for him to finish his silly book.
Suddenly.
"Come here."
Anya looks at him and he opens his free arm, still holding his book. She moves her head from one side to another, refusing, until Sy-on boy is grabbing her as she's unable to escape and he pulls her against him, covering them both with his coat—surrounding her in a heat wave, a blissful warmth.
Her heart screams, and Anya finds that he smells of strawberries and wood and candy and everything that makes her think of home. She finds all courage and drops her head on his shoulder, listening to his mind screaming just like hers is doing. Anya pities him for a moment.
"You don't have to hug me if it bothers you," she mumbles, but she's clinging to his shirt.
"Idiot. You will get sick and skip class again," it's all he answers. But Anya can hear the I will miss you again echoing through his mind.
She falls silent. The world is a watercolor. The dusky sky falls over them.
Anya can't hold her words before they slip from her mouth.
"I think I like you too."
Sy-on boy stops reading. "Oh…"
Silence. He hugs her tighter. She moves closer to him.
"I do like you," he says, hiding his face under the book. "...Probably."
That last part is a lie. He's sure of it. He has been screaming it in his head for hours.
Anya nods, and she doesn't let go. Not now, not ever. They remain like this, not talking, not sleeping, just listening to each other's hearts and breathing. Until his mind becomes pink and pleasant again, like a music box, and Anya lulls herself to sleep.
.
.
According to Becky, at some point, they start dating. Officially. Anya doesn't get it, because things still remain pretty much the same. She still gets into fights with him, he calls her annoying, she messes up with him. Sy-on boy still gets angry whenever any boy looks at her for too long. Their classmates still call them a married couple, even though they aren't at all, because Anya knows well what a married couple is.
Sy-on boy is still annoying and protective of her, just that this time, Anya doesn't mind.
She learns about the new Sy-on boy.
It's the Sy-on boy who takes her home after class despite the fact that he can just go to his dorm, and gently takes her hand and puts her away from the road.
It's the Sy-on boy who still puts his jacket or his coat on her when she complains that it's too cold.
It's the Sy-on boy who lets her take naps on his lap.
It's the Sy-on boy who spends nights making study notes for her so she can pass the exams.
It's the Sy-on boy who pats her hair whenever she asks him to. Brushing his fingers through her soft hair and then almost jerks his hand away out of embarrassment when Anya leans into the touch.
It's the Sy-on boy who buys a bag of peanuts for her every day.
It's the Sy-on boy who goes to her house when she gets too sick, and spends the afternoon feeding her the food that her papa made for her, putting blankets over her and calling her an idiot for getting sick despite that he doesn't let go of her hand the entire time.
It's the Sy-on boy who shares his lunch and treats with her. Everyone gives him a weird look, because he never shares anything. But he will do it, if it's her.
It's the Sy-on boy who lets her sneak into his dorm and hide under the covers with him, hugging each other like flowers tangled together and not letting go until the morning after.
It's the Sy-on boy who softens and becomes mellow whenever she calls him 'Damian'.
It's her Sy-on boy. The one that only she knows.
.
.
Golden eyes. Pink cheeks. Silver sky.
Her green eyes staring at him, fixated.
"You should close your eyes, Sy-on boy."
"Damn it, just kiss me already."
"How rude."
Then their mouths meet and it's all a clash of teeth and Sy-on boy is kissing her and she's kissing Sy-on boy and the world is a wonderful and terrible place to be. There is a bomb in their hearts that explodes. There is not a single gray cloud in the sky. Thunder rolls everywhere, however.
And the taste of apple and peanuts from her mouth stays in him like a deep mark.
The world is a watercolor.
.
.
Anya begins wanting to give him the same treatment. But she can't. Somehow, she always messes up.
She can't carry him on her back whenever he's too tired like he does with her, or she can't lend him her coat, because he already has one and there would be no point. Anya also can't help him study because, well, he's already better than her on that (in that aspect, only). When he falls sick, she tries to sneak to his room, but she fails and a teacher finds her, almost getting another punishment in the process. The second time he falls ill, she messes up, because she finds out she's not good at cooking despite her papa's teaching and the stew falls over Sy-on boy, burning him.
He calls her idiot, and tells her to just go and leave him alone.
Two days after, he apologizes, and he kisses her watery eyes and accepts her light punches in his chest. Then he's patting her head, hugging her against him, and it's alright.
Well, not fully, because Anya still feels useless.
When she finally confesses her need to help him just like he does with her, Sy-on boy ignores her. But she can read in his mind, idiot, you already do it. And she doesn't understand, not at all. She tries to look further into his world, the yellow-gray color that his mind is, but she can't.
All she can do is hold his hand down the road, and they become pink and fixed again.
.
.
There are times, though, when she understands what he means.
It's just that she tries to not look into his mind, but pick up the words. Like shattered glass. And even if it hurts, she will do it for him.
Sy-on boy always cries whenever he tries to call home. Only his mama answers, and whenever he manages to talk, the conversations are too short. His papa is a bad guy, and even Sy-on boy dislikes him, but he always tells her, I wish he answered, once—and it's the Sy-on boy who is six years old again, who looked up at his father, who just craved attention.
Now he hangs the phone in the hallway, and he cries alone.
Until her arms are around his torso, hiding her face on his back, so she doesn't see his face because he doesn't like it when he cries. Then he sobs, in silence, until his fingers are on her hands interlaced in the front and he turns her to face him, and she showers marzipan kisses on his cheeks, his eyelids, the tip of his nose. Then he's giggling, just a little bit, and she's smiling with him.
The world is soft and filled with indolent things.
.
.
Anya invites him for dinner at home with her family, and he feels alright again. He blushes, trying to remain polite, but shares the laughter with everyone. Somehow, in his mind, he already feels protected too.
She wonders about it one day, letting her thoughts out, and Sy-on boy finally lets his words show out loud instead of his mind. "I just want you to stay by my side," it's all he says, embarrassed, tenderly holding her hand.
But Anya understands what he truly means—and she likes him, too.
Perhaps, in fact, a little more than that.
.
.
The next night, she sneaks into his dorm successfully. Sy-on boy already has the window open for her, and helps her climb up. He doesn't complain, and she doesn't tease him. They just hold each other tight, like they're two children again.
She calls him 'Damian' and he hides his face in her neck, little, vulnerable, protected—closing the soft eyes and floating into the night with her.
They dream with warm hands, and colors, and little scars that turn into stars.
.
.