Damian's eyes followed Anya as she walked out of the classroom in tears, and he felt a weight like a stone drop in his stomach.
He hated seeing her cry.
The other students faded into the background around him as he rose from his seat, and followed after her. He heard them muttering, but Damian steeled himself against the inevitable tide of self-consciousness, and pictured the crying girl walking alone in the corridor.
Right then, someone else was more important.
He had somewhere else to be.
"Hold on, Mr Desmond-"
Damian tuned out the concerned voice of Professor Henderson, and walked out without another word.
—
He found her in the corridor.
She swayed on her feet as she weaved through the school, head hung low and shoulders drooping. Damian slowed as he neared her, aware that he didn't want to startle her. He let his hand rest gently on her shoulders.
"Hey."
He felt so stupid, trying to get her attention like this. He felt like a walking cliche, but at that moment in time he found his voice had gottens stuck in his throat and he wondered what the hell he was supposed to do next. How was he supposed to comfort her?
Usually - against his will, and against his conscience - he was in the wrong with Anya, and he was the one who had to apologise every time. Even if he wasn't very good at apologising. But then at least he knew what was wrong and what the obvious next step was. How was he supposed to comfort someone when he didn't even know what was wrong?
To his complete and utter relief, Anya slowly turned around.
To his horror, she pressed her face against his chest with a muffled sob.
Damian froze. He felt the heat crawling across his face, felt his arms hang uselessly by his sides. What was he supposed to do with them? And still, Anya cried against him. He wanted to ask her if she was okay - that's what people usually said, right? - but that was a stupid thing to say. Obviously she wasn't okay. So he said nothing, and stood rigidly against her.
Centimetre by centimetre, inch by inch, Damian's arms moved to embrace her.
With Anya pressed against his chest, Damian's entire body blazed. His arms rested so gently against her petite frame, but he ached to pull her in closer, to embrace her fully. Her hair tickled his chain and he inhaled without thinking, suddenly struck by the smell of strawberries.
"Hey," he said again, softer this time. "You did really good."
Internally he cringed. That's the best he could come up with?
"Th-thanks," Anya sniffed in reply, and pulled away from him. "Sorry for crying on you."
Damian felt the warmth disappear as she took a step back from him. She rubbed her eyes, and tried to wipe away the tears. Before Damian knew it, he was dabbing her eyes with the corner of his handkerchief. The golden 'A' glinted at him with each movement.
"It's okay," he mumbled. "I don't mind." You can cry on me any time you want.
A blush spread across Anya's cheeks and she looked down.
Once again, Damian found himself floundering for words. How was it that everytime she was near, she stole all the words from him?
"You're so lucky you're a Desmond. You get to know everything about her family."
Confused, Damian wondered what being a Desmond had anything to do with her being upset.
"Don't be so impressed," Damian sighed. "It's not all it's cracked up to be."
He thought back to his own project. How he stood by the phone day after day, listening to the butler tell him over and over and over that neither Melinda nor Donovan was available to speak to him. Out loud he would promise to call again the next day, and he followed through, but it still left him with an unbearable ache in his chest. In the end, he had resorted to combing through newspapers and history books to piece together things that he could use for the presentation. He didn't even get to hear their voices.
Damian realised with a start that he had gone quiet as he revisited that memory, and Anya had been staring at him, shock clearly written across her face.
"I didn't realise…" she mumbled.
Damian's chest tightened, and in that moment he realised that talking about his parents was the last thing he wanted to do. Besides, that moment wasn't about him. But if he could offer some kind of distraction, maybe he would be able to help her.
"Um, the other day, you talked about a party?"
Anya chuckled softly. Sadly. "I really thought you boarders got up to no good after school."
"Well, I was thinking, maybe it wouldn't be such a - a bad idea."
Anya cocked her head to the side, a question in her eyes.
Damian gulped. What was he thinking? How could he have let her put this stupid idea in his head? He would get a Tonitrus Bolt for sure if they were ever caught having a party in the dorms.
But, Anya had stopped crying, and looked at him with interest.
And if she could look at him like that, suddenly Damian found that he didn't care as much about getting into trouble, if he could at least stop her from crying.
"I've sent word around the class for tomorrow."
He had gotten Emile and Ewen to pass the notes around the class in the past week. It should have reached everyone by now, but Damian realised, too late, that some of the others in the class still didn't like to associate with Anya for some reason. Maybe that's why she didn't know.
The words you should come rattled around in his head and got trapped on his tongue. I want you to come. Please come. It's only fun if you're there.
"I guess you could come too," he ended up saying, and he felt like kicking himself.
He glanced back at Anya just in time to see her nod shyly, and twirl a pink lock of hair around her finger.
Damiann swallowed. This was so weird. He technically just invited Anya to a party and she… accepted? He had honestly expected her to laugh at him, or laugh it off, or scoff, or say something rude. He would have done that.
But things were different now. He and Anya were on speaking terms. They had been to the cinema together. He could actually speak to her one-on-one and not run away, like he used to do when he was a child. He inwardly cringed thinking about it, mortified at his own behaviour.
No, he preferred things this way. It was time to grow up.
Damian waited for Anya to say something else, but when the silence stretched out once again, he got impatient. He tried to think of something, anything to say, and found himself thinking once again of the class.
"Your mother and father sound really cool," he started, hoping to change the subject.
He said it as a compliment, but caught his breath when Anya's eyes darkened.
"My mother and father, huh," Anya's eyes welled with fresh tears. "I didn't get to talk to my parents, either. They didn't want to talk about their pasts."
"Oh," said Damian, startled. He didn't dwell on her use of 'either'. "I thought you were, y'know, close with your family. Like the kind of family that would talk about feelings and stuff."
Anya scoffed lightly. "My family has a lot of secrets. They find it painful to talk about them."
"O-of course. With the… war."
She opened and closed her mouth a few times, clearly wanting to say something, and Damian couldn't pull himself away while he waited for her to speak. Clearly, what she wanted to say was important. He noticed that his mouth suddenly felt really dry, and he tried to wet his lips with his tongue. He wiped his suddenly clammy hands on his uniform, and secretly hoped that it didn't show.
He wanted to wait while she got her thoughts together, but the silence was choking him. They had just hugged. He still felt the warmth from her body tingling on his skin like electricity.
It looked as though she had whispered under her breath, and Damian wondered if she was trying the words out.
He needed her to speak. To say it. To say something.
Then: "It's not real. None of it is real."
Damian blinked. "Huh?"
What is she talking about? What wasn't real?
"My parents."
Damian felt like he couldn't breathe. He could feel the bubbling anticipation that told him that something important was happening, but also an impending dread. If it was so important that she would cry over it, what could it possibly be?
He clung on to her words, knowing that everything depended on what she was going to say next.
Anya's shoulders shuddered as she took a deep, steadying breath.
"I'm adopted."
—
At first, Damian thought that he had misheard.
He thought back to Anya's presentation. How sparse it was. How she looked nothing like the pictures of her parents at all.
Red or blue eyes. Black or blonde hair. Green eyes and pink hair.
"Hm?"
He watched her lips move as she repeated herself.
It clicked into place.
"Oh. Oh."
Anya chewed on her lower lip, worry etched all over her face. "Wait. I shouldn't have - I shouldn't have said that. Forget it."
Damian realised this was a critical moment. "Wait-" he started to say, then he realised he had no idea what to say at all. "Does anyone know?"
She shook her head.
"Okay. Wow."
It hit him just how heavy this information was. If she was found out, she could be asked to leave the school. Not that being adopted was against the rules - but Eden College had a reputation it wanted to protect. It was bad enough that she was a commoner, but if they thought that her heritage was also questionable, that would put her entire education on the line.
Again, Damian realised that the silence had stretched on for longer than was comfortable, and Anya had been waiting for him to speak.
"Thank you," he said and Anya's shead shot up with surprise.
"For telling me," he added quickly. "I won't tell anyone, I promise."
She visibly sagged with relief. "Thanks, Sy-on boy. Maybe you're not so bad after all," she laughed half-heartedly.
And to his surprise, she hugged him for real.
Another wave of strawberry crashed into his nose, and Damian leaned into it, and wrapped his arms around her. It came easier to him, this time, but he still felt hyper-aware of every part of his skin that was in contact with her, like his whole body was aflame.
Calm down, Desmond. He chided himself. It's just a hug. She's upset. It's okay to hug people who are upset.
A cough.
"May I remind you both that expressions of physical affection in the corridors is not elegant."
Damian and Anya sprang apart, both with their faces flushed red, and Professor Henderson towered above them with an amused expression.
"Professor!" Exclaimed Damian, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, uh-"
"He just came to comfort me!" Anya instantly leapt to his defence. "Please don't give him a bolt!"
Professor Henderson arched an eyebrow at the two flustered teenagers. He sighed heavily.
"I do have to say Miss Forger, it is admirable that you would ask that I not punish Mr Desmond rather than yourself. Very elegant, indeed."
Anya squeaked under his narrowed gaze.
"On this occasion, you have nothing to worry about. However Miss Forger, may I have a word with you?"
Anya gulped. "O-of course."
"Wonderful," said Professor Henderson, calmly. "I assure you it is not bad news."
Both teens sagged with visible relief.
"Only to discuss your project feedback as you did not give me a chance to speak earlier. Mr Desmond, you may return to class."
"Th-thank you Professor, sorry Professor…" Stammered Damian under the full weight of Professor Henderson's gaze. He turned to Anya.
"Uh, I'll see you later," Damian waved to her awkwardly as he left the two alone in the corridor.
—
Professor Henderson regarded Damian as he left, then turned to the child in front him.
No, he reminded himself. Anya had managed to mature into a young woman. She was no longer a child.
"Do not worry, Miss Forger. I will not hold you back for long," he said, glancing towards her trembling knees and wobbling eyes. "I merely wished to let you know that you have delivered a wonderful project. Alas, I cannot give you top marks, but you had passion. You had clearly researched your topic. You had stage presence, and I daresay those are rather rare skills in many orators."
Anya nodded numbly, no doubt wondering what "orator" meant.
Professor Henderson added: "And - I do believe that you were correct about the political issues of this project. I shall give you a sixty percent on the project."
It was a respectable grade, he thought, but he was surprised when the young Forger stuck her chin out at him.
"You only said that we had to make a reference to a third generation - but you didn't specify which generation."
Professor Henderson blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
The young woman in front of him straightened her back, and clenched her fists by her sides.
"I know it's only a technicality but if you think my project was good, then give me a good grade! Don't let the status quo of this school dictate what you are and aren't allowed to pass! You can challenge the socioeconomic implications of this - this -" She struggled for a word. "Clearly discriminatory project!"
Professor Henderson reeled back. He knew that Miss Forger was a rebellious spirit, but even he never expected her to make such a bold claim.
Plus - how the hell did she know that that was exactly what he thought of the project?
He needed a minute to absorb the impact of her words. He was even impressed at her use of the words "socioeconomic implications", and he wondered where she must have learned this.
Eventually, Professor Henderson sighed. "Sixty-eight percent."
Anya puffed out her chest. "I'll take it! Thank you Professor!"
And in the time it took him to collect himself, Anya had already vanished. Presumably to go to lunch before the bell rang.
Professor Henderson smiled, smoothed back his hair, and adjusted his monocle. It really was a weakness of his that Miss Forger seemed to know exactly how to bring out his rebellious side.
Then, he frowned, recalling the conversation he had accidentally overheard.
After he managed to calm down the class, and give them another worksheet to do to distract them, Professor Henderson had followed the young Desmond boy. They spoke low - too low to be heard by many others - but Professor Henderson had almost turned the corner when he heard the words carry over to him.
It's not real. None of it is real.
And, although he despised people who eavesdropped, Professor Henderson was a teacher, and sometimes a teacher's instinct spoke louder than his own.
I'm adopted.
Professor Henderson felt as though all the breath had been stolen from his lungs, and far beneath the silk brocade fabric of his waistcoat, his heart clenched for her.
He smiled as he recalled the young Desmond's promise to her. I won't tell anyone. I promise.
Professor Henderson straightened his waistcoat before he turned to head back towards the classroom, and in his own heart, he made a promise of his own.
Your secret is safe with me too, Miss Forger.
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I do apologise if it reads rushed (it was definitely rushed in parts) and I did try to fit a fair bit in, if there is any confusion please dont hesitate to ask and I will answer any questions to clear things up if needed!
Thank you so much to everyone who has stayed with this story so far, and to everyone who has left a review! I don't know how to work very well to reply to people but I just want you all to know that I really appreciate all your comments :) I'm so glad that there are people out there enjoying my silly little story!
I really enjoyed writing this chapter. Damian is so cute and awkward and I really think he is finally starting to figure out how to act around Anya.
Also we need to see some more Henry 3 He's an elegant soul