I am like Becky in that I don't often solicit pity, but please appreciate me for writing this while I had COVID 😂I had a horrendous time and writing was the only thing that kept me sane (I am much better now, thank you everyone for your well wishes )
To those who wanted things to pick up - be careful what you wish for 😘
Get ready, it's a long chapter. I went absolutely ham on it and gave it my all, so I hope you enjoy it!
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Damian couldn't concentrate.
Not only was he exhausted trying to put on a face, and talk to the assigned parents on his list, but he was also still figuring out how to act around the Forgers. Their kindness and generosity towards him were unmatched, but a part of him still had not quite recovered from the week before, when he had learned more about them than he had ever thought possible (or probable), and what was even more confusing was that he didn't actually want anything to change with them. Being with the Forgers felt… warm. Homely. Like the family he always wished that he had.
So even though they were powerful, and threatening in their own way, and even though Dr Forger was investigating his own father, Damian still wanted to reconcile their relationship. He still wanted to spend time with them, join in on family dinners, and be as much a part of them as he could, because of how they... made him feel like he was…
Damian tried not to think about how they made him feel. (Would it be betraying his own family to say that the Forger's treating him like… one of their own? Like he could have a future with them?)
And then he was exhausted because he had to look like a model Imperial Scholar - especially to the new ones, and one new Scholar in particular.
"Just stick to your assigned list," he whispered to Becky. "And you don't have to converse too long with them. Just enough for them to feel special and important, and then remind them about the donation program to the College."
Becky bit her lip, and to her credit, managed not to groan out loud.
"Are you serious? Is this what you do every year? This is so boring!"
"Told you," Damian grumbled. "It's the whole purpose of this thing. Show off the school, make parents feel important, get money. Rinse and repeat."
It was the part of the Ball that he truly hated the most, and if it were any other year, he would leave straight after his duties were completed - but already, Damian had hope that this year could be different.
At all the other Balls, he had been alone. He would arrive, look the part, do his duties, leave, and afterwards, he would play games with Ewen and Emile in his room until the early hours, when the guests dispersed back to their chauffeurs and their homes. Every year, they fell asleep on the floor together, only to get an earful from Matron the next morning.
This time though, he had the Forgers, and he had his friends: he had Emile (courtesy of Alice), and Watkins, and Blackbell (who he did consider a friend - loosely), and above all, he had Anya.
Which led him to the other reason that he couldn't concentrate…
Because Anya was here. Looking more beautiful than he had ever seen before, and soon, he would accomplish what he had simultaneously been dreading and looking forward to for most of his life:
Asking Anya Forger to dance with him.
Every winter, when the students of Cecile Hall were forced to do the ballroom dancing classes, Damian always did his absolute best not to be paired up with her. Frankly, he didn't know how he would be able to cope with touching her, or having her touching him, her hand on his shoulder, his hand on her waist, but Damian had realised that avoiding her as a dance partner was one of the few (read: many) regrets that he had when it came to Anya. More than anything, he wanted a chance to be alone with her again. It had been too long.
He hurried through his assigned duties of mingling with parents, all the while fighting his instincts to look for her at every opportunity. He had a vague notion that she had entered the Ballroom with Emile, but somehow while Emile had gravitated towards the snack table, Anya herself was nowhere to be found.
Damian finished up the task of inane small talk with the last parent - a man who drawled so slowly that Damian was determined to forget his name as soon as possible - and he heard Becky's distinctive laugh close by. He swivelled quickly towards the sound, moving towards her instantly, because if anyone knew where Anya might be, it would be Becky.
As he approached her, disappointment sank in his chest when he saw that Becky was still roped into a conversation with one of the parents. An older man, who looked a bit too interested in Becky, but by the looks of it, wouldn't let her get a word in edgeways.
"Apologies," Damian said smoothly as he inserted himself between the two, startling the man. "But I must bring Miss Blackbell to Mr Henderson for the next Imperial Scholar briefing. Please excuse us, and have a lovely evening," Damian inclined his head respectfully as he took her elbow and guided her away.
"Thank you," she breathed and fanned herself with her hand. "I thought I'd never get out of that one!"
And then, as the realisation of what just happened hit her: "Wait, Desmond! Did you just save me?" she gasped, aghast. "I can't be walking about in your debt!"
"Relax," said Damian quietly, the false smile still plastered on his face. "Help me find Anya, and you can consider it repaid."
He hoped that at least on the surface, he could look every part the charming scion he was meant to be, but he could feel the smile slipping into a grimace, and the horrible pounding of his heart in his ears as he looked for her, and the light sheen of sweat on his forehead.
"Deal," she smirked, and joined Damian in scanning the crowd for her.
It took much longer than he was comfortable with. With the Ballroom at low level lighting and now filled to capacity, it was a challenge to see a certain pink-haired girl, but just as he and Becky both spotted her at the same time, he was accosted by a girl in frilly fuschia gown.
"Damian Desmond," she cooed. "Can I have this dance?"
She had appeared right in front of him, with a simpering smile and not even a glance towards Becky, who was still on Damian's arm.
Damian had no idea who this girl was, but she was getting in his way. He gave her a dead-eyed glare, while Becky prickled beside him. The best course of action was to keep walking and ignore her, so Damian tried to turn away, pretending he was distracted by something else, but the girl was persistent, and she put her hand on his free shoulder.
"C'mon Damian, dance with me!"
"Don't call me that," he snapped, now openly glaring at her, and the vicious fire in his eyes must have spread to his skin because she jumped back, as if he had burned her hand.
"We are not on a first name basis," Damian growled, the anger in him rising. "You are not my friend. You are in my way."
Damian sped past her with Becky on his tail, and if the girl hadn't taken a further step back right at the moment, he would have knocked her out of the way.
"The audacity of some people," Becky seethed behind him, and Damian didn't reply, but he only gritted his teeth in annoyance.
At previous Balls, it wasn't unusual for him to be approached by girls, asked to dance solely because of the power of his surname - but he naively thought that would all stop when he made his relationship with Anya public.
Was she an idiot? Did she not know about Anya - or did that not even matter? Was it the case that his name was so socially desirable that people genuinely did not even care about any other aspect of his life?
He had forgotten. The Forgers had treated him not as a Desmond, but as Damian, to the extent that he had almost forgotten what it was like for people to try to suck up to him. Anya never cared about who his father was, she never tried to use him to climb that cursed social ladder. She cared about who he was, and when he was with her, he forgot everything else.
Damian's heart sped up in his chest, fuelled by the thought of her beauty, her eyes, her smell, the softness of her, the way that she could just look at him and he immediately felt like everything in the world was right, like he could actually be okay.
He couldn't stand being separated from her for even a moment longer - and finally, just when he thought his sanity would tip over the edge, Damian found her in a corner of the Ballroom, amongst a group of girls that he didn't recognise. Her signature pink hair and her green dress was like a beacon calling to him, so much brighter and more colourful than her surroundings. Even with her back to him, she was radiant, and he felt the tension inside him unwinding more and more as he got closer to her - so focused was he on Anya that he didn't even notice when Becky fell back, letting him go on without her.
A part of him wondered if he should hold back, wait for her to finish her conversation with the girls, but if he was being completely honest with himself, he didn't have the energy or the patience to wait. He had already waited his whole life for her.
Damian inserted himself into the circle and put his arms around Anya's shoulders, and lowered his head to her ear. "I missed you," he whispered playfully, intending to join in her conversation afterwards, but only once the words were out of his mouth did he notice the tension of her shoulders, and the hard look behind her eyes.
It was then that Damian actually took a moment to observe the others surrounding Anya: four girls that he recognised as students of the school, three of whom were Imperial Scholars, and served on the same committee that he did.
What business did they have with Anya?
"Are these friends of yours?" he said, genuinely surprised, but Anya shook her head.
"I was just leaving," she said through gritted teeth, and turned away, reaching instead for Damian's hand, pulling him along with her.
"Is everything alright?" worried Damian.
"Yeah, just fine," Anya growled, but she didn't even turn to look at him, and it made the unease in his stomach grow.
Damian stopped in his tracks, and pulled on her hand to face him.
"Don't do this, Anya," he said solemnly as he looked her in the eyes. "What did they say to you?"
"It doesn't matter," she shook her head and tried to pull away, but he only held tighter. "They just wanted to remind me that you're a Desmond. As if I don't already know."
Damian thought of the girl that had asked him to dance, thought of the hungry looks on the other girls' faces, and his sense of unease swelled into something like raw disgust, and in the space of only a few seconds, Damian suddenly had a pretty good idea of the kinds of things they must have been saying.
He could have gone back. He could have stormed towards the girls and given them an earful for their inconsiderate behaviour, he could have made a scene in the corner of the Ballroom and delivered a scathing lecture on the parasites of Eden College, but Damian was tired of anger. Anger would do nothing. It wouldn't change anything - and truthfully, he didn't want to spend the night being angry at people that didn't care about him, people that didn't matter.
Instead, Damian pulled her closer to him, drawing comfort from how her body fit perfectly against his, and he leaned his head on top of hers. Once again, he was struck by how just being near her changed him so much: how she could calm his overactive heart and anxious mind, and somehow calm his ever-present irritability. Anya was his anchor, the only one who could keep him grounded in a tumultuous storm, guiding him to safety.
"Does this happen often?" he said softly into her hair, and Anya melted into him. She returned his embrace, burrowing her face into his chest, seeking just as much comfort from him.
"Does what?" she mumbled.
"Come on, don't play dumb with me," he sighed. "How often do people doubt you like that? What they say in public - it's wrong - it's -"
"It's okay," said Anya. "I can take it."
"Anya."
His voice startled her. It wasn't that he sounded angry (not at her, anyway), but there was more force behind his voice than he meant to project.
Anya sighed, conceding defeat.
"They don't normally say it to my face," she admitted, though her voice was somewhat muffled by his clothes. "Normally they just think it. They think I'm just with you because of your father."
"Don't listen to them," he pleaded. "Don't ever listen to them. It's not who you are."
"I know, Sy-on boy," said Anya quietly, and squeezed him tighter. "But, thank you."
Damian noticed that she had reverted to using his old nickname, but he didn't comment on it, and instead he pulled back from her, just enough so that he could look at her face-to-face. Gorgeous green eyes stared back at him, and he couldn't help but reach out, to stroke his thumb over her cheek and push back a perfectly curled lock of her lovely hair.
"Come and dance with me," he said quietly. Please, he added in his head, although he didn't know yet if her powers had returned to normal.
He didn't even know if they had returned to normal yet - if 'normal' was ever something that could describe them. There were secrets, sure, but more than that, Damian was all too aware that they had been together for just over two months, and they still had not gone on a real date! (The cinema and the art installation weren't 'real' dates, therefore they didn't count, and though Damian did like the Christmas fair, it was also far too painful for it to be remembered as a 'date'). So much had happened that Damian hadn't had a chance to recover from yet, and every secret uncovered ricocheted in his head like a pinball machine - but if there was one thing that he could rely on to keep his sanity intact, then it was being close to her.
Because, even though his younger self would loathe to admit it, Damian had always needed Anya. In every sense of the word, he needed her, just as trees needed sunlight, and the ocean needed the moon, and his body needed his heart to keep beating.
She kept his heart beating, because she was his heart. He had given it to her a long time ago, long before he had ever realised what it meant to love, before he ever knew the privilege to hold the heart of another in his hands, and protect it with everything in him.
"I have a better idea," Anya whispered, before she flicked her eyes to his lips, and interlaced their fingers together. "Follow me."
The cold air stung his cheeks, but the wine had warmed him up enough that he didn't feel it as acutely as at the start of the evening. Plus, he had the warmth of Anya's hand guiding him in the courtyard, partly sheltered by trees and illuminated by the stars, and the slivers of light that filtered through closed curtains and semi-stained glass.
It had been so long (too long) since they could truly be alone together. His fear had kept him from her: when he feared that she would hear him trying to piece together the mystery about Dr Forger, and he avoided her for another whole week after that because his suspicions were right and he had no idea how to talk to her about it.
Which meant… It had been about two weeks since they were anywhere close to normal. And that was two weeks too long. Throughout it all, her absence was a thorn in his side, needling him at every point of the day, reminding him of the torture that he was putting himself through just by avoiding her. It was stupid, because he was stupid, because it was his own doing and he wouldn't have felt so awful if he had just talked to her like a normal fucking person instead of the coward that he was.
When Anya pulled him into the courtyard after her, and spun to face him with a bright smile, her curls suspended in a beautiful vision, Damian made himself a promise: that he would never run away again. He couldn't put himself through that pain even one more time - not when it meant that he couldn't be by her side. They had weathered storms together before, more times than he could recall at that very moment, but he knew in his heart that whatever storms came their way, they would be strong enough to face it together.
Just looking at her lifted the weight from his heart. Her smile lit up the entire night sky. The glitter in her dress sparkled every time she moved, the floaty chiffon material swirled like falling leaves, and not for the first time that evening Damian likened her in his mind to a fairy-like being, or a goddess.
She was…
Anya.
His heart sang for her. He ached to be near her. The only person in the entire world who understood him fully, who saw the most vulnerable parts of him, and loved him anyway.
"I missed you too," Anya smiled at him, and immediately his heart burst in his chest.
Hopeful, emerald eyes stared up at him, but his heart tugged to see that they weren't as bright as before, dulled by a hidden fragment of sadness lodged somewhere deep inside.
Damian swallowed. They had both gone through far too much in too short a space of time, and he couldn't let the damage go unchecked for any longer.
Automatically, Damian closed the space between them.
"I missed you so much," he breathed, just as he leaned down to kiss her.
He could feel her relief, just in the way that she welcomed his touch instantly, and how she grasped the back of his hair, pulling him fiercely towards her. Previous kisses usually started in a much softer way, but Damian didn't mind because it was proof that she had longed for him too, just as he had missed all of her.
Damian held her by the shoulders, and as he relaxed into the kiss with her, he let his hands slide down her arms, until he reached her hands, and he could fold his fingers in with hers. He had missed her softness. He missed getting lost in that pink and green landscape, swirling in strawberries and mint. He missed being so close to her that he could crush her to him, safe and reassured by their affection for each other, and the knowledge that he belonged to her completely.
Before she had ever confessed, or kissed him for the first time, he had belonged to her from the moment he first saw her cry, when he realised that he never wanted to see her cry again. Even if he denied it to himself for years, he always knew that he would do anything to see her smile. He would do anything to keep her smiling. He wanted to be the reason that her smile lit up the sky.
Anya gasped as a shiver ran through her, and he pulled back.
"You're cold," Damian realised, and then facepalmed. "Argh! I should have realised!"
He had his suit jacket around her once again before she could protest.
"You really don't have to give me your jacket, I'm honestly fine-"
He felt the impulse rise up in him to interrupt her, to say something forceful like 'don't lie to me', or 'stop pretending', or something of that nature.
"Let me do this for you," he said instead, and tugged the lapel of the jacket downwards, ensuring that her shoulders and arms were fully covered.
Anya shivered again, but this time in delight, with an embarrassed smile on her face.
"My hero."
My hero.
Just those two words made fire race through his body, and warmth rushed to his face, where he was sure that he must have turned a neon shade of red, luminescent in the darkness.
Those two words had put him in such a state of shock, that he didn't fully register that Anya had leaned in for another kiss, until she had already captured his lips with hers, and electricity crackled through him, activating every one of his senses. Strawberry and mint crashed over him again, a nebulous cloud that filled his head and made his heart beat faster, tripping over itself to beat for her.
He didn't need any more permission from her. Damian wrapped his arms around her fully, his palms pressed against the luxurious material of his suit jacket around her shoulders, and held her close.
Even before the first time she kissed him, he had always fantasised about how it would feel to kiss Anya Forger, but at the same time, the thought of kissing her was the most terrifying thought in the world. (What if she didn't want to kiss him? What if she didn't feel the same way about him? What if she didn't even like him?)
Which was why, when she first kissed him, it challenged everything that he thought he knew. For his whole life, he had learned how to walk upright in normal gravity, and suddenly she pulled the ground from beneath his feet. Since that first kiss, when he was sent flying, he had to learn how to walk on air.
At first, it was thrilling. Nothing around him was the same. Nothing else even mattered anymore, because she was kissing him and it was amazing - but then he was lost in the vacuum of space, careening at a speed he couldn't handle, and though the new feeling excited him, he had never felt more terrified in his life.
Finding balance in midair still had its challenges, but there was no-one else that he would rather learn with, and somehow, he didn't even notice when it stopped feeling so terrifying. Instead, it freed him. Suddenly all of the love and affection that he had held back for most of his life, had been kept under very tight lock and key (and occasional supervision), not only was allowed to be expressed, but it was embraced.
Walking on air wasn't just a fantasy. Love was not just a fantasy any more.
Loving openly, and being loved in return - that was the secret to rediscovering his own centre of gravity that kept him from floating endlessly into space.
He didn't want to ever let her go.
Damian paused to take a breath, his chest heaving with the effort of catching up on his lost air, and Anya pressed her nose on his, giggling uncontrollably.
"What was that for?" he asked her, but at the same time, he couldn't stop himself from grinning.
"Just 'cause," she giggled again. "You look cute when you kiss me."
"How do you know what I look like when I'm kissing you?" He teased her.
She giggled again, like he had missed an obvious answer.
"Because. It's in your eyes."
Damian blinked at her, and his amused smile morphed into confusion. "My eyes?"
"Yeah. It's all in there."
He managed to close his right eye just before she tapped it with her finger, and he grabbed onto her wrist, pulling her hand away from his face.
"Hey, watch it!" he laughed. "You almost took it out!"
Anya stopped moving, but she didn't stop smiling, and suddenly there was a gentleness in her eyes that he wanted to melt into.
"Your eyes look like the sun," she said simply, and Damian caught his breath. "So bright, and warm, and I just want to stare into them forever."
He wondered how she could say something like that so brazenly, so seriously, so openly, when he himself had been struggling with his words for years, when he had already waxed lyrical about her in his thoughts, but never quite had the courage to say any of it out loud.
Damian swallowed. Well… he could try…
"I, um, I wanted to tell you earlier…" he started, feeling the heat rising up his neck. "You look… really beautiful…"
"Thanks," she grinned. "Becky helped me with my makeup."
"No, Anya, you - you don't understand -" Damian stammered, and he gathered himself before he could lose his nerve. "You are beautiful every day. I can't - I can't stop looking at you because you just have this way of drawing people in and you're - when you're just being you, you're fascinating and I - I can't look away and…"
Damian inwardly cringed. What was he saying? Why wasn't it coming out properly?
"When you smile, it's like… you have this glow around you… and everyone else… fades away…"
He hated the sound of his own voice getting quieter and quieter, but just the look in her eyes told him that he must have been doing something right, because all of a sudden, she had gone entirely still, and only stared at him with her huge eyes, waiting for him to finish.
Damian swallowed dryly. "But… today you're - you're out of this world and… the fact that you considered today… special enough… to do all this… It means a lot," he finished awkwardly, barely able to look at her.
The blush had no doubt spread to the rest of his face, but he had exhausted all the reserves of his courage. Damian squirmed under her paralysing gaze, until he decided that the embarrassment was too much for him, and he covered his crimson face with both hands.
Soft, warm hands, peeled his fingers away, and Damian's heart did several flips in his chest.
"Of course today is special," she murmured. "Because I get to be with you, and you're more special to me than anyone else."
Damian's eyes smarted, and he blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the shameful urge to cry, and even with Anya bringing his hands slowly towards her, he could feel them shaking. It was so embarrassing. He wished that she didn't affect him like that - that just a touch, or a word, from her would send his mind and his body scrambling - but at the same time, Damian didn't know anything else. Everything that Anya did had always affected him, because he had always loved her, and if being in love with Anya Forger meant that his body wasn't entirely his own, then he would accept it.
Without speaking another word, Damian leaned his forehead against hers, wishing that she could feel everything that he felt at that moment in time, wondering how she had so completely taken over him, and just how fervently his love for her took over his entire heart and body.
You're more special to me than anyone else.
He had forgotten how badly he used to wish to hear those words. Being first in someone else's heart was something he had only ever dreamed of, and her words brought up all of that old longing.
But she must have interpreted his awed silence as something else, because she looked down, and lowered her voice to a whisper.
"I'm sorry I stole you away to kiss you," she said softly, and Damian jerked back in surprise.
"Why are you sorry?" he blurted. "It was - you are -"
Goddammit, why did he always have to lose his words when he needed them the most?
"Because you wanted to dance with me," she admitted. "And I… just wanted to spend some time in private with you… so…"
Damian couldn't help but laugh. Is that all she was worried about?
"You can steal me away at any time," he chuckled, and kissed her on her forehead. "I don't mind."
"Yes, but-" Anya raised her head to him, and stopped herself mid sentence, trying to find what she wanted to say. "You asked me to dance and I - I took you here - away from the Ballroom!"
"Then let's head back," Damian said with a smile. "I bet Becky misses your company - and it would warm you up," he added, patting the sleeves of his jacket over her arms.
"I didn't even ask you if you were cold," Anya realised, but Damian quickly shook his head.
"Not when I've got you to keep me warm," he grinned, and Anya blushed - something that he loved to see on her, only because he knew blushing was his weakness, and it was a novelty to see it on her.
Even though the December night air was sharper than it had been all year, Damian genuinely didn't feel it. At the same time, he meant what he said. All it took was for her to be near him, and his heart went into overdrive, and it always flooded his body with a reliable warmth. (If anything, being outside helped to cool him down from that.)
Still, he had wanted to dance with her since forever, and it wasn't long before they both returned to the Ballroom with Anya on his elbow, still wearing his suit jacket. It had become much more active in the short time that they had left, with the musicians playing at full capacity, encouraging dancers of all ages to the floor while others socialised around the edges.
Couples danced to a lively waltz, and just watching them made Damian feel dizzy.
"You two look rather flushed," Becky observed candidly, mid-twirl by Bill's expert hand, and flashed a wink at Anya. "Did you have a good time?"
Anya did look rather flushed - from the cold - but also, Damian liked to think, because of their chosen activity for the duration of the last few dances.
In any case, Becky had moved on far too quickly for him to make any return jabs at her, dancing her way around the edge of the Ballroom. Even Emile and Alice had taken to the dancefloor, tentative but smiling.
He jolted when Anya tugged on his hand, pulling him into the centre of the dancefloor.
"C'mon, Damian!" she called excitedly. "The dance isn't over yet!"
"You don't want to wait for the next one?" he blurted, but his body followed her, and instinctively he found his hands on her waist, leading her into the right place in the dance.
"Why should we?" Anya smiled, and again, he melted for her.
As always, she was right. What was stopping them from just dancing together, like they wanted to?
It was natural. Even though Damian had purposely avoided being partnered to dance with Anya for many years of their classroom career, he had definitely taken his lessons to heart, secretly hoping that one day, it would be her that he could lead a dance with. It was part of the reason why he was so taken aback when she initiated a silent waltz with him.
He could picture it now: when every colour of lights danced so effervescent on her skin, and lanterns blurred in the background as he could stare only at her. The past image overlaid the present, and suddenly, it was as if they were back in the illuminated darkness of the art installation, surrounded by beautiful ever-changing lights, only this time, they could dance with each other in their full splendour.
The green of Anya's dress shimmered, and to Damian it looked as though it was bejewelled with thousands of real, tiny emeralds, all carefully sewn into the delicate layers of her dress. She was glimmering with vitality, alive with elation.
Damian had not buttoned his jacket back up, but he didn't care. He felt confident enough with her that he didn't need to look perfect, he didn't need to be perfect, because the way that she looked at him with all the love in the world was more than enough for him. It was everything he could have dreamed of and more.
Spurred by the emotion welling up inside him, Damian pressed his hand firmly on the small of her back, and lowered her into a brief dip in time to the musician's crescendo, before pulling her quickly back to standing for the next steps. He watched her twirl once, twice, under his arm, all the while letting the music take over him, while the curls of her pink hair bounced and swayed with every step.
This was what it was meant to be like, he realised. He could have had this before, if only he had asked Anya to dance years ago…
Anya's gaze lingered on someone from the Ballroom's edge, and the image shifted, the colours of the lights fading away until the Ballroom resurfaced once again in his vision, candlelit and filled with dancers.
Damian followed the line of her gaze to see that she had just shared a look with her father. He doubted that Anya sought out Dr Forger on purpose, but even though their eyes met across the other side of the Ballroom, the moment had held long enough that Damian was sure that some sort of message had passed between them. Judging from the way that the exchange weighed on her eyes and on her shoulders, Damian wasn't sure if he wanted to know what their message was about.
As Damian twirled her for the last time, he swore he could see the smile slip from her face, just as her back was turned to him, and she landed in his arms for the final pose of the dance, just as the last note had played.
Immediately, his chest squeezed with anxiety.
"Are you alright?"
She tensed against him, and Damian loosened his hold on her, consciously trying not to let his anxiety leak through his body and squeeze her too tightly. He didn't want to hurt her.
Damian tilted her chin up with his thumb and forefinger, gently encouraging her to face him, and the movement prompted a tear to dislodge from the corner of her eye, and drip down onto his hand.
"Anya," he worried. "What's wrong?"
Her lip wobbled dangerously, the line of her waterline only getting blurrier, and Damian struggled to breathe.
Not again. The words pulsed in his bones. I thought this was over. I thought there would be no more surprises.
Anya opened her mouth, then closed it, working herself up to speak, until she took a shaky breath, and appeared to make some kind of decision.
"It's - " she choked. "It's about your father."
Damian withdrew his hand from her, like she had burned him, and he took a wobbly step back.
"No, no - I can't talk about my father right now," he said quietly. "Not tonight, please. Can we talk about this tomorrow?"
More tears spilled from her eyes.
"It will be too late by then."
Her voice was so quiet, he almost didn't hear her against the backdrop of the interlude music, and of students and guests chatting amiably around them, but the moment that he heard those words, Damian's heart slammed to a stop against his ribcage, and pain crackled through his entire body.
Nausea swelled up in him, and Damian feared that he would be sick.
Seven words.
In only seven words, Anya had told him everything that he needed to know. Seven words alone had put an end to the Imperial Ball, and an end to Damian's life as he knew it.
"Anya," he croaked, holding back the tears that threatened to spill from his own eyes. "What - what do you mean? It can't be - you can't mean that -"
Because he had spoken to Dr Forger about his father, had confronted him himself, and asked him the terrible question:
Are you going to kill him?
Dr Forger had looked so regretful, so despondent, Damian didn't know what to do with it.
We're hoping it won't come to that.
The pain rose in his chest, closing around his throat, searing through him.
Shit shit shit shit shit.
"They're going to arrest him in the morning."
SHIT.
Damian's mind went blank with panic.
On some level, he knew this would happen. It was going to happen eventually. His father's downfall was inevitable.
So why wasn't he more prepared? Why had his body completely rebelled against the knowledge that his father - the man who was responsible for Anya's pain - was finally going to face the consequences?
He deserved it. (Didn't he?)
He was a bad man. (Wasn't he?)
But - he was still - he was still his -
He couldn't even think the word.
"No, I'm not ready, I can't -" Damian squeezed his eyes shut. As if that would do anything to stop the onslaught of despair crashing into him.
She put her arms tight around him, but he couldn't return her embrace. He couldn't breathe.
"I'm not ready for this," he said again, and the effort of speaking grated against his throat.
Her voice carried in the space between them, even when the music started to pick up for the next dance.
"I'm sorry, Damian. I'm so sorry."
He couldn't deal with this.
"I - " Damian gritted his teeth. "I need a drink."
Anya's arms fell away as he stepped back, but he only took one step before looking back at her stricken face.
"Wait for me," he said as a last-minute thought. "I'll be back. I promise." The implication underneath was clear: I'm not running away.
More tears slid down Anya's cheeks as she watched the boy she loved turn his back on her, and disappear into the crowd.
Meanwhile, Damian made a beeline to the drinks table, where he knew that there would be something there strong enough to calm the nerves racing through him.
He almost wished that Anya hadn't told him anything. Almost. Because even though he had wanted her to be honest with him, and to finally trust him, it felt like the world was ending, at the worst time possible. All he wanted was one night to enjoy together like this, one event where he could feel like he wasn't spinning so out of control.
Damian snatched a glass of something at random and downed it in one go, feeling the dark liquid burn down his throat, before he slammed the glass back down on the table.
It was one of the rules that students only learned once they became Imperial Scholars, and went to enough Balls to learn from the older students. As a legal adult, he was allowed alcohol. As a final year student of Eden College, he was allowed more opportunities for social etiquette - including evenings and events where alcohol would be present - but he had to watch himself, and he had been careful all evening. He had the welcome champagne, only two glasses of wine at dinner, the small glass of port afterwards -
And this glass of port, apparently.
Damian pinched his lips together. Hmm. Maybe he should stop. Although, it was on top of an entire ten course meal, and all over the course of a few hours. Still, it wouldn't take long for the additional alcohol to sink into his bloodstream, and dampen the horrible weight of the emotions that he was feeling.
He contemplated another one, before two dark shadows approached him from behind.
"Mr Damian Desmond."
Damian jolted at the man's deep voice, and swivelled quickly around, his body already tense and prepared to fight, but the two men did look vaguely familiar. He tried to loosen his stance.
Both men were dressed in black formal suits with black ties, and neatly styled hair, giving away the fact that they were used to interacting in formal circles. They didn't smile, but Damian didn't sense any hostility from either of them, judging by the lack of hardness in their eyes.
"Can I help you?" said Damian, watching them both carefully for any sign of sudden movement.
(Vaguely, Damian realised that he must have been listening to Yor's training after all).
"Your presence is requested in the Boardroom."
Damian held himself back from raising an eyebrow. In the Boardroom? It was on the side of the Imperial Corridor, where students were not normally allowed, except for very specific purposes. He had only been in the Boardroom for the more formal Imperial Scholar's meetings.
"Sure. I'll be right there," he said, intending to have another drink before heading off, but the tall shadows made no effort to move.
"I'm afraid we are requested to ensure that you arrive there safely."
Another unusual request. A bead of sweat prickled on his neck.
"Uhh… sure."
Damian left the empty glass with the rest of the drinks, and hesitantly followed them to the exit of the Ballroom.
He wasn't entirely sure of the way to the Boardroom, but he had been there before. Sometimes for Imperial Scholar's meetings, and also for the very private parent-teacher meetings that his family used to insist on when he was younger.
When they cared.
Damian shook the thought out of him. He couldn't afford to let any memory of his father cloud his emotions, or his judgements. If his presence was being asked for in the Boardroom, then the most likely option he could think of was that there was a last minute Imperial Scholar's duty that he was required to attend to. It was unusual, sure, but it wasn't unheard of.
He was only glad that they got him when he was alone, so that he didn't have to worry Anya -
Oh fuck.
He had promised her that he would be back soon. He had promised himself he would stop running away.
Well, he would have to apologise to her, after he had finished his Imperial Scholar business. Maybe they could figure everything else out, or forget about it, or pretend it never happened.
The corridors stretched in front of him, and the music grew quieter as he put even more distance between himself and the Ballroom, to the point that it was a distant whisper behind him, barely audible unless he tried to look for the sounds of people enjoying themselves.
Soon enough, he had reached a large, ornate door.
Damian only knew that it was carved from apple wood, because it was one of the 'fun facts' he was instructed to say to other parents and guests, as an Imperial Scholar and representative of the school. As it was the door of the Boardroom, it was commissioned by a parent who had donated unfathomable amounts of money to the school over a period of twelve years while their eldest child received their education there.
Therefore, it was a symbol to all those hopeful parents that their donations would be used for a similar purpose, to be a part of Eden College's great history, where one day perhaps their names could be shared and remembered through the generations, too. Damian had to hold back from laughing in their faces when he spoke to them, trying to get their donations on behalf of the school.
It was a dirty job, but a necessary one, and on more than one occasion Ewen and Emile had likened the task to being a politician.
He wasn't entirely sure how that made him feel.
Damian reached out to the door and gave it a heavy knock, hoping that he could be heard from the other side of the thick wood.
"Enter," said a voice from within, and Damian took that as his cue to push his weight forward and enter the Boardroom.
It looked as he had last seen it. A large, oval table stretched out before him, the same apple wood as the door, with the Headmaster's Chair at the opposite end of the room.
But it was not the Headmaster that sat in the chair, and Damian realised with horror that he had entered into a very different situation than what he had been imagining.
He released his shaking hand from the brass doorknob, and only took a step into the room when one of the large men gave him a light push on his shoulder, forcing him to move. The heavy door closed behind him with a final and deafening boom.
Trapping him inside.
With nowhere to run, Damian's entire field of vision reduced until it only focused on the man directly in front of him, sitting at the head of the table as though it belonged to him.
Which it did.
"Hello, Damian."
Somehow, just the tone of his voice alone was enough to raise Damian's hackles completely. He spoke low, and quiet, as though he already knew that he did not need to raise his voice, because he was the kind of man that people listened to without question.
Because they were afraid of the consequences.
Damian clenched his fists at his sides, torn between running for his life, or hiding in the darkest shadows he could find.
The man leaned forward, fixing Damian with a stare that could turn even the most highly trained soldier to stone.
"I heard you left a message for me."
.
.
.
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I almost cannot believe it. After 91 chapters, 15 months, 270k+ words... HE'S HERE. THE MAN HIMSELF.
I LOVE how many of you absolutely felt that something bad was about to happen in this arc, you know me too well 😂
Next chapter Wednesday 👀 the Imperial Ball is not over