Thank you everyone for the birthday wishes and the lovely reviews! I went and saw Wicked the musical in theater, ate great food, drank great wine, and had an overall great time 💖
I did intend this chapter to be the Comfort to all the Hurt I just put Damian through, but I couldn't help sprinkling in a bit of Angst. Sorry!
But, I seem to remember that last Christmas I gave you all an overload of Angst, so I hope this time is a much more enjoyable experience 😂
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Anya didn't even wait for Damian to take off his snow-covered shoes, or even open the door fully before she leapt on him and both teenagers fell onto the wall. She had been vibrating with anticipation to see him again for a full ten minutes, having noticed his presence enter the radius of her powers.
"I'm sorry, I got Papa to trace your call," said Anya. "I talked to Becky, and she thought you were here , and when I said you weren't we got really worried and I needed to know where you were and I wanted you here - and I just - I just missed you too much! I'm sorry!"
Damian's breath hitched, before he returned her hug in full force, and he buried his face in her hair, too overwhelmed to speak, unable to ignore just how much he felt like he was home.
"And what were you doing all by yourself anyway?!" Anya exclaimed, but her voice had become thick and stilted. "I told you, my parents invited you to stay here, as long as you want, so you don't - you don't have to be alone anymore!"
Her words slammed in his chest, and tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.
Thank you, he spoke to her in his mind, because he couldn't trust his voice not to shake.
Loid moved in Damian's periphery, bringing in the last of his bags, and he tried to move away from Anya, to create some space for her father to pass by in the corridor, but she wouldn't let go, and only held on tighter to his clothes.
"I'm so glad you're here."
Damian blinked rapidly.
"Me too," he choked out.
A slamming noise came from the living room, and both immediately turned their attention to it.
"How am I paying you rent, again?! " Yuri growled in the background. "You're cheating!"
"Heh, cough it up," came Franky's smug voice, soon interrupted by Adrian's tentative words.
"Actually," he coughed delicately. "I believe I am the new owner of that property, so now you owe me money-"
"Oh, fuck off!"
The clatter of board game pieces being thrown to the floor.
"Come on," Anya tugged Damian into the room with a smile. "Dinner's almost ready!"
As far as Forger family dinners went, this was definitely not the worst one.
Damian still remembered the first time he had gone to the Forger's for dinner, when the tension between them was far too high, and they ended up having their first kiss after becoming a tangle of limbs on the floor.
And how could he forget the second family dinner, which then became the disaster to end all disasters, and the catalyst for him to gather the courage to confront Loid Forger.
"I swear I will have you executed," Yuri seethed as Loid took his seat at the table opposite to him.
"Oh?" said Loid with feigned concern. "You don't like the new promotion I got you?"
Yuri grumbled under his breath.
Because after the top members of the SSS had been explicitly named in the Desmond Scandal, many of them were dismissed, or forced to resign. Others disappeared from the map completely. So, with those officers gone, more opportunities had opened up for Yuri to get promoted.
"Yeah, Major Pain-in-the-Ass," Franky joked as he gave Yuri a hearty slap on the back.
"No executions in the house, please!" called Yor from the kitchen, and Yuri perked up immediately as she emerged from the kitchen bearing a tray of drinks. "Help yourselves!"
For a while, Damian had been watching everything as though it were a black-and-white movie, and he had gone for far too long without seeing any colour. The apartment that he had hidden himself away in for the last two weeks had nothing of interest to him: no emotional ties, no activities, no books, and when the days passed, they passed in black and white.
Being at the Forger's was different. One by one, colours started to open up to him again. Strawberry pink and emerald green indicated Anya's wonderful presence, and then soon the arterial red of Yor's jumper, the sky blue of Yuri's shirt. The searing golden skin of the turkey, the velvet burgundy wine.
He could even taste it. Even though he had barely touched any of the takeaways he had ordered in the last two weeks, at some point they had all started to taste the same, but the Forger's dinner blew him away completely. Together with the glass of wine he gratefully accepted, Damian began to feel somewhat fuller, and see a bit clearer.
It didn't take away all the pain, but certainly the Forger's gave him a comfort that he had forgotten that he needed.
They ate together. They cleaned up together. And when it came time to give out the presents, Damian quietly sipped his wine as he watched everyone else eagerly open their gifts.
He didn't question it when Loid gifted Franky with what appeared to be a gigantic power tool, and similarly when Yuri handed Yor an enormous box of luxury chocolates. He smiled as Anya opened her gifts with award-winning enthusiasm, fiercely hugging every one of her present-givers.
Damian's gut twinged with guilt. He should have got her something before school ended, he should have bought her-
Something bright was thrust into his vision, and Damian was startled to see Anya holding a selection of presents in front of him.
Was she expecting him to congratulate her? Or pick one for her to open first? Or-
"No, silly," she smiled. "They're yours!"
He reeled back. "What - all of them?"
"Well, they're not all from me," said Anya sheepishly, and the only reason that she didn't see the growing blush on Damian's face was because she had looked away with one on her own.
It was full three seconds before Damian realised that he was staring.
"Oh," was all he said, because he couldn't manage to speak. His throat had closed without his permission.
"But-" he looked up in panic. "I didn't get a chance to get something for all of you! "
"That doesn't matter," Loid reassured him, while Yor nodded enthusiastically.
"Having you here is our gift! So please, go ahead!"
"Well, open them!" Anya said excitedly, pushing the presents onto his lap.
Damian picked up the first present, a tall cylinder wrapped in silver, with a small tag on it, indicating that it was from Loid. He unwrapped it slowly, trying not to tear the wrapping paper as he went, and gently separated the sellotape from the back of the wrapping. Once the paper slid off, Damian blinked, and then his heart warmed as if he had just swallowed half a glass of a strong spirit.
Benromach Single Malt, Aged 12 Years.
"Don't think you can get away with stealing my whisky anymore," said Loid with a mischievous sparkle in his eye. "That one's yours."
Damian honestly didn't know what to say.
Yor's present was wrapped in a lovely red, a medium-sized box that rattled if he shook it (gently), and when he removed the lid, he found two sets of three videos, both with covers of people in martial arts gear.
"They're instructional videos for the basics of karate, and jiu-jitsu! I used to do these in my living room when I just started my training. I'm sure you'll be able to move your furniture about in the common room, or the dorm rooms to try to - "
"Mama, it's fine! Damian's room is huge, he's got loads of room -"
"And how would you know what Damian's room looks like?" said Loid, narrowing his eyes at the two of them.
"Ah -" Anya faltered, once again forgetting that her father wasn't supposed to know about when she snuck into his room.
"I had a small party earlier in the year," Damian admitted sheepishly, jumping to Anya's defence. "So, most of my class were there…"
Damian knew that the confession did not put him in a good light, but in that split second moment, he rationalised that it would be easier to get away with something that was true. If it was plausible, even a spy like Loid would be forced to withhold his suspicions.
Before Loid could say anything else, Anya's restlessness caught up to her.
"Me next!" Anya pushed her present into his lap.
It was a green envelope, tied with a gold ribbon, which Damian carefully unravelled, before carefully peeling the envelope flap open, all the while trying not to rip it.
Inside was a letter. And two tickets.
Damian unfolded the letter and started reading.
'Dear Damian,
I was thinking about how we haven't gone on a proper date yet. That first time that we went to the cinema… I did secretly want it to be a real date. I had a lot of fun, so if you don't mind that I bought the tickets, I was thinking we could make it real this time?
There's this new space opera that Ewen said was amazing. It looks really cool but if you don't want to go I can exchange them and we can see something else. Let me know.
So, my present to you this Christmas is that I want to go with you. I'll pay for the snacks as well - my treat.
Merry Christmas!
Love,
Anya'
"I know it's not, like a real present, more like an experience," said Anya, starting to sound nervous. "But, I just thought-"
Damian put his arms around her immediately.
"It's perfect," he said, just above a whisper, hoping that the wobble didn't carry in his voice.
After more rounds of boardgames, won by almost everyone except Yuri, Damian caught himself yawning, and soon everyone else had started yawning, and they all knew it was time to end the night. Damian half-wanted to stay up with everyone, but when he looked at the clock, he almost had a heart attack. He couldn't remember the last time he had stayed up that late on purpose.
Since Yor was too inebriated to organise things, Loid gently nudged her towards the bedroom, and called a taxi for Yuri and Adrian.
"Are you kicking me out?!" Yuri exclaimed with drunk incredulity.
"Would you like to sleep on the sofa?" Loid sighed, and gestured towards the furniture. "Be my guest, but I promise it won't be kind to your spine."
"Not that you have one," Franky chipped in helpfully, but Yuri was too drunk to notice Franky's pointed jibe.
"Don't be so selfish Lottie! You have a guest room! I can sleep there!"
"That's Damian's room!" Anya grabbed Yuri's sleeve and dragged him towards the door. "You're not allowed to steal it!"
Damian snapped his head up.
"I'm honestly fine," he started. "I can take the sofa - "
"No, you will not," said Loid pointedly. "Yuri is going to go to his home, Franky will take the sofa, and you are going to take the guest room. This is not a negotiation."
Eventually, Yuri did concede, although he grumbled the entire time that Adrian pushed him out of the door. Meanwhile, Franky took no time at all to get comfortable on the sofa - despite Loid's earlier comment - while Loid sent a reluctant but very sleepy Anya to bed, yawning all the way to her room.
Damian hovered on the threshold to the guest room. Loid had placed his bags at the foot of the freshly-made bed, but it still didn't feel real for him to see it all laid out. Like it was meant to be there. It didn't even look out of place.
"Is it really fine for me to stay?" Damian worried. "You don't have to go to all this trouble…"
His voice faltered as Loid clapped him on the shoulder.
"You're welcome here anytime, Damian. It's your home, too."
Damian's breath caught in his throat and he nodded, unable to speak.
And yet, once Damian got changed into his pyjamas and settled into the bed, he still couldn't sleep.
His mind buzzed with everything. Everything. Even though his body desperately wanted to sleep, and the wine tried to pull his eyelids closed, Damian still couldn't get his mind to rest.
Those clinical lights. Those voices. The welts on his wrists. The drug-induced haze, pulling him under. More and more, Damian could guess what it meant, but he didn't want to admit that it could be true. It just couldn't be true. It was too horrifying. He would have been so young. He would have been the same age as Anya when it happened to her. The same age as Demetrius when it began to happen to him.
Maybe it was better if those memories stayed forgotten.
Damian forced himself to think about something else, and he was in the middle of worrying about his father's secret objective, and what Demetrius possibly knew, and his new responsibilities as the Desmond heir, when the door cracked open ever so slightly, and a silhouette shuffled inside.
"You're thinking too loud," Anya mumbled, punctuating her sentence with a heavy yawn. "I can't sleep."
"Sorry," said Damian automatically, but Anya shook her head at him and yawned again.
"It's okay. But I thought if we're gonna be up all night anyway, we might as well be awake together."
She reached for the corner of the duvet to pull it back, but Damian put his hand on top of hers, stopping the motion.
"W-wait, Anya hold on -" he sat up. "Are you sure that's okay? Your dad won't, uh, get mad at me or something?"
Anya looked up in thought. "Oh, I guess you're right."
And then before he could protest, she went back to the door, and made sure to leave it halfway open. From the angle of the door, he could even see Franky snoring on the sofa.
"There," she said confidently. "That's better."
Damian didn't have the heart to protest, and before he could process it, Anya was already under the covers, cuddling up to him.
Unlike when they slept together in his dorm room, there was more than enough room in the guest bed for them to sleep side by side, but it seemed that 'space' was an abstract concept to Anya, because she shuffled immediately to his side, and only settled when they were close enough that their noses touched, and her breath ghosted his lips.
"Is this okay?" Anya murmured sleepily, her hand flat against his chest.
Damian didn't trust himself to speak, but he managed a small nod.
It felt different, somehow. He couldn't explain it. Perhaps it was because they were normally under the eyes of everyone at school, that they had to keep all touches small and brief, almost unnoticeable, since expressions of public affection were extremely frowned upon. Perhaps it was because they were at her house, and that came with its own level of privacy that they couldn't get anywhere else. After all, they had their first kiss ten paces away.
Perhaps it was because he had spent over two weeks starving for affection, and he felt on the cusp of an overdose of her. Perhaps it was because he had missed her so much , that the ache of it had set into his very bones, and he had lived with the pain of it for so long, that just her presence was a powerful analgesic.
With their skin mere millimetres from touching, it left Damian feeling like there was a heat flaring through him. Even if he closed his eyes, he could feel her magnetising presence there, a current of electricity running between them.
It was Anya that reached out first. She pushed his hair to the side, out of the way of his eyes, looking almost black in the dark room.
"I just wanna look at you," she whispered, even though her own eyes were halfway to closing.
Her fingers twirled in his hair, until he lifted his hands to hers. Wordlessly, Anya allowed him to hold both of her hands with his, bringing them both into the space between them. With only the dim amber lamplight outside to guide his sight, he ran the tips of fingers along the back of her knuckles, tracing the lines of her hand. Such a simple motion, and yet it was like he was seeing them for the first time.
They were Anya's hands. The hands that clumsily assembled the paper pieces of the saddest-looking gryphon he had ever seen. The hands that intertwined with his whenever she was scared, and whenever he needed comfort. These were the hands that had reached out to him in friendship. The hands of someone who had pulled him into a silent waltz, surrounded by lights. The hands that played with his hair moments before she kissed him.
These were the hands that threw a hammer across record-breaking lengths. The hands that undid ropes tied by kidnappers. The hands that held a gun to the face of a stranger. The hands that wielded bloodstained stilettos like weapons. These were the hands of someone who was not a stranger to fighting - and to killing.
Even in a room with little light, Damian could see the beautiful shine of her emerald eyes, and at that moment, she didn't blink, unable to look away from him in fear. They were the eyes of someone waiting to be rejected, and abandoned. Clearly, she could hear his thoughts wandering into dangerous territory, and it petrified her into stillness.
Damian softened on her, because yes, they were the hands of someone who had taken a life. And yet. They were the hands of a fighter. Someone who fought for her freedom, even if she was trapped in a tank of water and subdued by sedatives. The hands that no doubt fought back against the people in the lab, and dragged herself to any semblance of safety. These were the hands that fought for him, who fought to be by his side when he thought he would drown in panic-induced terror.
Ten years from now… they would be the hands of a mother, who would cradle and comfort their children. They would be the tender and loving hands of a wife.
Damian imagined her hands as they could look like fifty, sixty, seventy years into the future. The skin would become fragile, and lose its elasticity. They would be weathered, scarred, calloused, or blemished in ways that told the story of her life.
And they would still be her hands.
Soulmate. Warrior. Wife. Mother. Partner.
It would still be her hands that he reached for, no matter how many decades would pass. No matter what they had to overcome. It would always be her. It would never be anyone else.
Tears shimmered on her waterline, on the cusp of falling, and Anya looked at him like he was made of starlight. Like he could have been the sun itself.
Anya's eyes searched his. He didn't know what she was looking for, but he held her hands tighter.
"Damian, I…"
She swallowed, the movement of her throat subtle and nervous. Her hands shook in his.
"I have to tell you something."
The reaction inside Damian was instant. Nausea roiled in his gut, because every time that Anya had to tell him something, it wasn't good. On top of everything that had happened over the last two weeks, Damian honestly didn't know if he would be able to handle it.
The queasiness and apprehension must have shown on his face, because Anya tensed, and she tried to speak, but her mouth moved soundlessly. Only then, did Damian realise that his grip crushed her.
"I…" She exhaled a wobbly breath through trembling lips.
Anya looked away, and lowered her voice. "I heard your thoughts earlier. About the lab."
Damian blinked at her, a little taken aback, but somehow not entirely surprised. It wasn't what he expected her to say, and a small voice in the back of his mind wondered if that was really what she wanted to tell him.
"Those white lights…" he tentatively began. He was too scared to say anything more, but he did not have to, because Anya squeezed his hand in understanding.
"I saw them too."
"In real life," he grimaced from the sting in his eyes. "Or in my memory?"
Escaped tears slid down her face, and Damian knew. It was exactly what he had feared. Exactly what he didn't know if he had the strength to face.
"I'm sorry, Damian."
The little hope that he had left collapsed at her words. So it was true. If Anya recognised the place in his memory, then it was all over for him. There was no going back. He could now split the timeline of his life into two, into a before and an after, cleaved by his father's arrest, and the earth-shattering truths revealed to him.
The boy is of no use to me.
"Is it bad that I…" Damian's voice strangled him. "That I still…"
He couldn't finish that sentence. It occurred to him, too late, that this particular fear should not ever be said out loud, and especially not to Anya. It wasn't fair on her. He was awful for even thinking about it.
"...That you wanted it to happen?" Anya finished for him.
This time, Damian really couldn't speak. He nodded mutely.
Because if he was a successful telepath, at least he could be useful. At least his father would look at him. At least he would have been a rightful Desmond. At least he would have known that his place in the world was secured. At least he would have been important.
As it was, the fact that he wasn't a telepath like Demetrius was just proof that his father really did consider him a failure. For his whole life, he had been fighting for his father's approval, not even knowing that he had been discarded from the start.
"I don't think it makes you a bad person to want your father's approval," Anya answered.
"But it's not just that," his chest tightened with unease. "It's… I mean. It's human experimentation. How could I -" he gulped. "How could I even want something like that?"
"Damian, listen to me."
The uncharacteristically insistent tone of her voice captured his attention, paired with her hands on his face, keeping his eyes locked with hers.
"There was a time in my life when I would have done anything for my Papa," Anya began, and from the serious tone of her voice, Damian had no doubt that she really did mean anything. He had already seen what she was capable of.
"So, no," she continued. "You're not bad for thinking it. You're not wrong for wanting it. I understand, maybe more than anyone else."
An image came to his mind, unbidden, of a child with pink hair. Defying the odds and escaping from hell, only to end up in an orphanage, waiting for someone to choose her. Waiting to be seen. To be loved. Only to be chosen and rejected four times. One painful heartbreak after the other, and every time, she never stopped fighting, not even when the fifth arrived bearing the promise of a brighter future. The fear of rejection was never forgotten, especially with the knowledge that her new life could end at any moment, all at the whim of someone much more powerful than her.
Tears stung his eyes, more bitter than he had ever experienced before, and Damian blinked them back, surprised at how profoundly he understood her. He had no doubt that Anya felt the same with him, that she could see all the vulnerable parts of his soul and hold them close to her heart.
All the while, Anya watched him carefully, seeing his thoughts as she always did, with the same shine reflected in her eyes.
"We're the same," she rasped.
Damian swallowed, his throat suddenly too tight with emotion, and he put his arm around her, bringing her closer to him.
I'm sorry, he wanted to say. I'm sorry for ever thinking like this.
Anya's response was immediate. It's not your fault.
He didn't respond, except to lean his head closer down, with his face close to her hair. With each inhalation of strawberry and mint, he felt his eyelids being pulled closed. Everything about her could have soothed him. She was so soft, and warm, and fit perfectly in his arms. It was like they were made for each other.
The last few weeks were hell on earth, and the only thing he could control was evading Demetrius' and Jeeves' calls, evading everyone's questions, evading the press, even evading the truth when it came to telling Anya where he really was. Every night he would lie awake in the bed of that bare apartment, unable to suppress the overwhelmingly empty feeling of being incomplete.
Well now, he knew for sure. Every night without Anya would be incomplete, because she was the only person that kept him anchored. Without her talking to him every day, sometimes several times a day, he would have no doubt been swallowed by insanity long ago. The tension of the past two weeks had ingrained into his body, to the extent that he truly thought he would never be able to sleep again.
Well, he was wrong, because with Anya in his arms, in his bed, strawberries and mint trickled through his senses, flooding him with warmth, and slowly, Damian felt his body starting to relax.
He was on the edge of sleep when her voice drifted over to him once more.
"Hey, Damian?"
"Yeah?"
They spoke in whispers. Soft. Feathers skimming his skin.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
He was momentarily confused, but the meaning of her words hit him, and he sighed, defeated.
Perhaps, he did owe her an explanation. He had been hiding from her and Dr Forger for nearly two weeks, despite the promise he made to himself that he wouldn't run away anymore. It was always so much easier to run.
Yes, he needed more time to work through all of his thoughts, but he also owed Anya the truth.
"I didn't want to be a burden on you."
In the dim light, he could just about see her huge eyes looking up at him with an emotion that he dared not name.
"Why do you think you would be a burden?"
"I…" Damian faltered. In the absence of a clear answer, he raised his hand to her face - slowly, hesitantly - and followed the line of her jaw. "I think because…"
He swallowed hard, and the truth came to him, more painful than he had ever realised.
"Because I'm…"
Tears sprung to his eyes, stinging even more because he had been trying so hard not to cry all day, and suddenly it was like all the tears from earlier had all been stored up, and fought to come out all at once.
They choked him in the real sense of the word, drowning him from the inside, filling every crevice in his lungs, and he tried to say what he wanted to say - but it was hard . So hard. Words failed him at the best of times, but Damian didn't know how else to word what he felt in his very core.
Large flakes of snow drifted by the window, and he couldn't ignore the feeling inside him any longer. It had been building and building for some time, and finally, Damian reached the end of his limit.
"I'm not okay," he whispered, so quietly, he almost couldn't hear himself. "Anya…"
Something broke inside him, and he couldn't stop it from flooding out. With her arms around him, Damian fell to pieces, finally letting go of everything that he had been holding on to for far longer than any human could possibly endure.
He tried to stifle his gasping sobs, not wanting to wake anyone else in the small apartment, but it was almost impossible, and eventually Damian was forced to press his hands against his mouth to muffle himself, while Anya pulled him into her chest and repeatedly stroked his hair and his shoulder in soft, soothing motions.
"It's okay, I've got you, I'm here," she murmured, quiet yet persistent. "It's okay…"
It's not, he wanted to scream. Nothing will ever be okay again. I can't do this anymore. I can't take it. It's too much. I just want it to stop.
It was too much. Everything gathered together as one giant mass, crushing his lungs and his heart and his bones and his soul, too much pressure on just one person.
It's not real. It can't be real. This isn't happening.
Even if he wanted to say anything out loud, he was physically unable to. The tears had overwhelmed him completely, dripping over his fingers and catching in the spaces between his knuckles.
Anya's voice drifted by his ears once again.
"I'm here, I love you, I'm here…"
I love you. I'm sorry. I'm here. I love you.
Anya's hand shook as brushed her fingers in his hair, over and over, as her own tears soaked through the pillow. She wanted nothing more than to apologise and beg for his forgiveness, because even though she was sorry, that moment wasn't about her. She had never been more sorry for anything in her life, but she couldn't help but think that Damian wouldn't be suffering so much if it wasn't for her.
Damian shuddered and wept in her arms, and all Anya could do was give back to him what he had given her unconditionally. She held him as wave after wave of devastating grief and heartache rolled through him, drowning everything and sight, while she stayed with him, just like he had stayed with her.
Loid had never been one for sleeping in, and so he emerged early the next morning, quieter than usual out of respect for the other guests in the house, and the inevitable hangovers that would plague some of them.
It took less than a second for him to notice the shift in the airflow of the apartment, and he gravitated towards Anya's room, only to see the door wide open and her bed empty. Years of planning for any eventuality had trained him to jump to the worst conclusions, and panic leapt in his chest, before he immediately applied a calming technique to himself. Calm down, Twilight…
Until he remembered with a jolt, that he wasn't Twilight any more.
Loid shook himself off, and he controlled his heart rate as he stalked through the apartment, looking for signs of his daughter, until coming to the half-open door of the guest room.
Well, at least they had the sense to leave it open.
He deliberated whether or not to separate them, probably by waking Anya and sending her back to bed, when the figure on the sofa shifted behind him, getting his attention.
Given how merry Franky had been the night before, Loid had expected Franky to be one of the last ones to wake, possibly even sleeping through the sounds of people moving in and out of the living room. Dark circles showed under Franky's eyes, more worn out than Loid had seen his friend in a long time.
Franky shook his head at Loid, seemingly understanding what he was about to do.
"Let the kid sleep," he said sullenly. "He's had a rough night."
Loid nodded once, a signal that he had understood Franky's message, and stared as Franky turned on his other side, presumably to try to catch some last-minute sleep.
Meanwhile, he turned to the room once more, and scanned the scene before him.
Pink hair stood out from the top of the duvet, betraying Anya's presence, and he could see the steady rise and fall of her breath from its movement.
While Damian…
Red rimmed his eyes, dark against his pale, clammy skin. His arm had escaped the duvet, wrapped tightly around the shape of Anya, his breathing shallow and laboured. Upon closer inspection, Loid couldn't help but notice the very slight reduction of muscle mass in his arm, the subtle hollowing of his cheek. He could have kicked himself for not noticing it earlier.
Loid sighed, at once resenting Franky for his assessment, and also grateful that he stopped him from waking them. Franky was right.
Let the kid sleep.
Very gently, Loid pulled the door of the guest bedroom shut, the click barely audible in the Forger family home.
.
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Merry Christmas everyone! Whether or not you celebrate, I hope you had a lovely day today and you got to experience something that made you happy or gave you joy 💖
A bit of background on the hands section:
I drew upon a passage called the 'Blessing of the Hands', which is a traditional blessing used in Scottish weddings as part of the handfasting ceremony. This is still very commonly practiced in weddings here in Scotland, and it brings me to tears every time I hear it. To me, it is an incredibly meaningful and historic blessing, and I wanted to reference it here to represent Damian's renewed commitment to Anya, and to symbolise that he understands and accepts her wholeheartedly.
We also had a lot of emotional intimacy between Damian and Anya, which was hard for the both of them, but very much needed.
I included that last bit from Loid's POV just so that you can rest, and that you're not worried about how he would act next chapter 😂 This is the same man that thinks guns are fine and literally gave Damian his blessing to marry Anya lol, he's not got a leg to stand on
NEXT CHAPTER will be posted on Weds 10th January
I posted early this week because I am actually flying out to India tomorrow! I'm taking a wee holiday, so there wont be a chapter next week! But you can look forward to the next chapter which will be published on Wednesday 10th January :D