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If there was one positive thing that Anya could look forward to from Damian every morning, it was probably the incredibly captivating smell of his hair.
It was an early Monday morning. Her eyes were still blinking the sleep off her system when the familiar presence of the boy appeared in the doorway of their first subject’s classroom. His dark hair and hazel eyes were enough to earn her attention from Becky, who was busy gushing non-stop about the latest episode of Berlint in Love that Anya was clearly not interested in. He looks like the typical sy-on boy, with his clean uniform and arrogant aura emanating out of his little form. But still, Anya can’t resist staring from the corner of her eyes, watching his every step towards the aisle between them.
She couldn’t help it. Due to her sensitive senses, she could catch on to that rich-smelling scent coming from him. She could smell everyone too—even Becky, who had a nice lilac perfume and honey soap, but Damian’s scent stood out the most, kicking them all out by a mile. He smelled of pine trees, lavender, and a little hint of vanilla; all the good things that could get her sleeping off into dreamland without the worries of the future. It was calming, refreshing, and somehow sends soft tingles through her skin. His scent felt comfortable, and sometimes she wondered how it actually feels like hugging a person with such an inviting fragrance.
But, unfortunately, it was Damian. Unless she accomplished Plan B, which had made approximately five percent progress at most, she wouldn’t dare get too close to him. Let alone hug him.
Anya wants to get closer, but it’s sy-on boy. I don’t want to hug sy-on.
Damian got a little closer. Anya secretly sniffed as the olive-haired boy confidently walked past her through the aisle, chin held high and hands tucked deep in his pockets, with his friends trailing behind him. The familiar scent wafted around Anya’s space, strong yet endearingly inviting. Unable to resist the temptation, her small body leaned a tad bit closer to take in the scent as much as she can as he got nearer, eyes closed and nose scrunched.
Unfortunately, she had to draw her head back once the boy glanced back at her from the corner of his eyes. It was quick and almost unnoticeable if not for Anya’s watchful eyes, so she had to be careful. Her papa once told her that smelling people without their consent was inappropriate. Damian, on the other hand, was well known for being hyper-aware of his surroundings. It was one of the many things taught to him for being a Desmond. It was simply not a safe combination. If the boy caught her one of these days, Anya has to bid farewell to Plan B, as well as her childhood. She’ll be drowning in her studies to earn stellas, all because she couldn’t stop snuffling someone’s scent. That’s terrible.
She’ll be extra careful. Maybe find someone with the same scent, instead. Oh, how about Becky? If she smells like sy-on, I could hug her!
“Anya, are you still listening to me?” Her best friend tapped her shoulder with her forefinger, trying to earn her attention back. Anya’s head whipped in her direction, eyes gleaming deviously. “Becky, do you like pine trees?”
“Eh?”
“What do you want?” muttered Damian, hands occupied with his pens and notebook as he tucked them into his briefcase. The space beside him was empty, where Emile was usually seated, giving Anya a rather generous view of his side profile. Anya’s head wandered around, trying to find the mentioned blond boy, only to find him beside the other blond lackey, minding their businesses.
And so, due to the lack of obstructions, she was also given access to a much more potent aroma of sy-on boy’s hair. Another whiff of pine trees, lavender, and a hint of vanilla filled her senses. Ah, sy-on’s hair smells good. “Sy-on boy crossed this number.” Anya, restraining the urge to just sit beside him and enjoy his inviting fragrance, placed her recent math test paper on his table, pointing at a particular number with a huge red line. “This is correct.”
“Ha?” He closed his briefcase with a click, his arms crossing over his chest after he placed them beside him. His gaze went to the paper in question, specifically to the upper left part where the score was usually located. “I don’t think it really matters with a score like that. Get out of my way.”
“But Anya got 29. If Anya got this one correct, Anya will pass the test.” Her eyes were fixated on his tousled dark-olive locks. They look so soft, too. She kind of wanted to touch them.
Sy-on boy placed one elbow on the table, his cheek resting on his palm while he stared uninterestedly at the paper. His hair bounced along with the movement of his head. Anya was transfixed.
Most of their classmates were long gone, thrilled at the thought of going home or simply getting out of the classroom. Becky, as loyal as ever to her, was waiting for her a few seats below them, scribbling in her notebook with a dreamy look on her face. Emile and Ewen, on the other hand, were busying themselves with a comic book they snuck in—it was not allowed during class time—while they wait for their boss-man, immersed in silence as he analyzes Anya’s solution through her messy writing.
Not that Anya was complaining. It was rare that sy-on boy complied so easily with her request without shouting right at her face. Might as well enjoy the peace while it lasted. And his scent, too, since this was just too valuable to pass on.
After a good minute, Damian finally broke his silence with a sigh. “There’s nothing I can do. You did get the right answer, but your solution is beyond help.” He slid the paper on the table back at her, his upper body leaning a bit closer to her, his scent coming along with him. Anya almost flinched. “Now go away.”
Anya pushed the paper back, determined. She also leaned forward, inhaling the surrounding air more aggressively than necessary. “No. You do something about it, sy-on.” After stating the words, she immediately realized how bad it sounded. It was too late to retract her words now. It was sy-on’s fault, anyway. Because he smells good.
“Huh?! This is your paper! Why should I care about this?!” He expectedly yelled in response, one fist raised in annoyance.
“Anya got the right answer.” Despite his fragrance, Anya was not having it. While it was true that she doesn’t care quite much about stellas at this point—she only got two anyway, and she still has ten years of school maximum—she was still much capable of getting a tonitrus despite not wanting one. The paper she was holding might not be as valuable as the midterm or the finals ones, but passing this one is a good bragging right to her father. It was geometry, and she was bad at geometry, and she was one point away from passing. She can’t let it go. “Shouldn’t the end just-iffy the mints?”
“What? No!” It’s ‘justifies the means,’ you idiot.
Somehow, his voice struck a nerve at Anya’s temples. She was so close. Can’t sy-on boy see that this is a big deal? Papa will let Anya watch Spy Wars in peace if Anya at least passed this test. “Anya will not leave until you change it.” She defiantly crossed her arms, standing firmly in front of him and blocking his path.
Damian’s cheeks flushed. Anya thought it was weird. “This is clearly wrong! Why are you- ugh!” Seemingly exasperated, he grabbed his expensive red-inked pen from the pockets of his briefcase, pushing the button at the end with a click. Anya has no idea what he was up to, but she instinctively squared up. He could stab her with his pen, throw the pen itself at her, or shower the ink on her face. Whatever it was, Anya was ready to punch. Smells good or not, I’m gonna punch.
To Anya’s surprise, he instead slid very much closer to her, shoulders slumped forward while he pointed the tip of his pen onto the paper. “You listen to me, okay?!” He demanded, not daring to look her in the eye. He started scribbling at her paper.
Anya, on the other hand, was stunned, eyes looking warily at the mass of hair in front of her.
Pine, lavender, and a hint of vanilla. Pine, lavender, and a hint of vanilla. Pine, lavender, and a hint of vanilla. This time, they were much stronger, invading every part of her senses. It’s as if it formed an invisible body, trapping her in place while she stood helplessly. And as if the heavens above were mocking her, an unreasonable wind blew right to her face, carrying the scent with it and dispersing right across her face. To the naked eye, there was nothing, but in Anya’s creative and childlike imagination, she saw a splash of colors.
His shampoo must be really nice if the smell could last this long.
Her nose caught another minuscule detail with how close his hair was. Powder. She can’t describe it, but he smelled like powder, too. The one that tickles your nose, but in a good way. Maybe it was the vanilla, or the lavender, or maybe the combination of the two. Either way, it was quite fitting. She couldn’t understand why, though.
The smell was so strong. It almost felt like her nose was on his head all this time, taking it all in as much as she can. Pine trees smell good because it reminds her of mint and wood. Lavender smells good because flowers are fragrant. Vanilla smells good because it reminds her of home. Her papa uses a lot of vanilla, and it smells really nice.
But other than that, the combination of his scent felt like a walk in the forest in the early morning, drinking in the scent of florals along the way. She can imagine bringing some peanuts with her, and maybe bond as well, her mama and papa too, while they chase her down through the field of flowers. There could be sunflowers, tulips, roses, and many, many lavenders. They will lie over them while they gaze at the bright blue sky, basking in its sunlight. Then they would have a picnic under the shade of trees, preferably pine trees, and her papa will bring out the basket and spread out the food. There were peanuts, of course, and cookies, and candies, and hamburger steak, and everything that Anya wanted.
That was nice.
She could bring Becky next time. She might not like the walk in the forest, because Becky doesn’t like mud and dirt, but the aroma surely will convince her, right? Besides, girls like flowers. They will run wild through the field with their dogs. Oh, since it was because of him, she could bring sy-on boy too-
Something light and jittery suddenly touched the top of her hand, waking her up from her daydreaming. Images of picnic, a field of flowers, forest, and pine trees went out of her head like the air coming out of a popped balloon. There was nothing left except the darkness from her closed eyes and an eerie silence around her.
Now fully aware of her surroundings, her eyes snapped open, and a mass of dark olives shrouded her vision. They were tickling her nose, and her lips, and maybe her cheeks too…?
The mass of olives squirmed against her hold. Somehow, its slight movements sent huge amounts of dread all over her body.
It took her a few seconds to realize that the mass of olives in front of her was, in fact, Damian’s hair. A full head of hair. This meant that she currently had the boy in question imprisoned in her hold, with one small arm encircling his neck and the other hand seizing his shoulder, clutching the fabrics tightly as if they were her lifeline.
Her eyes darted to the small and extremely red hand touching hers, warm and trembling violently.
“G-g-get… get…” He was barely audible. He was also breathing heavily against her. His quivering hand clutched her dress, pushing away despite the apparent weakness of his grip.
Anya, afraid that the scion in her embrace might lash out the moment she frees him, stayed frozen in her place.
Anya screwed up.
“Hey! Snap out of it! Let go of him!” The familiar voices of Damian’s lackeys finally reached her. She noticed that they were trying to separate her from the boy. Ewen held their tomato boss while Emile grabbed her shoulders, struggling to pull her away.
Pressured and very much afraid of the consequences that might transpire once she let go of the boy in her embrace, she only tightened her hold around him. Damian’s face was pressed firmly against her collarbone due to the sudden force, his hand flailing at his sides for a good second before resting them on her back, clinging onto the fabrics with his fingers. His muffled words were barely comprehensible, only consisting of quickened breaths and his weak voice. His lackeys kept on pulling them apart. They were so loud that she hadn’t noticed Becky’s intervention, slapping a hand against Emile’s sleeve repeatedly.
Despite the utter chaos around her, Anya has only one thing on her mind.
Anya has to make an excuse first! Plan B is in danger!
She hadn’t been careful enough. In the end, she surrendered to the temptations of Damian’s incredibly fragrant hair. Damian had sabotaged her mission without him even knowing. Hair scents… are dangerous! Muttered a very conflicted child.
Just like what her papa told her, smelling people without their consent is inappropriate and could potentially kill a friendship. And she just did it. There is no other choice. She has to lie her way out of this. Besides, Damian has a habit of running away whenever he’s very red. If she lets him go right this instant, the opportunity to even explain will-
I c-can’t breathe… Anya’s ears perked up, her thoughts coming to a halt to focus on his voice. Ah… My heart… I-I’m going to faint… Without even a second, the hand grasping at her clothes weakened a lot more, almost sliding down across. The only thing that kept it in its place was the small pressing force of his trembling hands. Even his body became heavier, withdrawing back.
His heart dropped in her gut, utterly terrified. Heart attack?! Is sy-on boy gonna die?! Scared at the thought of the boy possibly collapsing in her arms, and all because of her, she finally let go and jumped a few meters back, her face turning into an unhealthy shade of purple while she gaped in horror. The force sent Emile flying backwards with Becky, the former landing on his back while the latter plopping safely on his stomach.
Damian, on the other hand, deflated on his seat, his arms clinging to the back of his seat and the table respectively as he was pushed away. His face was alarmingly red down to his neck, to his arms, and the small exposed skin of his legs. His eyes were wide as saucers, dazed and transfixed on something above her head, could be her hair or her horns. If it wasn’t for his heavy breathing, Anya might’ve been convinced that he passed out.
“Boss-man! Can you see my hand? How many fingers do I have?!” Ewen shouted from behind him, supporting his back.
Emile expressed his anger towards the horrified girl, standing up from his fall and leaving Becky on the ground. “What were you thinking! Boss-man was screaming that you let go, but you kept on choking him!” He pushed her lightly on one of her shoulders, to which Anya responded anxiously.
“Anya didn’t hear him!” She excused almost immediately. And by the looks of utter disbelief in both Ewen and Emile’s faces, Anya had guessed that they didn’t take her excuse quite seriously. Though it was true that she didn’t hear him, she still refused to tell them the truth. She can’t just blabber out that the reason for her ignorance was her blatant daydreaming of forests and fields of flowers. It will only worsen the situation further. They might even call her delirious and send her packing, not to return to Eden, which is significantly worse than ending Plan B. She couldn’t let that happen. Anya’s not gonna let that happen!
Becky, who finally stood up from her ungracious fall, finally intervenes. “Anya, as much as I want to defend you, your reasoning is quite… well, unreasonable. He was crying out like it was the end of the world.” She said as meek and understanding as possible while she put a hand on her shoulder, patting her in comfort. Then, like a flick of a switch, she glared sharply at Emile. “And you! How dare you shout at Anya!” Her once soft voice turned monstrous. It was one of the reasons why Anya avoids any conflict with her.
“Huh?! Why are you mad at me? If anything, this runt deserves that lecture the most!” Emile was seemingly unaffected by her murderous intent. So, just like that, the two of them engaged in a rather heated argument, neither of them backing down.
Despite the noise in the background, Anya’s horrified gaze remained on the flustered boy, who seemed to have recovered a bit. Ewen was soothing his back, trying to get to talk to him while raising his fingers randomly, but was unfortunately ignored. He was too busy staring back at her with his reddened face and furrowed brows.
Anya’s telepathy snapped into activation, invading his thoughts.
What- what is she thinking?! Why would she- why would she suddenly-?! The more his thoughts poured into his head, the more his face darkened, covered in a bright scarlet hue. He almost looked like those glowing sticks she saw in the commercial on the television. She didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing, or rather it was a good idea to compliment him by comparing him to a glowing stick. They were pretty sticks after all. Will sy-on boy let me go if I call him pretty?? Anya thought in desperation.
What to do, what to do?! Anya’s in trouble! She was calculating numerous excuses in her head that were reasonable enough to escape her current predicament. Anya tripped and fell on his head? Anya was just curious about sy-on boy’s… hair? Bond is fluffy and warm, Sy-on boy’s hair looks fluffy, so Anya hugged him because his hair looks warm, too?!
Anya! A familiar voice echoed in her head amidst her turmoil. For some reason, a ray of light cast down upon her little desperate form. Mama! Anya cried out in surprise, seeing an imaginary figure of Yor beside her.
If you are in trouble and you want to lie but your excuse is not enough, just tell them the truth. Yor spoke softly, one forefinger raised. All you have to do is look at them really straight in the eye while you say it, and then apologize. A sincere apology is better than a half-baked lie.
That looks terrible. Anya whimpered in her head while she pathetically stared at the imaginary figure of her mother before it blew away with the wind.
“Y-YOU!” Anya jumped in her spot when Damian sprung up from his seat, his face beet red and very, very angry. He looked like he was ready to pounce.
A sincere apology is better than a half-baked lie! These were the words that rang repeatedly in her head before she finally took action, loudly stomping a hard foot on the ground. And just like what Anya anticipated, Damian backed away, his murderous gaze turning into a hard scowl to stare back at her warily.
And before Damian could even open his mouth, Anya quickly strode forward, catching the boy off guard. Damian’s leg hit the chair behind him, and he collapsed back onto the seat with a hard thud. Without waiting for him to recover, Anya trapped him in place, one hand on the chair and the other on the table, leaning a little too close their nose almost touched. In response to her impulsive action, Damian leaned back hastily, another layer of crimson engulfing his face. The back of his head hit Ewen against his nose, and he whirled back with both of his hands on his face, writhing in pain.
Damian’s familiar scent drifted around her, and it somehow gave her the confidence she needed. She inhaled through her nose, and then,
“Anya likes pine trees, and lavender, and vanilla!” She shouted, almost screeched, right at his face. She was going for intimidation, might as well put her best to it.
And in return, her intimidation seemed to take effect. The boy blinked rapidly in surprise, stunned.
“H-huh?” He looked more confused than threatened.
She took another sharp breath, and then, “Sy-on boy smells like the pine trees in the forest and the flowers in a huge field.” Voicing the words out loud has made Anya queasy—it sounded far weirder than she thought. She drew back a little, her hands becoming a little clammy.
“Anya’s sorry for smelling your hair.” She averted her gaze to the side, her cheeks becoming a little warm. She hesitated for a while, but knowing it was probably for the best, she prepared herself for her next words, albeit immensely embarrassed. “It smells nice.” She mumbled, her lips pouting in defiance.
Sy-on boy must be sick. Her face feels a little hotter than before. She thought it was not normal. Anya thinks I got his fever.
And for the first time since the beginning of their never-ending chaos, silence finally caught up to them. Even the talkative Emile or the overprotective Ewen was lost for words. Becky was silent as well, her hands covering half of her face in delighted surprise. They were interesting at first and quite funny to look at until Anya finally got the courage to look back at the scion beneath her, and she was significantly surprised.
Forget the glow stick, Damian was as bright as the sun. He remained motionless in his little spot on the chair, his bead-like pupils transfixed on her forehead. And if it wasn’t for his jittery hands, Anya might’ve been convinced that he passed out for real this time.
“Oi, sy-on-”
M-my hair? Her telepathy caught his voice loud and clear. Unlike his current petrified state, his mind seemed to be working just fine. S-she likes my hair…? Another thought. Damian was still not blinking.
She said my hair s-smells… As the words went into the esper’s head, slight movements were detected in his face, such as the quivering of his lips and the fluttering of his long eyelashes. …smells n-nice?
After a long period of awkward silence, Damian finally found his voice, albeit a bit struggling. Anya stared expectantly. “W-w-what are-” Ah, she’s so close- “Y-you-” Too close… “Y-you-!” Too close!
Before Damian could even push her, Anya drew back a few steps. Sy-on boy is so unpredictable! Anya blanched as she recovered from her stance, and she was met with a very flustered and very much angry Damian.
“GET AWAY FROM ME!”
Anya had to take another step back when Damian swung his arm before he jumped over his seat, dashing through the door with his entire body ablaze in crimson.
“Boss-man! Wait!” His lackeys, without a hint of hesitation, followed behind like the loyal friends that they are—Ewen snatching his boss-man’s briefcase and Emile shouting a few insults at a dumbfounded Anya before disappearing around the corner of the door frame. There was a string of shouting echoing along the hallway until it faded with distance. The eerie silence of their empty classroom was the only thing left after that.
Anya, confused if she saved Plan B or not, could only linger her gaze towards the empty doorway, wishing she could find the answer to them. And when she finally accepts that everything that has happened is beyond her mental capacity, she finally gave up, her eyes contorting into those simplified circles and bead-like pupils. She sighed, her mood darkening. What a bummer.
A few seconds later, her eyes darted at the abandoned test paper on Damian’s desk, filled with annotations written in red ink. Ah, right, Anya was trying to per-su-wade sy-on boy into correcting this problem. Another frustrated sigh escaped her lips. There was a suspicious string of red ink from the last word, as if the pen had a mind of its own and just went wild. She paid it no mind, nonetheless. Her score was still 29.
A failed test and Plan B in danger. Anya was tired. She wants to go home.
Anya should seriously stop asking mama for advice.
“Becky, let’s go-” Anya turned her head towards her best friend, only to find her still covering half of her face, and with eyes now brimming in tears. “Becky?”
“Your love is so strong you cannot resist even his scent? Oh, my poor Anya!” Out of nowhere, Anya was engulfed in Becky’s embrace. She didn’t know why, but it felt nice. She didn’t stop her. “Don’t worry! We’ll find a way to make him fall for you as fast as possible so you don’t have to suffer anymore!” She almost squealed right in her ear. It was quite loud so Anya has to tilt her head away.
Anya can’t wait to go home and just sleep. Maybe she’ll skip spy wars this time.
The next day, Damian and his lackeys arrived at their classroom much later than expected. And for some unknown reason, the boy in question looked more pristine—his uniform ironed to perfection and hair, those fluffy-looking hair, well combed and clean.
And when he strode across the aisle beside Anya, his scent was ten times as enticing as usual. Anya’s head almost felt like spinning.
It didn’t help when Damian stopped in his tracks right beside her, hands shoved into his pockets while his face was weirdly dusted in pink. He was mildly scowling at her, but not the usual annoyed-looking one he always does, especially with how he was slightly pouting his lips. Anya couldn’t describe his look at all.
Afraid that the quarrel yesterday might repeat if not being completely careful, she shamelessly covered half her face with her hands, not wanting to smell any more of his scent if it meant endangering Plan B furthermore. “Morning, sy-on.” She smiled behind her hands.
She was expecting the boy to just walk away in satisfaction with how much she was willing to comply with his unspoken command. But oddly enough, her action incited an opposite reaction instead. With his face showered in crimson, Damian pointed an accusing finger at her. “W-what are you doing?! How dare you mock me!” His voice wavered as he spoke. For what reason? She didn’t know. It must have been her imagination.
W-what is going on? Did I use too much?? Anya perked up at hearing his thoughts. I thought she- that she-
If this is sy-on boy’s re-bench, it’s not working. Anya still very much likes his smell, even though it’s strong. Anya let out a frustrated sigh against her palms. If she wants to save Plan B, she would have to comply with his wishes. “Anya will not do it again. Promise.” She raised a quick thumbs-up at him before settling it back to her face.
“Huh?! Say that again?!” He was even more riled up than before. Anya was getting more confused by the second. Sy-on boy wanted this, right? Why is he mad??
“Why are you angry, sy-on boy?” Her muffled voice said, emerald eyes meeting his dark hazel ones.
There was a pause, and with each passing second, his face seemed to get redder and redder. He refused to talk, so Anya delved into his mind instead.
Is she serious?! She’s so… incredibly stupid! What does she think- And Anya tuned out immediately, her small hands instinctively covering her ears.
And as she did, an explosion of familiar fragrance filled her senses. It was so potent she almost couldn’t believe it. Pine trees, lavender, and a hint of vanilla. Ten times as strong, ten times as inviting.
She can’t believe that she got beaten up by a shampoo; a rich kid’s shampoo that was probably more expensive than their apartment, or the entire building of said apartment. That’s how strong his scent was, or for Anya at least.
But she refused to surrender this time. Unlike yesterday, she will be much more careful. So, she covered her nose firmly once again, but this time, she turned her head away from the boy. Because of this, the curious eyes of her classmates went on them without her noticing. Anya will save Plan B! Anya must en-jurr! She said with her eyes shut tight, unaware of the scrutiny laid upon her poor sy-on boy. To her, it was prevention. But to the eyes of her classmates, it was undeniably repulsion.
Anya didn’t notice how the seething boy next to her gaped in disbelief in response to the action that she deemed harmless. Livid and very much offended, Damian slammed a hand on her table with indignation. “Stupid shrimp! Runt! Stubby legs! You’re such an idiot!” He yelled at the top of his lungs. His face was very much red as he stomped away with his hands clenched into tight fists. His lackeys followed behind, unusually quiet and looking unimpressed.
Eh? Sy-on’s still angry? Is it because Anya dodged his revenge? Anya, confused to the core, turned to Becky to ask for a piece of advice, only to find her grinning widely behind her demure hand. “Ah, young love.” She sighed, scribbling into her notebook with glazed eyes.
Anya, still very much confused to the core, could only stare at her best friend hopelessly. Why is Becky speaking like an old woman? Why is everyone so hard to read lately?
Amidst her thoughts, the familiar scent kicked strongly so suddenly. She didn’t even turn her head yet when another hand slammed on her table, a piece of paper stuck in between. It was Damian’s. Again.
“A-and this is the complete solution from yesterday! So stop bothering me!” He was leaning dangerously close to her, as if he was doing it on purpose. So Anya did what she had to do and placed her hands firmly on her face once more. “Oui.” Her head bobbed in compliance, her infamous troll smile behind her small fingers.
Irritated, Damian snatched one of her wrists with a hard scowl on his face and a blazing blush on his cheeks.
“Stop doing that!”