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Art was never his strongest suit. Damian could admit that. Through hard work, he had managed to always get decent and sometimes even above average grades in art class, but Damian was by no means what people would call an "artist". In spite of this, as he grew older he found himself developing a certain fascination with art, especially paintings belonging to a more classic style. At first, Damian had struggled to find the reason behind such interest, but after a while he realized that there were works of art that simply provided him with a sense of peace. A type of peace he often struggled to find in his daily life. Ever since he could remember, he had dedicated most of his time and energy to trying to live up to people's expectations: his classmates', his teachers', his father's...
That weight hung on his shoulders as a reminder of all the ones he would disappoint if he failed to achieve perfection. However, all that weight dissipated when he stared at the paintings. It was a simple pleasure that no one could take from him. A reminder that he too deserved to clear his mind for a couple of minutes and bask in the beauty that resulted from someone else's hard work. If those were the only moments he could drop all pretenses and simply become another ordinary expectator, he was going to treasure them.
Because of this, when their teacher had announced that they would be going on a school trip to an art museum, Damian had been absolutely elated. It almost felt like a reward for having finally become an Imperial Scholar just the previous month. He had earned this.
The day was finally here and Damian spent the whole bus ride struggling to hide his excitement. He wasn't sure why he felt the need to hide something so trivial from his own friends. He knew they wouldn't judge him. He objectively knew that. The voices inside his head telling him it was wrong were stronger nontheless.
After a short introduction from the guide, they had been given free rein to roam the halls of the museum on their own. When the other kids started going their own separate ways, Damian saw his chance and quickly snuck out before Ewen and Emile could find him. It's not that he didn't like them, he really did appreciate them. They had become true and unconditional friends to him as the years went by. He just wanted some time to himself in order to appreciate the pieces at his own pace.
He had done some research at home so he knew most of the art works and collections he was going to find. Some paintings called to him more than others, but he still appreciated the uniqueness of each piece. He took his time to assess each collection carefully and only moved on to the next one when he felt satisfied. As he rounded the corner to continue towards the following section, his eyes fell on one work of art that he had not expected to find. No amount of research could have prepared Damian for the wave of tranquility that took over his body when he gazed upon its beauty.
It was no painting from a renowned artist.
It was no sculpture from a forgotten time.
It was Anya Forger.
Nothing more, nothing less. And yet, the effect was the same, perhaps even stronger. That revelation used to scare him, but he had long since realized his feelings for his rather eccentric classmate.
Damian Desmond had a big ole crush on Anya Forger.
She was the only person who could make him feel at peace the same way that the expert brush strokes on the canvases did, which was extremely ironic given that she was the personification of chaos itself.
Luckily for Damian, Anya hadn't noticed him, so he took a couple of steps back and watched her from afar, hoping he didn't look like a total creep. She was surprisingly alone, missing her usual companion and partner in crime, Becky Blackbell. He immediately noticed that Anya didn't really care about any of the displayed paintings as she quickly walked down the hallway, barely even stopping for half a second to glance at each piece. Damian didn't blame her in the slightest; art is subjective after all. In fact, he found it quite funny. These paintings belonged to some of the most famous and acclaimed artists in the region, yet Anya seemed totally unimpressed. She was so unapologetically her at all times and that fascinated him.
Damian quietly observed as Anya did a double take on one of the paintings and suddenly stopped in her tracks. Damian craned his neck to see which one had captured her attention. He was happy to realize that he recognized the piece. It wasn't one of the most popular ones but it was still pretty well known. It featured a woman with long silky dark hair wearing a deep burgundy gown. There were red roses all around her, making it look like the woman was simply one more rose from the bunch. It was certainly a beautiful painting, but it wasn't especially extraordinary or magnificent in anyway. Damian desperately wanted to know what was it about this specific painting that made it stand apart from the rest in Anya's eyes.
His thoughts were interrupted by a large group of people following another tour guide into the hall Anya and him were currently in. Since there were many people in this section already and it wasn't very spacious to begin with, the area had become quite crowded in a matter of seconds. When he turned his attention back to Anya, his eyed widened. She was clutching her head and her feet were unstable, making her lose her balance.
Without thinking, Damian ran to her side before she could fall to the floor and potentially get hurt. He grabbed her by the elbows gently but with enough strength to hold her in case her legs gave out. At first, he thought she might have just been suffering from a migraine or lack of iron, but when he noticed the trail of blood running down her nose and pooling around her feet, Damian started to panic.
"Anya?! Anya, can you hear me?" His shaky voice failed to conceal the fear in his heart.
"Damian?" The confusion in her tone was evident as she could barely open her eyes and he was probably the last person she was expecting in that moment.
"Yes, it's Damian. What's wrong?! Should I get the teacher? What should I-"
"-people. Too many people." Damian could barely hear her over the chatter in the room, but it was enough for him to understand he had to take her away from there as soon as possible.
He remembered a pretty secluded area with a bench not too far from their location and so Damian started gently guiding her in that direction, never letting go of her just in case.
Once they reached their destination, he delicately sat her down on the bench, making sure to avoid any sharp movements. He was glad and honestly surprised to find that she was already doing much better. Her eyes were no longer closed shut and she had stopped trembling. Now that the worst had apparently passed she just looked exhausted... and bloody, quite bloody.
Fortunately, none of their classmates was touring this part of the museum at the moment, giving them some privacy to deal with the situation. He couldn't exactly take her to the girls' bathroom, so they had to make do with the bench.
Anya was silent as Damian stood in front of her, took out a cloth handkerchief from his pocket, and raised her head to examine her state.
"Well, it seems the bleeding stopped, so it's just a matter of cleaning away the blood from before," Damian stated almost matter-of-factly, like he was completely used to doing this sort of thing. He was about to start dabbing at her face when, all of a sudden, he froze and took a step back, letting go of her face in the process.
"I am so sorry, Anya. I didn't even ask for your permission. Perhaps I overstepped. I apologize, I just kind of panicked and you were bleeding and then you-"
"Damian, it's alright," Anya interrupted once she realized he had started going on a rant. "I really appreciate your help. I am much better now, you can relax now." She did sound much better than before, but there was a strain to her voice that proved she was still recovering from the incident.
"Oh, okay. Cool, cool. I am glad to hear that. Do you, uh, do you wanna clean yourself with my handkerchief?" Damian wanted to hit himself in the head after uttering the question in the most awkward way possible.
Anya looked down at the mess that was her skin and uniform and then around the room as if looking for something.
"I don't have a mirror and there don't seem to be any bathrooms near. And honestly, I don't want the others to see me and worry over this or have the teacher call my parents and send me home. Would you clean my face for me, please? Like you were about to do?"
The nonchalance in her voice caught Damian off guard. She asked that as if she was simply asking to borrow a pencil from him. Was he the only one feeling self-conscious about all of this? Did the proximity between them not affect her at all? Was he the problem?
"Uh, you sure?" He was giving her a chance to back out.
"Yeah. Besides, I can't see my face so I'll probably just smudge the blood around and make it worse. Go right ahead."
Damian gulped before getting closer to her once again. Since she was sitting, he towered over her (not unlike when she was standing) and Anya was forced to raise her face to look him in the eye and allow him easy access. Green eyes stared up at him, blinking lazily as if she had just woken up from a nap.
This was torture.
She was entirely too cute, and too close.
One of his hands went to hold the back of her head for support while the other started softly dabbing at her skin, trying to get the worst out without hurting her in the process. The whole time, Damian tried his best to avoid eye contact, but it seemed Anya had other plans. Her eyes followed his every moment, almost as if she knew and decided to actively taunt him. He was almost done with her face, but her lips were still pretty tainted by the blood. While Damian attempted to clean the rest off her mouth, he made the mistake of looking up and locking eyes with her. His movements halted and his mind was screaming at him to do something, anything, but to no avail. Damian was frozen in place, with both hands still touching Anya. His thoughts were an absolute mess.
And then, she laughed.
She giggled right in his face as if he had just told the funniest joke she had ever heard. If he didn't know any better he would think she was laughing at his incoherent inner monologue. Honestly, he wouldn't blame her.
Her laughing episode was enough for him to break out of his daze and step back, putting much needed space between them.
"I, uh, tried to clean it off as best as I could but some of the blood dried off so I can't just take it off with my handkerchief unless I- Wait hold on," Damian interrupted himself and started looking for something in his bag. "Here! Wet wipes! These will do the job."
"A cloth handkerchief and wet wipes? Are you some kind of neat freak, Syon-boy?" Anya teased with a cheeky smile on her face.
"Do you want them or not?" he deadpanned. Yes, Damian was head over heels for her, but in no way did that stop her from getting on his nerves from time to time.
Her smile dropped.
"... Yes, please."
"Good."
Damian handed her the wipes and Anya started wiping her hands when she suddenly stopped and looked him up and down like he was doing something wrong.
"You know you don't have to stand over there so awkwardly. The bench is big enough for the two of us. You can sit. I don't bite."
Damian wondered if he always looked that awkward to her. Actually, he wondered if she even had a good opinion of him or not. He wanted to believe they had become something close to "friends" along the years but her behaviour towards him was usually so erratic he could never fully figure her out.
"You do punch, though," Damian retorted as he sat down a couple inches away from her.
"Oh, come on! That was ages ago! Get over it." She was almost done wiping the dry blood off her face and fingers. Damian couldn't tell if the redness he spotted on her cheeks was due to the wipes or the embarassment at the reminder of the incident that still haunted both of them since first grade. He chose to believe it was the latter.
"Fine. I'll get over it once you get over that stupid nickname," he fought back.
"What stupid nickn- Ahhhh Syon-boy?"
Damian refused to answer and instead just looked down at the floor, fully aware she was trying to get him to look at her. Now it was his turn to blush.
"Awww you never told me it bothered you. It annoys you, huh?"
It was his fault for bringing it up, now she wouldn't let it go until he said something.
"It doesn't exactly annoy me. It just..." Damian trailed off, not sure if what he was going to say next was the best idea. "It just feels like whenever you call me that you still see me as that annoying brat from primary school and nothing more. Honestly, I was kind of hoping we had gotten past that, you know."
Art wasn't his strongest suit. Vulnerability wasn't either.
To his surprise, that had shut Anya up. She had already finished cleaning herself up and was simply staring in his direction. He assumed she was trying to come up with something to say that didn't sound idiotic, which he knew wasn't exactly easy for her sometimes. He didnt blame her though. Neither of them had good conversational skills. That had been proven right many times over the years.
"You always call me Syon-boy or Desmond, but never Damian," he continued.
"Never?"
"Well, you did call me Damian ten minutes ago, when you were basically about to pass out."
"Ah..."
They stayed in silence for what seemed like forever, neither of them saying anything and avoiding looking in each other's direction.
"You know what? Forget I said anything. I'm just being petty," Damian moved to stand up but was stopped by a hand on his arm.
"No! Stay. Please."
There was no way he could go against her when she looked up at him with those sad puppy eyes. She was his weakness, and he feared she was close to figuring it out.
He sat back down and waited for her to speak.
"Listen, it's true that I don't usually call you by your name, but believe me when I say that I don't see you like that anymore. I haven't for a long time. You changed. I changed. We are not the same kids we were ten years ago. I guess what I am trying to say is that I appreciate your friendship and I am truly thankful to you for having helped me just now. You really saved me there."
"I wouldn't say save-"
"Just take the compliment."
"Right. My bad."
Damian could barely contain his excitement at hearing such words coming from her. Perhaps their relationship wasn't a lost cause after all.
"Also, I am sorry about ruining your handkerchief. It looked very fancy and now it's all bloody," she really did sound apologetic.
"Oh, don't worry about that. I am just glad you are alright, Anya," Damian declared honestly. He turned to find that she had a somewhat shocked expression on her face. "Also, I have like six more of those back home."
For some reason that Damian couldn't understand, that set her off.
Anya started laughing uncontrollably. She even ended up gasping for air and almost falling backwards from the bench. His hand immediately shot up to steady her from behind. This girl was a danger to herself.
"What's so funny? What did I say?"
"Oh nothing, nothing. Just... never change," Anya said once she had calmed down and regained her breath.
"Alright, I guess I won't then?" Damian was truly clueless.
Anya was many things, but boring was definitely not one of them.
They stayed in comfortable silence for a little while until Anya decided to speak up.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Anything- I mean, uh, sure."
Smooth.
"How come you haven't asked what's wrong with me?"
Damian didn't see that one coming. When Anya saw the confusion on his face, she elaborated.
"I mean, you rush in to help me, you clean blood off my face, and you are not even curious as to why I just almost collapsed in the middle of the museum?"
"Well, if it's a medical condition, I feel it would be rude of me to ask. If you had wanted me to know, you would have told me already. As long as you are safe, you don't have to tell me anything you don't feel comfortable sharing. I respect your privacy."
To him, what he said was obvious, but based on Anya's face, those weren't the words she had expected to hear.
"That is... actually really nice. Thank you. I haven't had an episode like this in quite some time but, I guess you could say I was caught off guard."
Damian sensed there was something more to it than what she let on, but he wasn't going to pry.
"It's basic human decency if you ask me," he shrugged. "But you are welcome, nontheless."
"And you don't think it's weird?" Anya sounded uncharacteristically timid, self-conscious even.
"Anya, you have pink hair and two cones on your head. When it comes to you, I stopped questioning what's weird or not a long time ago. We are friends, and that's all I care about."
What he said was nothing but the truth. This girl was weird, for sure, but he found that only made her even more endearing. She was a mystery he wasn't even close to solving, but that had done nothing to deter his feelings from growing. He was in it for the long haul.
Before he could process what was going on, Anya placed her head on top of his shoulder and took a deep breath.
"Thank you. I think I needed to hear that today."
Freaking out was not an option for Damian right now. He had to stay calm and not embarrass himself even more in front of her. This was the first real and meaningful conversation he'd ever had with her and he was NOT going to mess it up.
"Can I ask you something now?"
"Shoot."
"Is what you just said by any chance related to the painting you were looking at earlier? The one with the dark haired woman and the roses."
He felt Anya's warmth leave him as she removed her head from his shoulder and turned to look at him.
Great. One question was enough to mess everything up. Good job, Damian.
"You are quite intuitive, huh."
She was smiling. He hadn't messed up. He was saved.
"It's just that out of all the pieces from the collection, the only one that piqued your interest isn't known for being special or outstanding in any way. Although it's pretty to look at, it's actually a really ordinary painting in terms of technique. That's why I was wondering what attracted you to it in the first place."
"Wow, you are really into this whole art thing, aren't you?"
Out of instinct, he was ready to deny it. He had the perfect lie already prepared on the tip of his tongue. He had to hide any "useless" passions or...
Or what?
What was so wrong about it? What consequences could this possibly bring?
"Yeah, I am."
Anya would never know how much those three silly words meant to him in that moment.
"That's cool. I bet you are having a great time here today then." She looked around the room at the different paintings. To Damian, it seemed that Anya thought that if she stared hard enough she would understand what was so fascinating about them. She was most definitely failing, but she looked adorable.
"You have no idea," he said softly, captivated by the sight before him.
Damian was not looking at the paintings.
"But to answer your question-" she exclaimed after giving up on trying to understand art, "-the reason why that one caught my attention is because the woman in the painting reminded me of my mother."
Mrs. Forger... Certainly an interesting woman.
Now that he thought about it, Damian could see the resemblance between them. Both Anya's mother and the woman in the painting seemed sweet and delicate at first sight, but if you got closer you could also see they share an underlying coldness hidden in their eyes. A coldness almost violent in nature.
But what do I know, right?
"She is beautiful."
"Ew, you think my mom is hot?! That's disgusting!"
He couldn't even begin to describe the revulsion on her face.
"WHAT? NO! I-"
"First Becky, and now you... The disappointment, man," Anya shook her head from side to side slowly while looking at the floor.
"HUH? NO, THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT! I PROMISE-"
Damian stopped talking when he noticed the sly grin forming on Anya's face. He should have seen this coming.
"... you are shitting me, right?"
"Hehehe the look on your face was priceless. Sorry, you made it too easy for me."
"Please never say hehehe out loud ever again," Damian tried to sound angry but he wasn't fooling anyone. Even if she was laughing at his expense, he was glad to see a smile on her face after the scare she gave him earlier.
"You are right, though. She is beautiful." Based on the sad tone of her voice, he sensed she had something more to say. "Sometimes, I just wish I looked like her, even if just a little."
"Well, you may not take after her that much, but you must have inherited some features, right?" Damian couldn't tell if he was comforting her or making the situation worse.
"That's the thing. I didn't inherit anything from her. I can't have. Because I am not her daughter."
He struggled to understand what that even meant, but it was more than clear that she was opening herself up to him more than she had ever done before. He respected that.
"Wait, that sounds so wrong. I am her daughter. I'm just not her biological daughter," Anya corrected herself, almost ashamed at her own words.
Damian was surprised to say the least, but if he was being honest, it wasn't that shocking. Thinking back, it explained a lot of weird interactions between the Forgers he had witnessed over the years. The way he felt about Anya remained unchanged however.
"Is that something you usually struggle with? If you don't mind me asking, that is."
"Actually... no. Not at all. I love my parents and they love me, and I am grateful for that every day." Damian ignored the pang of jealousy that shot through his heart. This was not the time. "But I imagine it must be nice to look in the mirror and recognize your parents in your own reflection."
Oh, how Damian wished that was true. "Nice" wasn't the word he would use to describe what he found when he looked at himself in the mirror. The Desmond genes were quite strong. Much more than he would like.
"I guess it depends on the family, but trust me, there are more important things than genetics."
"Well, I certainly agree with that! Thanks for cheering me up. I feel much better now," Anya turned to face him with a smile so bright it could light up the whole museum if needed.
"You are welcome. Besides, beauty is not a problem for you so you shouldn't worry too much," Damian added nonchalantly.
...
He was never going to show his face in public ever again.
This was the end for him.
Damian was already going through the list of countries he could run away to when Anya spoke up.
"I am really glad you feel that way."
He almost broke his neck from turning around too fast.
Damian had to make sure he hadn't misheard or he wouldn't be able to sleep at night.
"You are?" He sounded desperate. He was.
Anya inched closer, causing their fingers to brush against each other on the bench. Damian almost jumped at the touch.
"Yes. I am," her voice was soft but decisive as she stared into his eyes.
Damian couldn't look away even if he wanted to. He was sure his ears were red from embarrassment and he probably looked like a lost puppy looking for his owner, but in that moment that was the least of his worries.
Before he could do something stupid like try to kiss Anya in the middle of the museum during a school trip, a bunch of younger kids entered the room talking pretty loudly. The intrusion was enough to bring Damian back to reality.
"We should probably head back. It's almost time to join the others." He scratched his neck in a nervous manner and motioned towards the hallway.
"Right. You are right, of course," Anya was smiling, but Damian could swear she almost sounded disappointed.
They both stood up and were about to begin walking when Anya looked down at her shirt and stopped in her tracks.
"Dammit, I forgot about the blood on my uniform. I guess I could try to take it out with water, but then I'll be soak-"
Damian didn't give her a chance to finish her sentence before he placed his own Imperial Scholar cloak on top of her shoulders. As he adjusted it around her neck, he accidentally pulled her closer, considerably closing the distance between them.
"There. That should cover most of the stains." Without realizing, his voice had dropped into a low whisper. A new sort of tension grew between them in that moment.
"I- I am not an Imperal Scholar yet. I can't wear thi-"
"Yes, you can. You are just one Stella away from becoming one anyway."
"But still, people will talk-"
"Let them."
"But-"
"Forger, just shut up and take it."
It seemed they had unknowingly gotten closer as they argued back and forth. Anya had to crane her neck backwards to look Damian in the eyes. His gaze darted between her eyes and her lips more than once. He was becoming weaker by the second and he knew it.
For once, Damian had managed to leave Anya speechless. She only nodded silently and cleared her throat as she took a step back, effectively ending the moment between the two.
"It's really not that big a deal. You can just give it back to me tomorrow," Damian said like it was an obvious fact.
Anya paused for a second before answering. The confusion was evident in her features.
"But tomorrow is Saturday. We don't have classes tomorrow."
"I guess we are gonna have to find a way to see each other then," Damian retorted with a new-found confidence he didn't know he had.
He shot his shot.
The ball was in her court now.
"I guess we will," Anya replied, sporting a knowing smile on her face. "Text me the details."
She turned around and Damian thought Anya was about to walk away, but instead she turned back on her heels and approached him once again.
"Ah, one more thing."
Without any warning, Anya stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. A tingling sensation ran through his entire body as he stood frozen in place, his mind struggling to catch up with the situation.
"See you tomorrow, Damian."
Damian
Damian
Damian
His own name echoed through his mind as he watched Anya walk off into the main hall, his cloak flowing behind her.
Only once she was out of sight did Damian allow himself to crumble. He plopped back down on the bench, took a deep breath, and laughed.
Just laughed.
He laughed because he had no idea what had just happened between him and the girl he had been crushing on for the better part of a decade. He couldn't quite process it.
As he ran a hand through his hair he realized that he probably looked like a mad man to any passerby that happened to stumble upon this section of the museum.
Damian couldn't bring himself to care.
As he looked around at the paintings he knew so well, he realized that none of them could hold a candle to her.
Art wasn't his strongest suit, but there was no doubt in his heart that the sight that was Anya Forger smiling up at him with his cloak wrapped around her shoulders qualified as art in its purest form.