Chapter Text
Things Damian Desmond learned about Anya Forger (for blackmail purposes only!):
- Her mother passed away when she was young. She has a stepmom.
Anya always stood out from the rest of his classmates at Cecile hall.
Maybe it was because of her silly (cute) hair accessories, or her horrific (endearingly bad) grades, others may chalk it up to her…eccentricities, plus the fact that she was a random commoner girl. A tame housecat in the pride of lions. But to Damian Desmond, it was mainly because of her hair.
(Definitely not because she decked him in the face while looking like a mischievous, sparkly, pink-haired pixie)
Anya Forger had hair the color of a field of roses in the blooming spring. It was the first thing about her he had noticed when they first made eye contact two years ago.
Naturally, Damian had assumed that her parents share the same features. After all, Anya had mentioned in her report that her father punched his patients, so she probably got most of her features from him.
Except no—Loid Forger was actually pretty normal. A tall man with blonde hair and intense kind blue eyes. He looked nothing like Anya, and much to his delight, also didn’t act like her too. Genetics truly was miraculous sometimes.
The logical conclusion would be that Anya had inherited her pink hair and all of her Anya-ness from her mysterious mother. He had inadvertently conjured an image of an older looking Anya with long pink hair, soft curls, and kind green eyes—Wait no, she'd have that stupid smug smirk too. He suppresses a shudder.
He dreaded the day he’d get to meet the other half of the Forger family. He prays to every god that exists out there for his own mental wellbeing to never meet the source of Anya's crazy.
Except the gods and the universe hated Damian for some reason. This meant that this particular day did come in the form of an unexpected visit to the Forger family residence.
One day, Anya didn’t show up to class. The empty seat in front of him totally didn’t bother him at all. Then Mr. Henderson had mentioned off-handedly that she had gotten sick over the weekends. He was not worried at all! He thinks as he tediously copies down every single word coming out of the teacher's mouth for the rest of the day.
He was simply being a good classmate by going over to her house to drop off some of his notes. Who knows, maybe he’d earn a few stella stars for his charity along the way?
It was snowing when his driver pulled up to 128 Park Avenue. He had been dropped off outside a commoner's apartment building. He was standing outside Anya’s house. He was going to knock on Anya’s door. He was finally going to see more of Anya’s life outside of Eden College. (He was not excited!)
He was greeted by a woman with long black hair and red eyes.
“Um, may I speak with Mr. or Mrs. Forger?” He says, deliberately refusing to acknowledge Anya's existence before meeting her parents.
The lady smiles at him and claps her hands in delight, “Are you Anya’s friend?”
Friend? Was he? Damian willed his heart to calm down. “She’s—I’m her classmate.”
“Well then, come in, come in!” She ushers him inside the small building. Their living room was barely the size of the Desmond foyer, he notes. A tiny part of him that he desperately wanted to burn, was delighted. So this was where Anya lived. Fascinating.
“My husba—Loid left to walk our dog, Bond. I hope you don’t mind waiting for Anya for a while. She’s probably still asleep from her fever.” She gives him an apologetic smile while setting a cup of hot cocoa on the table in front of him.
“Husband?” Had he said that out loud? “Are you Anya’s mom?”
The lady—Anya’s mother(?) giggles “Yes, I suppose so.”
“B-but,” He gestures around, “Anya’s, you know? And you have black hair and stuff?” He says ever so eloquently and politely. Change of plans, he needed to get out of here before he embarasses himself into the depths of oblivion. “Um, nevermind, sorry.” He chokes out.
Something smells suspiciously like smoke and danger, “Mrs. Forger? Is something burning?”
She smiles, “Oh it’s quite alright, I’m actually—Oh no!” The smell of charred flesh and burnt vegetables wafts through and completely engulfs the room. Damian shudders. Was this the source of Anya's madness?
“Please excuse me! I’ll take care of this, d-don’t worry about it!” She frantically waves him off as she rushes into the adjacent kitchen.
Maybe this was a bad idea, he thinks. He could probably make a run for it right now. He hears several pots and pans crash in the distance, and Oh god was that a chicken clucking in the kitchen? Was it because of her home life that Anya turned out the way that she is?
The realization sets in after a few sips of hot cocoa and several breathing exercises later. Anya’s mother(?), who he’d later come to know, was named Yor Forger.
Yor Forger looked nothing like her daughter. Or more accurately, Anya looked like neither of her parents.
Like her husband, she also seems like a fairly normal person. Minus the potential human rights violations committed in the kitchen earlier. And the fact that he had just seen her split an entire pumpkin in half with her bare hands. Anya must have gotten her brute strength from her at least.
“Sy-on!” came a voice from down the hall, and all of Damian’s thoughts evaporated immediately.
He sits up and combs his fingers through his hair, were those creases in his sweater? Wait, why did that suddenly matter?!
Anya was wearing turquoise pajamas, the set even came with a matching hat accessory. It was horrendously adorable, he thinks and promptly kicks himself out of shame. He commits the image to his memory though, just in case.
“I just came here to drop off some notes.” He digs through his bag, then hands her the stack of papers. Color coded, perfect annotations, and of course, with his own reviewers too. He was careful to avoid creasing the paper.
“Not that they’d be of any help considering the fact that you could barely read most of the time.”
Anya stares at him, he starts to feel sweaty again. Maybe that insult was a little too much?
“Thanks Sy-on.” She says after a few seconds, she takes the notes and for a split second their hands brush. Damian flinches, but only out of shame and disgust , he tells himself. Anya shakes her head.
“Oh Anya! You’re already up! I was going to check your temperature. I’m sorry I burnt your soup!” Her mother chimes from across the hall.
Anya shudders, “I’m okay now Mama!” She calls back, “Anya just needed 10 hours of sleep to feel better.”
“That’s good to hear sweetie! Maybe I’ll bake some cookies to celebrate!”
Anya blanches, the look of complete utter horror on her face was almost comical if he wasn't so confused. Anya notices his confusion and leans over to whisper in his ear. (He was not blushing!)
“Mama’s cooking isn’t very… eatable. ” She clarifies.
Your mom cooks? His own mother had barely left her chambers ever since he turned four! These commoners live such hard lives, he thinks.
“Why don’t you just let your chefs cook then?”
Anya mutters something along the lines of “Stupid rich kid.”
“I heard that, ugly shrimp.”
Anya sticks out her tongue in defiance. “You’re being mean to Anya in her own house Sy-on!”
“Hey you started it, ugh, whatever, I was gonna leave anyway.” He could go back to his dorm as usual, but Ewen and Emile were home for the weekends. He could always curl up by the fire place so he could watch the snow fall. He realizes that he didn’t really have anything to do outside of studying. Maybe he could start with that chapter on thermodynamics now—
“Wait!” Anya places a small hand over his shoulder. “Anya wants to give you a tour of her house!”
He stares at the hand on his shoulder. “Your house is literally quarter the size of my living room.”
“Yeah, but have you ever been to Anya’s house before? No? Thought so.” She says, looking incredibly smug as she hauls him over to the living room.
“Fine, w-whatever.”
Anya introduces him to the deformed monstrosity known as Chimera-san and the wide array of plushies in her room.
He wasn’t wrong in saying that the entire Forger residence could fit in one of the sitting rooms at the Desmond manor, but the presence of another person in close proximity made it seem like everyone was in reach. In fact, he could hear Anya’s mother humming from the other room.
“I gotta go to the bathroom, wait in the living room, Sy-on!”
“You don’t need to tell me that!” He yells as he makes his way back to the other side of the apartment.
Mrs. Forger was peering through the stack of papers he handed over to Anya. “Wow! These are really detailed,” she beams, holding up his chapter summary for cell division, “You must be a very good student!”
Heat creeps up on the back of his neck and he puffs his chest, “Well, yeah, I am a Desmond after all. I have to be just as good as my brother.”
“I think it’s admirable that you’re doing it for your family at such a young age,” She smiles, “I’m sure your brother is very proud of you already.”
No, Demetrius barely looks at him. He thinks, but instead of saying it outright, he smiles instead. “Yeah, I’m sure he is.”
Mrs. Forger nods, “Thank you for helping Anya with school, Scion,” she glances over his notes, “Anya could be a handful sometimes, so I’m happy you’re looking out for her.“
“Mama! His name is Damian, not sy-on!” Anya yells, apparently back from the bathroom.
“Its not?” Mrs. Forger sounded genuinely confused, “But that’s what you called him earlier.”
He tries not to think of his mother too much nowadays, if he called out to her or bickered with her like Anya did with her own mother, would he be punished? Ignored? He locks eyes with Anya from across the room.
Anya gives him a small smile and points to the wall. “Sy-on, do you wanna look at Anya’s pictures?”
“Tsk, who’d wanna look at pictures of you?” He does. Please and thank you. But only to see if she had any embarrassing faces, for blackmail of course.
He spots the framed photographs lining the walls and shelves. They weren’t like the expensive paintings in his father’s study, nor were they as perfect as the statues that lined the grand staircase to the observatory deck.
Looking at the photographs, the thought from earlier resurfaces from his mind.
“Hey, how come you don’t look like your mom?” He says, curiosity winning over tact.
This didn’t seem to bother Anya, “Oh, it's ‘cuz I’m—” she pauses.
She stares at him again with those large green eyes. What was she trying to do here? He just wanted to ask a simple question! She looks around the room. Mrs. Forger went back to the kitchen earlier, was she looking for her? Why was she so quiet—
“My old mama died when I was young.” She explains.
Oh.
“Oh.” He says, all the fiery eloquence leaving his body at once. “Don't you have any pictures of her anywhere?”
Damian was self aware enough to realize how rude his question was.
He supposes it made sense. Why on earth would they display photos of the late Mrs. Forger when Anya’s current mom was right there? He reasons.
"Um, Papa doesn't like talking about her, so we don't put up pictures." She trails off, shifting from one foot to the other.
"I-I don't know anything about her, not even her voice, or her face." She lets out a weak laugh while simultaneously breaking Damian's heart in two.
"I wish I remembered what she looked like at least."
He never had anyone in his direct family die before, so he wouldn’t be able to give her the comfort of mutual understanding. Instead he stares at one particular family photo.
Mr. Forger was smiling gently at the camera with Mrs. Forger holding what looked like Anya’s green penguin plush. Anya was at the front and center hugging a giant white dog, with a wide smile and all. He thinks about the way Anya’s hair catches the rays of the fluorescent lights. The way her hair showed all the different shades of pink. A garden of roses indeed.
“Your mom probably had pink hair and g-green eyes,” He says instead, "Like yours."
“Huh?”
Huh was right, where the heck did these embarrassing words come from?! He wanted to shut up and die immediately but it was like his mouth had a mind of its own.
“Your face," Shut up shut up shut up, "You must have gotten it from her.”
He was rambling now, why won’t the words stop. He couldn’t stop the next words to blow full force and propel him into orbit in humiliation—
"So she must have been really beautiful."
Just like you.
“—And then he said Mama was beautiful, then he ran away screaming!”
"I'm so sorry, it was probably because of the burnt chicken soup, it's my fault!"
Loid chokes on his coffee, it was bad luck that he had been assigned a mission across town that he’d missed out on an opportunity to observe Damian Desmond in close proximity. And now this?!
He supposes that this could be a sign of a good development for plan B, but still, he couldn’t get rid of the burning urge to confront the boy. Maybe talk to him in a civilized fashion. He nods, it was for the sake of the mission after all.
As usual, Yor seems to have a sixth sense when it comes to his own thoughts. She hands him his second cup of coffee with a warm smile. His heart skips a beat for a split second when their hands brush over the mug.
"Don't worry about it Loid," she glances at Anya, "Anya is already making such good friends. Damian is a good kid."
"You think so?"
Yor nods, "I wish I could have talked to him more," she trails off, "I don't know why, but he reminded me of Yuri, just a bit." She remembers the same determined look in the boy she watched grow up over the years. The determination to prove themselves against the world. She sees the same determination burning in Anya's new friend.
Loid supresses a shudder at the mention of his (pretend) wife's brother.
"Ma, is Anya beautiful?" He hears Anya ask Yor over a cup of hot cocoa.
"Very beautiful Anya, you have such lovely hair and sparkly eyes." Yor gushes. Loid smiles at the genuine praise he could hear from his (pretend) wife's words.
From the corner of his eyes, he sees Anya softly pet her hair, her cheeks flush pink, and she had a shy smile on her face…
Damian Desmond was definitely someone he shouldn't have underestimated.
Yes, a confrontation with the Desmond boy would be good. He thinks. For the mission, definitely.