Damianya One-Shots

Frogs (E)

Damian sniffled, looking out the library window with squinted eyes, a stocked-up nose, and a small bit of flush on his face. It's not that he was sick, but that the outside world was somber and cold. It was beautiful still, the warm spring rain fogging up the windows and making the earth's air seem damp and humid—yet it was strangely serine. Usually, it was gross when the air was like this. It made Damian sweat from the warmth, and the water in the air always made his wool sweaters shrink while he was wearing them.

But today it was nice.

It felt refreshing; not stuffy, but real. It made him feel real. Which made him laugh a bit. What eight-year-old was thinking such philosophical thoughts? He supposed he wasn't just any normal eight-year-old. He was a Desmond, and the Desmond family was anything but normal. Not in a bad way! Normal was the average; kind of like that Forger girl. Desmond was perfect; fitting for an exceptional family. It's what made Desmonds' so exceptional!

Yet still, on days like this, Damian wished he had a family like Anya.

Damian blushed, and not from the humid air. Why was that stupid stubby-legged freak always haunting his mind? She was nothing. Just some stupid commoner with silky pink hair and stunning green eyes.

Those eyes... Ugh, such annoying eyes, were they not? They were like emeralds. Emeralds!!! He supposed it was kind for her to have eyes like emeralds since she'd never own any. Well, maybe she would. It would be nice to gift her an emerald necklace or broach for her birthday.

Wait, what was he thinking?? Why on earth would he give that stupid shrimp a jewel as valuable as an emerald?? She didn't deserve that. He would get it for her to show off his own wealth. Yeah, that's why he wanted to get it so bad. He just wanted to remind her of how impoverished she was, poor thing.

"Lord Damian?" A voice called out. Damian let out a tsk, looking back to his friend Ewen, who was the one who said his name. "What?" He inquired, wanting to look back at the cornflower and grey-colored world, and think to himself as the raindrops splattered against the window. And he didn't want that just to think about Anya! He was thinking about other things too! It just so happened that, at that moment, he was thinking about her. It meant nothing!!!

"You're just staring at the window," Emile laughed out, "We still gotta do our long division before our free period is done."

Damian glanced down at his worksheet. Emile was right, there were still seventeen questions unanswered on his paper. He really didn't want to do them. But, just as he acknowledged earlier, he was a Desmond: Desmonds' are perfect. Who cares about what he wants?

Damian picked up his pencil, scribbling down his formula for question fourteen. But still, even whilst writing his calculations, he couldn't get Anya Forger out of his mind.

She was just... She was just so...

So insufferable!

Really, who did she think she was? Why was she always on his mind? With those stupid, stupid, dumb, emerald eyes. Ugh!! So frustrating!!!

He could imagine what she was doing at that very moment. She had art class this hour—no, he would not explain why he remembered that from the second month of their semester when he was told to deliver some art supplies and he saw her stupid pink hair in the groups of brunets', blonds', and raven-haired brats.

She was probably painting. She loved painting. It probably looked super bad, too. She was really bad at painting.

An unintentional smile forced its way onto Damian's mouth. It was probably a painting of her dog; or maybe of her and her parents; perhaps even one of her and Becky. Maybe one day she'd paint one of her and himself.