Rival Offline (Anya Forger x Damian Desmond)

Chapter Thirty: I can't reach you

Anya struggled to find the right moment to approach Damian. Every time she gathered the courage, someone else would swoop in, bombarding him with questions about his upcoming marriage. She watched from her desk, frustration building as he was surrounded by people, their voices mixing with her own swirling thoughts.

Anya's head pounded, the overwhelming noise of voices and thoughts swirling around her, blurring into a cacophony. She fumbled through her bag, her hands shaking as she searched frantically for her suppressants.

"Come on... come on," she muttered under her breath, her frustration mounting as her fingers brushed against everything except the pills she so desperately needed.

Her heart sank when she realized they weren't there. "Dammit," she whispered, zipping her bag shut in defeat. She could feel the pressure building, the unfiltered thoughts of everyone in the room crashing down on her like waves.

Becky noticed her distress. "Anya? Are you okay?" she asked, her tone laced with concern.

Anya forced a smile, though her vision blurred. "Yeah, just... a little headache. I'll be fine." But she knew this wasn't something she could just push through easily.

--

Damian, barely paying attention to the crowd around him, caught sight of Anya. She looked pale, her eyes slightly unfocused as she spun in her seat. His chest tightened at the sight—something was wrong.

Ewen and Emile had managed to disperse the curious students, standing firm in their defense of Damian. "No more questions, alright?" Ewen said sternly, waving the last few stragglers away.

Damian approached Anya's desk, Emile and Ewen standing guard beside him.

"Damian! How are you?" Becky asked sweetly, trying to mask her curiosity.

"Forger? You okay? You don't look good," Damian said, concern etched across his face.

"Yeah... just... a headache," Anya struggled to reply, placing her forearms firmly on the table. "I'm great!" she insisted, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Damian narrowed his eyes, clearly unconvinced by Anya's forced smile. He glanced over at Becky, who was hovering with a look of concern, and then back at Anya. "You don't look 'great,'" he muttered, his voice laced with a rare softness.

"Really, I'm fine," Anya insisted, her hands still pressing into the desk as if to ground herself. Her head was buzzing with the overload of thoughts from everyone around them, and the fact that she didn't have her suppressants was making it worse. She needed to stay calm, but Damian's presence wasn't helping—especially not with how worried he suddenly seemed.

"Headache or not, you're a terrible liar," Damian said under his breath, moving a little closer, ignoring the prying eyes of everyone around him, Emile and Ewen doing their best to shield their view of him.

"Anya, you really don't look good. Damian, watch over her; I'll get some water," Becky said before darting off.

"I—" Anya started, but Becky was already gone. "I'm fine," she insisted, though her voice lacked conviction. She couldn't quite describe what was happening to her; if she did, she feared she might be shipped off to a lab.

Anya felt her head getting lighter and lighter, the noise of the classroom fading into a distant hum. She blinked slowly, trying to keep her focus on Damian's worried face, but the edges of her vision blurred, and the world began to spin. It felt like she was sinking into a void, her body heavy and unresponsive.

"Oi, Anya, are you okay?" Damian asked, shaking her slightly, his voice echoing with concern.

But she couldn't respond. Her eyelids grew heavy, and before she knew it, darkness enveloped her.

"She's out cold," Ewen said, his voice laced with alarm.

"We need to get her to the nurse's office," Damian said, a hint of urgency in his tone as he looked around, searching for a solution.

"Pick her up, Damian, come on!" Emile urged, already moving to help.

Damian hesitated for just a moment, then knelt beside her desk, gently sliding his arms under her to lift her. She felt weightless in his embrace, her head resting against his shoulder as he stood up. The classroom buzzed with hushed whispers, but all he could focus on was the warmth of her body and the unsettling sense of responsibility weighing on him.

"Let's move," Ewen said, taking the lead as they navigated through the stunned classmates. Damian felt the heat of her against him, and despite the worry gnawing at him, he couldn't help but feel a sense of protectiveness.

As they made their way toward the nurse's office, a wave of anxiety washed over him. The stares of students around him pierced through the air like arrows, their whispers forming a cacophony that drowned out everything else. He could hear snippets of their conversation, accusations of being "unfaithful" to his fiancée, a girl he hadn't even met yet.

"Look at him, carrying her like that," one student whispered, their tone laced with judgment.

"Isn't he supposed to be marrying Annalise?" another chimed in, the words dripping with condescension.

Damian's grip on Anya tightened, an instinctual response to shield her from their prying eyes. He felt anger bubbling within him, not just for their comments, but for the situation that had him trapped. His father's demands, the impending marriage, and now the judgment of his peers—it was all too much.

"Just ignore them," Emile said, catching Damian's eye as they rounded a corner. "They don't know anything."

Damian nodded but felt his heart racing. Each step toward the nurse's office felt like a march through the battlefield of his emotions. All he could focus on was Anya's peaceful face, a stark contrast to the chaos around them. He needed to get her help, and more than that, he needed to figure out how to navigate this mess of expectations and obligations that threatened to suffocate him.

Looking at her frail, weak state struck something deep within him. It was a feeling he was unaccustomed to, an instinct to protect her flaring to life like a flame igniting in the dark. In that moment, surrounded by the whispers and judgmental gazes, he realized the truth that had been lurking beneath the surface all along: he was in love with her.

It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. Anya was different; she was a breath of fresh air in his suffocating world. The way she saw through his facade, how she embraced her own quirks with a confidence he admired, made her special in a way he had never encountered before. This wasn't just some passing crush or infatuation. It was something profound that made him want to shield her from everything that threatened her.

"Damian, are you okay?" Ewen asked, his voice cutting through Damian's thoughts as they arrived at the nurse's office.

Damian nodded, though he felt anything but okay. "Just... focus on Anya," he replied, his voice low and resolute. He gently laid her down on one of the nurse's beds, brushing a few stray hairs from her face. Her skin felt cool to the touch, and his heart tightened at the sight.

"Why does this matter to you so much?" he thought, his internal struggle surfacing. The truth was, it mattered more than he ever thought possible. Anya had broken through the walls he had built so carefully around his heart, and now that they were down, he couldn't help but want to keep her close.

As the nurse rushed in, checking Anya's vitals and murmuring reassurances, Damian stepped back, feeling a mix of helplessness and determination wash over him. He would protect her. No matter the cost. This was a battle he was willing to fight for someone who had unknowingly become his everything.