Chapter Text
The first thing Damian sees upon opening his eyes are the bright rectangular lights of an unfamiliar classroom ceiling, the white illumination a sharp contrast against the dark evening sky that peaked in through the nearby window. Thoroughly alarmed by the lack of daylight, not to mention the severe pounding in his head, he raises an arm off the large desk he laid atop of and inspects his wristwatch, the time an undeniable 8:45pm.
‘It can’t be,’ he squabbles, not believing his eyes. He rubs the cold crystal glass of the expensive watch with his thumb, praying that he had simply read wrong.
Damian was the kind of person that took deep pride in his punctuality. Growing up as an aspiring politician, he found it necessary to be on time and put together. In his opinion, an individual’s promptness was a skill that informed the public of a person’s reliability and dependability. Always adhering to this logic, never has Damian been late to a meeting, dinner, or any sort of event really, always being actively aware of the time of day.
… that is, until today. Unfortunately for him, his mind was not playing tricks this time around, a second look at his watch confirming that it was a quarter to nine.
‘How irresponsible, I can’t believe was out for a whole 2 hours!’
Now fully awaken, largely thanks to his immense state of shock, Damian removes his focus from his wristwatch to take a closer look at his immediate surroundings. He takes the room in, hoping to ground himself in one form or another before losing his last string of sanity. His gaze slowly moves from the empty student desks on his left to the large glass windows directly in front of him that continued to provide a glimpse of the cloudy evening sky. Finally he scans the dusty chalkboard on his right, making out a “Welcome to homeroom” written on the green board in beautiful cursive lettering.
Based on everything he’s observed since his recent awakening so far, Damian infers that he is inside a classroom likely designed for primary students, the desks being far too small to fit your average adult. However, he couldn’t remember why he would be inside a school at his age, especially on a Friday no less.
He attempts to study the remaining writing on the board, confident that he would find more clues as to where exactly he was. He slides his body closer to the edge of the desk, trying his best to get a better view of the chalkboard, looking for a mascot, logo, anything that could give him insight as to which school he was currently at.
But while in the midst of moving closer to the board, a slight shift of his arm accidentally elbows a nameplate facedown, causing a nearby stack of papers to float in the air for a second before scattering across the desk’s large surface. Never one to be leaving a mess in his wake, also believing that tidiness and organization were important skills to uphold as a politician, Damian shifts his attention towards the sprawled sheets. He rolls onto his side to face the clutter head on, long nimble fingers gathering the papers in his hands, the activity giving him a familiar sense of deja vu.
He organizes each sheet one by one, observant eyes inspecting the penmanship of each paper. As it turns out, he was sifting through some ungraded essays written by relatively young students, the numerous amount of grammatical errors and wonky lettering being a dead giveaway of their age. Damian softly grins at the writing, the simple mistakes reminding him of his own from when he was a student at Eden.
Deeply immersed in his own nostalgia, he no longer spends any attention in reading the remaining essays and continues to compile them together. Once thoroughly pleased with his organization of the papers, Damian carefully places the stack of essays back in their original spot, after which he reaches out a hand to lift up the fallen nameplate.
Out of pure curiosity, he raises the bronze item up to his face to see the engraved name and, much to his disbelief, it reads a prominent “Ms. Anya Forger” of all people. Damian, although still a bit dazed from his recent unconsciousness, is able to connect the dots together, swiftly coming to the conclusion that he was in Donovan’s homeroom, having laid atop Anya’s desk likely for the majority of the time he was out.
‘How utterly inelegant, to think that she saw me in such a state,’ a he scolds himself, gently resting the nameplate where it once proudly stood before rolling onto his back, resting his arms along his sides. He takes a moment to steady his breath, mind deep in thought.
He supposes that, since he’s already apologized for Donovan’s behavior, there was no longer a reason for his continued presence at the school. He decides it best to try and find Ms. Forger if she was still on the premises, thank her for her time, and head off back to his estate to finish up some leftover paperwork.
Now armed with a new plan of action, Damian pushes himself up with his arms, effectively raising his torso off the polished wooden desk, and assumes a seated position, legs dangling over the desk’s edge. However, while shifting himself upright he senses something unusual, the current sensation of bunched up of fabric in his lap foreign to him. He tilts his head down, only to witness one of the most ridiculous items of clothing he has ever seen.
‘This isn’t mine,’ he realizes, rubbing the frilly fabric between pinched fingers. During his limited time awake he had been so focused on his surroundings that he failed to take into account his own current state.
‘This is most certainly not from my closet. I’m not sure that in any universe I would purchase something as… unique as this.’
And to be fair, one could arguably say that the pattern of the frilly apron wouldn’t be most people’s first choice. Sprawled across the white woven threads and colorful blobs of dried paint was a strange peanut pattern unlike anything he had witnessed.
Underneath the silly apron, Damian still wore his pants and collared long-sleeve shirt which, interestingly enough, seemed to be sporadically missing a few front buttons here and there without any rhyme or reason. Missing from his attire were his shoes, socks, and suit jacket, but before he could question the situation further, a nearby figure interrupts his incoming train of thoughts.
“Good afternoon, or rather, good evening Mr. Desmond.”
Damian immediately sits up as straight as a pin needle, turning his body towards the calm voice behind him, coming face to face with none other than Loid Forger. The first grader was casually sitting in a student desk directly behind him, finishing up what looked to be some math exercises from a workbook.
“You’re lucky not to be in a hospital Pops. For a second there you weren’t looking too good,” the student remarks, never looking up from his equations. “And if you’re wondering where mama is, she went to the teacher’s lounge to fetch more water. She’s doing everything in her power to avoid getting fired on charges of manslaughter,” he continues, writing a neat 72 on the page with his pencil, the sound of led on paper echoing throughout the classroom.
All the meanwhile, Damian is unsure of how to react.
“Thank you for… your concern Loid, it warms my heart to know that you care,” Damian politely responds back, embarrassed that he had caused such a commotion for the Forger duo. “I’m feeling much better now, so I won’t take up any more of your time. I’m sure you and your mother want to head back home to the rest of your household. I deeply apologize for the inconvenience I caused you both.”
Loid lifts his head up from his math set, a puzzled look sprawled on his face. “What are you talking about?”
Damian lifts an eyebrow in confusion. “Well, I’m awake and able bodied, so let’s get you home. I’m sure dinner must already be waiting for you. Hopefully by the time you arrive it’s still somewhat warm. I myself could sure go for a Hamburg steak.”
But the first grader doesn’t say anything in return, simply moving his focus back to his math sets. The quiet stillness that ensued afterward was deafening to say the least, the soft ticking of his wristwatch and the scratching sounds of pencil marks being the only audible noise in the room.
A few awkward minutes later, Loid interrupts the silence. “There’s no one waiting…” he quietly mumbles out. “It’s just me and mama.”
…‘Is that so?’
“I see. Then, if I am not mistaken, it is only you and Ms. Forger in your home?“ Damian asks, discreetly attempting to confirm his new tidbit of information on the Forger household.
“Did your fever damage your eardrums? That’s what I just said old man. You must still be pretty sick huh?” Loid bluntly snaps back, lazily waving a hand in front of Damian’s face to gage his level of consciousness.
Damian rolls his eyes at the boy’s behavior. ‘I don’t know about a fever, perhaps lovesick is more like it?’ he admits in his head, cheeks burning at the mere thought. Damian was smart enough to realize he developed a slight crush on the teacher from the first day he met her at Eden, attracted by her charming personality and carefree nature, not to mention her stunning beauty. Most of the woman he had met or been introduced to in the past were posh socialites who only cared about his family name. But Anya, she was different. Her cheerful attitude was the complete opposite to that of the snooty nobles from his upbringing, a walking ball of sunshine as some might put it.
Admittedly, the whole misunderstanding of Anya having some version of nuclear family threw him for a loop, him feeling shameful for harboring inklings of romantic emotions towards a supposedly married woman. But, since that was not the case, Damian felt far more at ease and confident regarding his feelings for the young teacher.
Just as he was about to ask Loid another question pertaining to his home life, Anya bursts into the room, scrambling her way over to the large desk with a shaky grip on a cone-shaped cup from a water cooler. She rushes over to where Loid sat, shoes skidding loudly on the tile, nearly tripping on the waxed marble floor due to her hurry.
“Loid, did you ever figure out what the Trendelenburg position is? If I remember correctly, I’m pretty sure we just need to lift up- M-Mr. Desmond you’re awake!” she stutters out upon seeing a sitting Damian on her desk. A warm smile assumes her face as a wave of relief runs throughout her entire body. She was looking visibly much more relaxed, the pent up tenseness in her shoulders loosening up on seeing him alive and well.
“For such an elite school, you’d think they could at least afford cups that you can set down on a table,” she comments, handing him the water-filled cone, fingers lightly grazing one another’s, “but I’m glad to see you’re looking better!”
Damian let’s out a hearty laugh at her comment, chugging the ice cold water before speaking. “I’m feeling a lot better too, probably all thanks to your bedside skills,” he lightly teases back, earning a giggle and the slightest pink flush from Anya that you would barely be able to notice from afar.
“You’re far too kind Mr. Desmond. Medicine has never been my strong suit, truly. I promise I’m far more suited for teaching,” she says with a bright smile, making Damian’s heart thump at the sight.
On the other end of the scene, a grumpy Loid doesn’t partake in the jolly atmosphere, standing up from his desk with both arms crossed.
“Pardon me for raining on your parade Pops, but the night bus is supposed to come soon and I’m not looking to wait with mama half an hour at the station for the next one,” he interrupts, tapping his foot on the ground in frustration.
And to that, Anya moves her gaze from Damian’s grinning face to the classroom clock, eyes widening at seeing the hour.
“Unfortunately it seems Loid does have a point Mr. Desmond, I’m afraid we must be off. I don’t tend to leave the school grounds this late and I don’t want to risk running into any shady individuals, you know?” she reluctantly explains, gathering her items into her large handbag.
It was at this moment that Damian swears he witnessed the spark in her beautiful emerald eyes dim, a sight that he felt definitely needed remedying.
‘Could this be opportunity ringing?’ he silently debates in his head, observing Anya collect her things. ‘I mean, I do have a car on campus, but would it be inappropriate to drive a young lady at this hour? But on the other hand, it would be unbefitting of a gentleman to let the two of them walk around the streets of Berlint this late at night, especially at the transportation station no less.’
Without further mental deliberation, Damian turns to face Anya.
“Ms. Forger, as a thanks for your hospitality and care this afternoon, I insist on driving you and your son back home, if you’re comfortable of course. It’s the least I can do after all the trouble I put you both through.”
“The only vehicle you should be allowed in is an ambulance,” interjects Loid, causing Damian to lose any sense of regained confidence he had. Between his own nephew and now the Forger child, he had never been so disrespected by two first graders in the entirety of his existence. It was a truly humbling day for him to say the least.
Damian takes in a deep breath to try and keep his cool. He was a Desmond after all, and Desmonds shouldn’t overreact to such silly commentary, especially from today’s youth. He decides instead to try and fix the atmosphere with some lighthearted small talk.
“Are you by any chance friends with Donovan? You two sure seem to share the same sense of humor.”
Loid only narrows his eyes at Damian’s question. “Donovan Desmond is a threat to society,” he responds with unshakeable conviction, making Damian want to crawl into a hole out of mortification for even having asked the question. If anything, it appears he only made Loid’s mood worse, the boy glaring daggers at him. A worried Anya quickly steps in to try and explain her son’s sharp tongue.
“Loid is a kid who tends to appreciate, as he calls it, ‘world peace’ and quietness in the classroom. Donovan’s political standoff the other day somewhat of unsettled him and now Loid has been going on about how your nephew’s ‘war’ will put the safety of our country in jeopardy,” she finishes, twirling a strand of her hair out of embarrassment. “It’s silly, I know, he has a big imagination. He’s usually much more mature than this…” she trails off.
“It’s no worries. Just caught me a bit off guard is all,” Damian reassures, gaining some color back in his face. “And Loid, I already had a stern talking with my nephew about his outburst, but I’ll make sure he personally apologizes to you as well.”
The younger Forger only lets out a hmph in response, not yet convinced by the adult’s words. He shuts closed his math workbook and makes his way over to Anya’s side, nonchalantly giving her the book so she could pack it down into her handbag.
“Well, now that that’s all settled, let’s head on over to your car Mr. Desmond, if the offer still stands that is,” Anya suggests while slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Loid being this grumpy can only mean he must be tired and would certainly benefit from bedtime.”
“Of course, but first things first Ms. Forger, I don’t think I should go anywhere out wearing this,” he states, untying the frilly crafting apron from around his neck. “And where are the remainder if my clothes? At a bare minimum I would prefer to be walking around in shoes.”
“Oh, that stuff? I threw your fancy suit and shoes in the school dryers. They were so damp and musty that I figured a quick dry cycle could get rid of most of he water. You probably could’ve gotten pneumonia otherwise,” the first grader proudly announces with a puffed chest, expecting some sort of praise for his quick thinking.
Damian sighs to himself, no longer having the energy to entertain the situation further. ‘There will be a few wrinkles and creases no doubt, but I suppose that’s better than going outside barefoot.’
“In that case, let’s head off to the laundry rooms, shall we?”