Blushing mess heir

Bond barged into Anya's room and pulled her blanket, barking, "Borf! Borf!"

Anya, still half-asleep, mumbled, "Huh? What is it, Bond? What are you doing here so early?"

Bond fetched the alarm clock and barked again. Anya stared at it blankly — until she took it and finally registered the time.

"Holy shit! Is this clock even working?! What's with this time?! Oh no — I'm gonna get detention and Papa is gonna leave me!"

She bolted to the bathroom.

Meanwhile, Loid — who was up late last night handling a mission — just wakes up. He sees Anya rushing around and realizes she's going to be late for school. He checks the time, then quickly changes his clothes while grumbling under his breath about his chaotic daughter.

From the kitchen, Yor's voice rings out: "Breakfast is ready! Come and get it!"

Anya, now in her uniform, rushes into the kitchen and says, "Sorry Mama, I'm just gonna have these two toasts. That's it!" She grabs them.

Loid comes rushing in. "I'll have mine after I drop Anya and come back." The toast is already gone. He grabs his keys and drags Anya out the door — while she still has one toast in her mouth and the other in her hand.

Loid drives fast. Very fast. Anya sits in the back, desperately trying to chew her peanut butter toast.

"Phew, we're here," Loid says. "I'm not gonna let this slide. I'll talk to you this evening. Now go!"

Anya looks up, surprised. "What?! Already?! I only finished one of my toasts—" she mutters, grabbing her bag, keeping the other toast firmly in her mouth, and hurrying out of the car.

She turns and waves at Loid. He drives off.

As she spins back around —

She bumps into something. A wall? No... strangely soft.

She falls to the ground.

Looking up, she realizes it's not a wall at all.

It's the second son of the Desmond family, looking down at her with a half-annoyed, half-amused smirk. A faint blush dusts his cheeks.

"Still can't walk properly, Forger?"

But Anya isn't listening to his words. She's listening to his thoughts.

"She fell again. Of course she fell. Why am I not surprised? ...Why is she looking at me like that? Stop looking at me. Your eyes are too big. I hate it. I don't hate it. I hate that I don't hate it—"

Anya blinks.

"Is that peanut butter on her nose? That's disgusting. ...It's kinda cute. NO. It's NOT cute. Shut up, brain."

Damian's face is burning.

"Why am I still standing here? Just walk away. Walk away, Damian. ...Her hand is right there. Don't look at her hand. I'm not looking. I looked."

Anya looks up at him, toast still clamped between her teeth, and tries her best to speak:

"Fy-on foy... foo' morning~"

Damian blinks. "…What?"

"Did she just... what did she say? Why is she smiling like that? She knows something. She always knows something. It's creepy. ...It's kinda hot. NO. NOT HOT. WEIRD. I meant weird."

Anya quickly swallows, grins brightly, and tries again: "I said — Sy-on boy! Good morning!"

"She said the nickname. The stupid nickname. Why does my heart do that thing every time?! Stop it. Stop it right now. ...Her eyes are really pretty today. NO. STOP."

Damian's blush deepens. He has no idea she can hear every embarrassing thought.

"Are you going to lie there forever, or what?" he mutters, reaching out his hand.

"Take it take it take it— I mean. I don't care if she takes it. Obviously. ...But please take it."

Anya's smile turns absolutely mischievous. She takes his hand.

"OH GOD SHE'S TOUCHING ME. HER HAND IS SOFT. WHAT DO I DO. ACT COOL. ACT COOL. ...Why is she still smiling?! Does she know?! She can't know. There's no way she knows. Unless— no. That's ridiculous."

"You're thinking very loudly, Second Son," Anya whispers as he pulls her up.

Damian freezes. "…What?"

"Nothing~" she says, peanut butter still on her nose.

"NOTHING?! What does 'nothing' mean?! Why is she like this?! I hate her. I hate her so much. ...That's a lie. I hate that it's a lie."

Anya finally gets to her feet and stares at Damian, who is completely lost in her.

"Peanut butter... on her nose... why is that cute? It shouldn't be cute. It's messy. I hate messy. ...I don't hate this. Why don't I hate this? STOP STARING, DAMIAN."

Anya stops his train of thoughts by asking, "What's wrong? Is there something on my face?"

Damian blinks at her. "Yeah, you have 'ugliness' printed on your face — with a touch of peanut butter."

"Yeah, I mean it! Yes. No. I don't think I mean it. Well, she is ugly, right? She is ugly... I guess. Ugh, this is frustrating. Okay, fine — not that ugly."

Anya looks at him with that knowing smile and opens her mouth. "Where?"

He just stares at her. "Everywhere!! Your ugliness is everywhere!"

Anya looks confused. "I meant the peanut butter." She raises her eyebrows.

"Shit!! This is embarrassing!!"

Damian, who is trying hard not to turn into a tomato, comes back to life as he realizes what she said. "On your nose—"

Just then, the last bell starts ringing.

They share a look. "Stupid! What are you waiting for?! RUN!!" Damian shouts.

Anya doesn't hesitate. She takes off.

They reach the classroom door, both panting heavily.

"Damian Desmond." Damian wheezes, "Here—"

"Anya Forger." She wheezes, "Here—"

As she's about to step in, Damian reaches out and grabs her arm. "Idiot!! Are you gonna go in with that butter still on your nose?!" He wipes her nose with his other hand.

Anya stares at him, a blush spreading across her face. "O-oh... thank you, S-Sy-on boy..."

Damian's blush reaches his ears. He quickly lets go of her arm. "Y-yeah... sorry—"

And he bolts inside, leaving Anya there to stare blankly at him.

She comes in and takes her place beside Becky, who is smirking at her. "What's wrong?" blurts Anya, who is later hit by a chalk from Mr. Henderson.

"Some students are late and yet they have the nerve to chitchat," says Mr. Henderson, glaring at Anya. "Not elegant!"

Anya heard his thought and sat straight up, holding a book in her hands.

But she can't help but notice Damian's confusing thoughts.

"SHITT!! What did I do?? What if she thinks I'm a creep who goes around and cleans everyone's nose??!!"

Anya blinks with a confused look as she hears him think. "Sy-on boy... who the hell would think like that??!!" Anya thinks while palming her face.

Only for Becky to notice.

---

Meanwhile, back at the Forger household...

Loid returned home, still muttering under his breath about tardy daughters and peanut butter stains.

Yor greeted him at the door with a warm smile. "Welcome back! How was the drop-off?"

"Chaotic," Loid said, loosening his tie. "She overslept, barely ate, and ran off with toast hanging out of her mouth like some kind of..." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "That child will be the end of me."

Yor chuckled softly. "She's just energetic. Come, breakfast is ready."

They sat down together at the kitchen table. Yor had prepared a simple morning meal — rice, miso soup, and tamagoyaki.

Loid stared at his plate for a moment. "She's going to be late every day at this rate. I should probably wake her up earlier."

"Or," Yor said gently, "you could let her be a teenager. She's growing up, Loid. A little chaos is normal."

"Normal," Loid repeated, as if tasting the word for the first time. "I wouldn't know much about that."

Yor reached across the table and patted his hand. "None of us would. But we're learning. Together."

Loid looked at her — really looked at her. This woman who wasn't his wife. This girl who wasn't his daughter. This family that wasn't supposed to be real.

And yet.

"Together," he agreed quietly.

They ate in comfortable silence, the morning sun streaming through the kitchen window.

In the living room, Bond let out a soft "borf" and curled back into his bed.

The Forger family — unconventional, chaotic, held together by secrets and lies...

...and somehow, still perfect.

---

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