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The soft afternoon light filtered through the curtains of Damian's room at Eden. Anya was seated atop him, her hands braced against his chest for balance as she moved with a rhythm she'd learned over time.
At first, all of this had felt strange. Very strange. When Damian had asked her to be his girlfriend two years ago, she'd agreed because... well, because it made sense. He was always there. He was always thinking of her. His mind was a constant stream of "Anya, Anya, Anya" that never ceased, even when they were surrounded by other people.
At school parties, while other girls tried to get his attention, Damian only thought:
"Where's Anya? Is she having fun? Should I get her a drink?"
It was... comforting. Predictable. And Anya appreciated consistency.
"Sy-on boy," she murmured now, moving a little faster the way he'd taught her. "Is this okay?"
Damian didn't answer immediately. His hands were gripping her hips firmly, his knuckles white from the pressure. His hazel eyes were fixed on her with an intensity Anya had learned to recognize but not necessarily understand.
"Perfect. She's perfect. Every movement. Every breath. Only her. Only Anya. No one else exists. No one else has ever existed. Just her on top of me, around me, filling every corner of my mind."
"It's perfect," he managed to say, his voice hoarse. "Everything you do is perfect, Anya."
She smiled, pleased with the response. She liked it when he praised her. She liked knowing she was doing it right.
This part of their relationship had been an adjustment. At first, when Damian suggested they shower together, Anya thought it was a weird joke.
"Why would you want to do that, Sy-on boy?" she'd asked, genuinely confused.
And his thoughts had been so... intense:
"I want to see her. Touch her. Be close to her in every way possible. I need her to know she's mine. That she'll always be mine."
Anya had to calm him down that time, stroking his hair and telling him it was okay, that they didn't need to rush. She'd eventually agreed, of course, because it was important to him. And Damian was always so good to her, indulging her every whim, taking her wherever she wanted to go, buying her whatever she wanted.
It was only fair to reciprocate.
And this—this physical act they now performed with relative frequency—had become just another extension of their relationship. Like holding hands or kissing. Just more... intense. More intimate.
Anya shifted again, finding an angle she'd discovered a few weeks ago that made Damian tremble. She felt him tense beneath her.
"Do you like that?" she asked with genuine curiosity, as if she'd discovered an interesting fact in a textbook.
"She's killing me. She's going to kill me. I can't think. I can't breathe. Only her. The warmth of her body. The way she looks at me without truly understanding what she's doing to me. That innocence in her eyes while she completely unravels me."
"Yes," Damian exhaled, his hands gripping her tighter. "I like it. Everything about you, I like."
Anya leaned forward, her hands still on his chest, bringing her face close to his. Her pink hair fell like a curtain around them both.
"Sy-on boy, you're so intense sometimes," she said with a small smile. "But I guess that's okay."
What Anya didn't notice—what she never seemed to notice—was the gleam in her own eyes. The flush on her cheeks that wasn't just from physical exertion. The way her breath hitched, how her body responded to his in ways that went beyond simple mechanics.
Damian saw it all. He cataloged it. He treasured it.
"She's close. I can feel it. Even if she doesn't recognize it yet. Her body knows me. It responds to me. Those little gasps she makes without realizing. The way her pupils dilate when she looks at me. She's feeling something. Something beyond friendship. She just needs to realize it."
"Anya," he said, his voice trembling. "Look at me."
She obeyed, her green eyes meeting his with that absolute trust she'd always had in him.
"What is it?" she asked.
"I love you," Damian said, as he often did, even though he knew she never said it back the same way.
Anya smiled, kissing him softly on the lips.
"I know, Sy-on boy. You're so good to me."
"Someday you'll say it back. Someday you'll understand this isn't just friendship. That what you feel for me runs deeper than you want to admit. I can wait. I'll wait my whole life if I have to."
The rhythm changed. Damian began to move beneath her, guiding her with his hands on her hips. Anya followed his lead, trusting that he knew what he was doing.
And then she felt that sensation she'd learned to recognize. That warmth spreading from her core, making her muscles tense, her breath catch.
"Sy-on boy," she gasped, not fully understanding what was happening to her own body. "Something's..."
"It's okay," he murmured, his eyes never leaving hers. "Let it happen, Anya. Trust me."
And she did. Because she always trusted him.
The pleasure hit her suddenly, making her shudder above him. Her hands dug into his chest as she tried to maintain her balance, little sounds escaping her lips without her permission.
Damian held her as she trembled, his own thoughts a whirlwind of devotion and desire:
"Beautiful. Perfect. Mine. Only mine. No one else will ever see her like this. No one else will ever have her like this. Anya. My Anya."
When he finally reached his own climax, it was with her name on his lips and in his mind, a constant mantra that never ended.
Anya collapsed onto his chest, exhausted but satisfied in a way she couldn't explain. Damian wrapped his arms around her, kissing her hair, her forehead, any part of her he could reach.
"You're so good to me, Sy-on boy," she murmured against his chest. "That's why you're my favorite boyfriend."
Damian chuckled softly, though his thoughts were more serious:
"I'm your only boyfriend. And I'll be your only everything. Your husband someday. The father of your children. I'll wait until you realize you love me as much as I love you. Because you will. I'm certain you will."
"Rest for a bit," he said aloud, stroking her back. "Then we can go get those macarons you wanted."
"Really?" Anya lifted her head, her eyes shining with excitement. "You're the best!"
And as she snuggled against him, completely content with their arrangement, Damian watched her with a devotion that bordered on obsession.
Someday, she would understand. Someday, she would realize that what she felt for him wasn't just appreciation or comfortable friendship. It was love. She just needed time to realize it.
And Damian had all the patience in the world.
Because for him, no one else existed. No one else ever had.
Only Anya.
Always only Anya.
Two Years Later.
Anya was in their shared apartment, looking at an old photograph from when they first started dating. Damian was behind her, making tea.
Something had changed in recent months. She'd started noticing things. The way her heart beat faster when he entered a room. How she looked for his face in a crowd. The way his absence physically ached.
"Sy-on boy," she said softly. "Do you remember when you asked me to be your girlfriend?"
"Of course," he replied, approaching with their teacups.
"I... I think I finally understand why I said yes," she said, turning to look at him. "It wasn't just because you were good to me."
Damian watched her, waiting, his heart beating with anticipation.
"I think... I think I love you, Damian," Anya whispered, her cheeks flushed. "Truly. Not just as a friend. Like... like how you love me."
For a moment, Damian couldn't move. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face. He set the cups aside and wrapped his arms around her.
"I knew this day would come. I knew you'd understand. My Anya. Finally my Anya in every way."
"I've been waiting for you," he murmured against her hair. "You're worth every second of the wait."
And when they kissed this time, it was different. Because Anya was finally there with him. Completely. Without reservation.
Just as he'd always known she would be.