𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍- ★彡[ᴀɴʏᴀ x ᴅᴀᴍɪᴀɴ]★彡

𝒁𝒘𝒐𝒍𝒇

NOTE: Zwölf is the correct spelling of the number twelve in German, but for some reason it just does not work with any font changers.

Damian had once again found himself buried deep in the article on the 'five stages of love,' perplexed at his current situation. He reread the article over and over again, scanning the familiar text as if it would help him find some clarity on his murky emotions. He let out an exasperated sigh as there were no changes in his mental state after thirty excruciating minutes.

He failed to understand Anya and her strange antics, but his emotions were infinitely more difficult to make sense of. Lost in thought, he let out a small sigh and folded up the article, shoving it back into the drawer he had hidden it in.

It was not unusual for him to interact with others considering his status, and most often revered him as if he were on a different plane of existence from them. Whenever they spoke to him, Damian got the feeling that rather than appealing to him as a person, they were trying to appeal to his status. From a young age he fully grasped the social manners of high society and how this shallow behavior didn't necessarily make or break a person in terms of their morality.

But for some reason, he found himself not wanting that sort of shallow relationship with her. He wanted for her to look at him for just who he was without attaching their circumstances onto the relationship.

Ugh, I feel like I'm gonna vomit. Lurching forward, Damian covered his mouth with his hand to prevent himself from barfing up his embarrassment. I can't believe some stupid peanut girl is messing me up.

It's not my fault that she's so cu—NOOOOOOOO! She's not. He inwardly scolded himself for letting his thoughts go astray before returning back to deep contemplation about his next best course of action.

Wait. There must be something wrong with my eyes. If so, there's a perfect way to get this all resolved.

Damian sat in the waiting room at an optometrist's office (to be more precise, the best optometrist in Berlint). This was the best way to diagnose exactly what he was experiencing and figure out the best way to resolve it.

When it was finally his turn, he got his eyes examined and stared rather impatiently at the eye doctor, his fists clenched with anticipation.

"Your eyes are fine," the optometrist told him gruffly, "no change since the last time you visited. There are no signs of infection or any of the other concerns you raised when coming here today."

"...What? That cannot possibly be true! There has been a clear issue with my eyesight lately."

"You wrote here that the issue is that you're perceiving something differently in your vision than you normally do, but the eyeballs themselves aren't the only things that contribute to your perception of objects surrounding you. Perhaps it is an issue that a neurologist could handle."

Although Damian was reluctant to accept that there could be something wrong with his brain, he hastily agreed to the optometrist's suggestion and scheduled an urgent appointment with a neurologist.

The neurologist was a middle-aged woman with light blonde hair and bright red glasses that shielded her expression from view. She gazed at him inquisitively, prompting him to discuss what brought him in today.

Not wanting to admit that girl was the cause of his problems, he described the situation as vaguely as possible. "There's an issue with my eyesight and I am unsure what the cause is. I visited an optometrist earlier in the day and they recommended I visit a neurologist to see if the issue has to do with my brain."

"What is the issue with your eyesight?" the neurologist inquired, scribbling down illegible notes on her notepad.

"I'm perceiving certain objects differently than before. My perception of their appearance has changed from how it was before."

'I already found her to be...not bad before, but now it's as if I'm staring directly into the sun' was what he would have said if he had no shred of dignity.

"It could be something psychological. Can you describe how exactly your perception changed? Is it negatively impacting your wellbeing?"

He nodded. "It has been very detrimental to my everyday life. For some reason, the object's change in appearance is so noticeable that I cannot help but stare at it whenever it comes into my line of sight. For some reason, the object appears a lot brighter than before and draws my attention even if I'm trying to avoid looking at her—it. It. I meant it."

The neurologist let out a sigh and muttered something like 'these rich boys' under her breath before turning to him with a stony expression. "I don't think this is a problem that a neurologist can fix. It seems like if you truly want to get rid of this issue, then you should see a therapist."

"A t-therapist?!" Damian stammered, taken aback. "Well then, I suppose you must've figured out the issue. Would you care to enlighten me? I'm not quite picking up what you're putting down." He realized he was being quite rude, but he was so impatient to hear what the issue was that he didn't care.

"Well, it's rather simple," the neurologist continued, "you've just gained romantic interest in a girl."

The world seemed to stop turning. Damian felt as if he was spiraling down to the depths of the earth's core as he sat in the neurologist's stiff chair, his arms glued to the armrests. The universe seemed to open up before his eyes and then promptly dissolve into nothingness, and suddenly he was sitting back in the office with the woman's red glasses staring right back at him.

"You're implying that the reason for this is romantic interest?" Damian scoffed. "That is simply impossible. Perhaps if it was for a more sophisticated, respectable lady, but definitely not for her."

"I'm not a therapist, but your physical body language is heavily suggesting that you possess romantic feelings for whoever you are currently thinking about."

"W-what type of body language?!"

"Stammering, red cheeks, crossed legs, clenched fists, creased brow, pursed lips, red ears—"

"OKAY. I appreciate your consultation," Damian pushed himself to his feet, desperate to be somewhere other than this office that smelled faintly of parmesan cheese. "I hope you have a great day."

He was humiliated. He could feel his face burning up, the realization driving him to insanity. I cannot possibly be in love with that girl.

Not with Anya Forger. 

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