Chapter Text
"Bossman, are you okay? You've been rather... spacey recently."
Damian halts mid step, causing Emile and Ewen to swivel back to him with confusion.
"What? I have not! I was just... thinking about the history assignment." His friends nod, appeased.
Can't even think in peace these days, apparently. Damian quickens his pace. He is NOT going to be late again. Now that he has had a taste of detention, he would not like a repeat thank you very much. Detention is for TROUBLEMAKERS, like the Forger girl. No, he would not repeat his tardiness. Never again. (He's thirty minutes early).
The history lesson drags on. The duke was assassinated. Yep. Old news. Damian already knows this entire lesson because he read ahead in the textbook. Can't be too prepared, right?
Apparently you can. This class is a total snoozefest. He wishes he could just faceplant onto his desk and sleep, like Anya is currently doing. But that would ruin his perfect student reputation. Instead, he props his elbow on his desk and rests his chin in his palm. Speaking of Anya.
Damian needs to figure out exactly what her deal is. She's so confusing. He was NOT happy when she hugged him yesterday. He was NOT happy when she wanted him to stay with her. He was NOT happy when she said she wanted to be his friend. He was not.
Even if he wanted to be happy about it, he couldn't be. Because even though he went through all the effort to give her the cakes in person instead of putting them in her locker, she still thought he was a creep.
After they had served their time in detention, Henderson bailed them out and allowed them to eat the teacakes. Then she beamed at him and said they could be good friends. He was confused, because didn't she JUST want to fight him two minutes ago? Then, a fleeting, unwanted thought had crossed his mind-
-and Anya looked at him like he'd just burnt her peanut butter toast. What the heck?! He hadn't even said anything!
... He hadn't even said anything.
Hold. The phone.