Green Tea

--- “Good morning, Mr. Desmond!” a voice rang right by his ear. Damian flinched as if he’d been electrocuted. The shock was verbal, of course—but no less dangerous. “Forger…” he breathed out without turning around. “We’re having a tea party today! And we have homework about family. Papa said we’ll make real tea. The green kind!” Anya puffed out her chest proudly, hands on her hips. “And why are you telling me this?” he muttered, blushing, though trying to look indifferent. “Because I chose you!” she announced cheerfully. “You’ll be my… guest. Heehee.” Bacon, eggs, and stress—that’s what Damian usually had for breakfast. But today, his morning was replaced by a wave of panic and an unsteady heartbeat. He could’ve refused. But he didn’t. --- “We’re having a guest?” Yor repeated when Anya burst through the door shouting, “PAPA! MAMA! I’M INVITING DAMIAN!!!” Loid furrowed his brow. “Damian Desmond? The son of my main target?” he whispered like it was a bomb. “He’s handsome, rich, and… my enemy. But today, he’s going to drink tea.” Anya beamed. Yor clapped her hands. “How cute! I’ll bake cookies!” “No! Please no! She’s going to try using wasabi as frosting again!” Loid panicked internally. I need to buy store-bought ones. And… poisoning a Desmond. Tea. Poison. No-no-no! This could look like an assassination attempt! Meanwhile, in Anya’s head: > Tea is the key. Tea brings people together. Papa and Mama must drink tea too. Together. And smile. I’ll watch. < --- The next day, a strange mix of paranoia and baking filled the Forger household. “Yor, I insist: just serve the tea and the store-bought cookies. And please—no chili sauce instead of cherry jam this time…” Loid tried to stay calm. “But it was a surprise…” Yor muttered, clutching her whisk sadly. Anya ran around the apartment with her plush Spy-Dog and a hand-drawn sign: > “Welcome, Damian!” It was drawn in green marker and smelled… like soap? Or mustard? The doorbell rang. Anya jumped. Loid dropped his teacup. Yor rushed to fix her hair. Damian stood at the door like he’d come to face a firing squad. In his hands was a neatly wrapped gift bag, the bow as perfect as his parting. “…I’m here.” “Welcome!” Anya shouted joyfully, dragging him in by the sleeve. “This is our tea evening! We drink tea! Like… aristocrats!” Loid whispered quickly, “Yor, did you make safe tea?” “Of course! Just a little garlic powder. It improves circulation!” Yor said proudly. Loid heard this… and something invisible shattered inside him. --- In the living room, four people sat around a low table. The atmosphere… was tense. “So, Damian… how’s your father doing?” Loid leaned forward to pour tea, his hand trembling slightly. “He’s… fine. He works. A lot.” (Thinking): Why am I here? Why is she looking at me like I’m some fairytale prince?.. Anya giggled and thought: > His hair is shiny in a weird way. Why is that… cute?.. She blushed. He did too. Yor poured the tea—slightly over-steeped green, with a faint scent of… iodized salt? Loid thought: > If he dies—the mission fails. If he survives—probably still fails. I’m trapped. < --- “This tea is… very…” Damian tried to say as he took a sip. SCARY. IT BURNS. THIS IS GREEN FIRE. He screamed internally, but only coughed politely on the outside. “…unique,” he managed, setting the cup down. Anya beamed. Loid choked. Yor was delighted. The mission—hung by a thread. --- A little later, when Damian was leaving, Anya stood by the window, waving goodbye. “He coughed cutely. That means he liked it,” she said proudly. Yor smiled: “I knew garlic was the key.” Loid sat on the couch, eyes blank, thinking: > I’m not a spy. I’m a tea hostage. < ---