Under the trees: Misha/Damian
Misha was running late some, but he knew Damian would wait on him. He'd been at the university, pleading with his professors to give him a second chance. He knew, and sure as anything, that he could ask Damian to talk to them for him, but he wanted to do it himself. It was his daddy's talking that had put him right and made him want to try again, and he was hoping his daddy and Damian would help some with David, so that he, Misha, had time to catch up with everything he'd missed. That had been the professor's caveat, see, that he make it up on his own time, and he wasn't even going to cheat 'bout it and turn back clocks or freeze time when he needed it. He was going to try to do it fair and like other folks, and so he was running late.
The sky was starting to promise lightening, but the party was still plenty crowded, and the bonfire was still bright as hellfire. Misha, he didn't stop to get nothing to drink. He glanced 'round for Damian, but it was the music he walked toward. Down, 'neath the trees and where couples were pressed close and necking. He was carrying a bag and still dressed how he went to school, but he let the bag drop 'gainst a tree trunk, and he lingered near, 'neath twinkling lights, and whispering at Damian in his head. Psssst, in mental breadcrumbs every few seconds, beckoning the boy to where the tree's leaves curved down like lovers' arms.
And, once he reckoned he'd crooked his mental finger 'nough for following, he leaned on back against the thick trunk, white shirt catching on bark, ankles crossed and arms crossed too, and pale blue eyes real bright in that twinkle-light glow.