Re: In-person: Misha B/Damian W
[Loftily.] No. You are. [He swallowed hard as Misha's hand covered his, as he was assured that touching was okay. His expression read as guilty, guilt at being so obvious and guilt at making the boy assuage him now, of all times.] Okay, [was all he said, the word thick in his throat, like it needed swallowing. But, too eagerly, he leaned his cheek into the hand that came up to caress, and he just nodded.
Then, of course, he felt instantly bad for asking Misha to not get rid of the heroin. It felt... abusive or like emotional blackmail or some such, to admit to having it, then to deny the boy the removal of it. Damian bit his bottom lip, his teeth bearing down harder and harder as the angel continued to speak. Blood blanched from delicate skin, as Damian was told precisely what he would say and then had such refuted.] Then you must allow me to take responsibility for getting you to the point where you felt you had to take something to support me adequately. [He cocked his head, cheek against the hand on his shoulder, his gaze urging Misha to look up at him.] After all, I have made you feel as if you cannot have your own issues, without me falling apart, which made you think this was your only option, which means it is my fault, Misha. All of this. Tell me you see that.
[Shame caused Damian to drop his gaze now. He looked away, at nothing, as long as he could bear, until he heard the tears thickening in Misha's words. He looked back up, over, desperation and sadness plain on his face.] Used. I was going to say used. [He had meant 'overdosed,' but Misha's thought process culminating in the idea that the pills had helped made him wish to go back on anything he had said that would allow the boy to reach such a conclusion.] You are not imagining me! [That was the stupid thing he chose to say.] You would—[Confusion muddled him.] You would have tried to hang yourself without the pills? [He had not realized it was so dire.] This is—certainly the pills do something, but I do not know that it is good. You like this feeling? [Fear was brined in every word, fear and expectation. If Damian had made an addict out of his boyfriend, ...well, he would not be surprised, but he would hate himself for it. It was difficult to carry on the conversation after this point. Suddenly, at the idea of a rope, or the alternate path of addiction, Damian did not wish to continue conversing. He wanted the heroin in his pocket.
But, he forced himself to stay where he was. He swallowed down a lurch of tears that tried to force itself up his throat. He let himself be hugged, but he tried to feel none of it.] I want to be strong for you too. Do you not think you have a hard enough battle within yourself without you thinking you cannot lean heavily on me, as well? Why must I come first, in your mind? Why is my battle priority? Why must you subsume yourself for me? I do not want that. I do not want to be the catalyst for this—for you keeping it all in, until you cannot, and then you try to kill yourself. I do not want that.