Re: In-person: Misha B/Damian W
[A bit of side-eye.] I am right. [He tried not to appear as if he required any further assuagement, but he must have failed at this, as Misha even attempted to smooth over his guilt at assuagement in the first place. Damian was very frustrated with himself, that much was obvious, but he took the words he was given with the eagerness of a child clutching candy to chest.] Okay, [he said again, not precisely realizing the word did not fit as a response.
The man blinked, waiting then for Misha to say he understood that he, Damian, was at fault for this—for the Xanax, for all of it. But, of course, the boy said no such thing. Instead, he did as he always did and he turned it about, so that it was not Damian's fault at all. The man frowned, a fissure between dark brows, a split on dark lips, but he was willing to take whatever culpability he could get. When he was told he was responsible for today, he nodded once more. He did not believe Misha. Of course he did not. He saw his fingerprints on more than just today, but he did not argue, however much he wanted to. He told himself what he thought did not matter as much as he reckoned it did, not now.—And even as Misha cupped his cheeks and told him he, Damian, did not make him feel as if he, Misha, was not allowed to have issues, still the man was skeptical. He knew how he appeared. Whatever he said, his actions likely betrayed him. Yes, he asked for the angel to speak with him, but when he did, when he tried, he, Damian, did as he had earlier. Surely that sent a message. Tears were rolling fatly down his cheeks by the time Misha lifted his chin, asserting that helping made him, Misha, feel useful.] Okay, [he half-croaked, wincing at the pathetic sound of his own voice. In the end, he could not keep his damn tongue as well as he meant to.] I do not think you are right, but okay.
[He fought a little more, a little harder, when he asserted:] You have not LOST ME. I am here! [This was not the point, but it did seem important. Damian's expression was growing more desperate, but he did not look away, not when Misha ducked his head to catch his gaze. Again, it was not the point, but still he asked:] So you do like how they make you feel? [Perhaps he had hoped... perhaps he had hoped Misha would not be able to stand the distance he himself so coveted. Perhaps he had hoped he would be enough, though it was hypocritical. He shook his head, hating that he had brought them to this point. Hating, hating, hating, hating. And not unaware of the fact that Misha was once again talking about him, rather than any of his admissions from moments before. Fuck.
Damian did not resist being pulled into the familiar embrace. He looked at the ring of jade on Misha's finger and he reached to touch it as the angel spoke into his ear. He was still trying to quell his urge to cry. He did this passably.] You will always come first for me, [he replied haughtily, though he did not feel haughty in the least.] But you do not allow yourself to lean on me. [He let his head fall forward in a slump as Misha nosed at him.] Okay. I was not either, for the record. [Even the overdose, it would be an accident. Damian swallowed hard again, struggling to get past the knot in aching, burning throat. He reached away from ring to touch Misha's cheek. He said nothing.]