Re: In-person: Damian/Burden
They were not over-far from the empty little house; it was only that they had not continued to near it. Burden sat himself upon a dismantled throne of sand, and Damian followed suit. Whether it was ignorance of local custom or desire that had him position himself just beside the shivering boy was of little import at the moment. Damian knew, though, that he did, indeed, desire to take Burden's hand back in his. He could not recall losing it and even that felt as a loss, yes? He ought have felt such.—Yet the boy was shaking, his teeth caught on one another, the chatter of enamel loud. Damian did not have a jacket to offer, but he opted to remove the thin, silky shirt he wore, button by button, his own hands steady as stone, and he was not shy as he shook the item off himself. It was little by way of warmth, but, perhaps it ought help. "Here," he said softly, inherent coolness gelid even in lack of volume. The shirt was shroud, placed upon thin shoulders with gentleness.
It was nighttime, and Damian was certain colder for the lack of his shirt, yet he did not particularly mind it. He had learned long ago how to dissociate his body from his mind (...normally; there had been some exceptions, recently), and, after a second, he did not feel the wind that scoured from the lake. He turned, the blade of his chin upon his shoulder, as he gazed at the house, per Burden's quaking request. He closed his eyes and sighed. He aligned himself back with Burden. He did not think much, as he reached for the boy's shuddering hands and held them between the tectonic layers of his own palms. "I do not know what I feel. It is something strange, to be sure. A vision of a vision of a vision." Green eyes flickered upward to blue. He did not know how it could be, but: "Is nearness to the structure inflicting this?"