Re: [Island to Shore: Dami & Misha]
[If Damian too had his druthers, he would remain as well. It was an impossibility, yes, but it was nice, regardless. It was just them, and no other encroachments. Perhaps it was only physical distance that made it feel so, as, obviously, they had responsibilities, but they seemed less immediate. It was quiet, save for lap of water and the occasional cry of a gull. (The submersible was silent.) The topic was not pretty, but Damian did not feel burdened. He would have much preferred remaining here, talking as they were, even on uncomfortable, horrible memories, than return to dry land and what awaited them there.—Damian understood Misha's desire to a degree. He had missed Mother. It was not the same, but perhaps the similarity was enough.] You were very young. I do not think you have to know. Do you continue to consider such a fate? [Suicide was cowardly, except where honor was preserved. That was about denying someone the chance at defeating you, however, rather than a willful desire to end one's life. But,...] I have thought on it. [Damian gazed at Misha.] Last night, perhaps the imbibed madness invited fixation.
[As it was, he too could have explained what he meant by his comment about not drowning, but he did not. Misha did not ask, so he did not offer. But, that thready smile did create a feeling in his chest that was like pressure. It was not pain. Perhaps it was sadness. He did not know, nor care to see.] I like you, [he said, hoping it might be a comfort. Damian was not very skilled in this particular arena. He reached up, only once, to tug at the black string of his own hoodie, where it sat against Misha's chest (and his own). But, then they embraced and he was too occupied to fidget.
The rocking was useful, but Misha was discrediting himself. As he had said, being near offered a balm itself, and Damian felt better for being in the angel's presence.] I have killed for less. [It was true. There was no pride in the man's voice, nor in the words, but there was not regret either. It was fact.—Then there was some distance, enough to see the whole of Misha's face, and Damian watched lips form words, before moving his gaze upward.] Fine. You may give her my name, if you wish. Perhaps she wishes to seek out vengeance. It is her right.
[Damian did not resist the movement. He trusted Misha to a degree he was not conscious of, as, if it had been anyone else, he would have reacted with anger or the iron memory of muscle.—But, it was Misha. The boy sat at the console, and took Damian down with him, until he was perched upon his lap. Much like a child. And though he ought have objected, he did not. It was a solution to remaining near whilst they took to the mansion to fetch a car to find Misha's so-called victim.
With an air of authority, Damian closed the hatch, and began the careful maneuvering of the vehicle, first down and away from the dock (all light turned to submersion tide), before turning very slowly toward home. Ping backs showed him the floor of the lake, unseen through blurry greenblue behind the window. The man captaining the speedboat shifted some on the angel's lap, as he, stupidly, enjoyed the perch.] I know. [He touched loose fingertips with his own, there against his thigh, only once, before his hands were back on the wheel.] They called me demon spawn, [he told Misha without affect, without a glance.] You must know your god would not look kindly on me, so I do not know how you do.