Re: Log: Damian/Misha
Misha, he wasn't really expecting Damian to agree 'bout touch being amazing. He reckoned Damian would have some explanation 'bout why touch was soothing, and there was surprised on the pale boy's face when that telling didn't come. His thumb tugged longer at Damian's lower lip as a result, snagged there as Misha tried to figure out his footing. And he never had considered his footing with Damian any. It wasn't a feeling he associated with the other boy, and he let himself feel it some, as if feeling it would give him answers he didn't have. He didn't like it much, this sensation that he could get things wrong just from saying or doing the wrong thing.
He could tell Damian was thinking 'bout things. He could see the thoughts behind them greenish eyes, but he didn't know what they were. He couldn't read a thing. He knew Damian was sweating, and he let himself reason that was on account of wanting his medicine some, and it felt good to think he had some inkling 'bout what was going on here. It occurred to him that he might be real wrong, but it was the only damn thing he had to cling to, so he clung to it. Sitting there, sweaty and dressed ratty with thrift store finds, he clung. "Disassociation," he echoed, forgetting 'bout proper placement of his feet on the minefield that was not knowing what Damian was thinking. "Something new to add to my file." Which, needless to say, came out bitter some. It would be fair to say Misha wasn't doing real well himself, and Damian wasn't wrong 'bout that. He wasn't sure if he wanted to deal with his own issues or not. He was only sure that there didn't never seem to be a good time for it. He shook his head. "I ain't disassociating. I seen folks that do that, and I ain't like that. I ain't got more than one personality." He said it like it was a fact, but there was a question on his face. He was asking without asking, and he was asking just how insane Damian reckoned he, Misha, was just now.
He was almost glad to have the morphine to think on. Almost, because he wasn't glad any, not in the end. Damian shook his head and shoved the pills away, and then he crossed his arms and Misha just sat there at first, closed out and never having faced Damian like this 'fore. Or, if he had, maybe he didn't notice it as keening as he did now, when his own head wasn't on just right. But, Misha being Misha, that wasn't allowed to factor. He let Damian take his hand, and he didn't fight the boy's tug any.
For all his disorientation in this room, Misha didn't have a lick of trouble recognizing desperation in eyes with pupils real tiny in a dark room. He wasn't sure what that meant, but he knew it had something to do with the bottles on the bed. He didn't fight his hand free of Damian's grip, but he did bring his other hand to the boy's cheek. "You're sweating, and your pupils are real small. Now, I'll go anywhere you want, anytime you want, but I don't want you feeling sick or holding off on doing something on account of thinking you got to prove something. You don't got to prove a thing. Not to yourself, not to me, not to any damn person." He didn't specify that Damian's kin were included in that list of folks that didn't need proving to, and he reckoned Damian would understand what he was saying just fine. "You tell me if you need to take something 'fore we go. It's okay if you do."
Misha, he didn't have a damn clue if he should try to make Damian stop what he was doing. He didn't even have a clue how bad the drugs were. His conversation with Janus, it hadn't provided a whole lot of information to a boy that couldn't remember a damn thing from the last decade of his life, and who didn't even know what morphine was 'til talking to Damian. Misha, he just didn't know, and he reckoned asking for help would be betraying Damian's trust, so that wasn't an option any. He only knew Damian, like he was now, didn't seem like he'd make it halfway to the Capital.
He moved his hand from Damian's cheek to the back of Damian's neck, long and cool fingers clutching there. Then, Misha leaned forward and he pressed his forehead to Damian's forehead. "I want to help you, but I ain't got a clue what I should do," he said plain and without shame any.