Re: Log: Damian/Misha
Misha reckoned himself real experienced. He reckoned himself more experienced than Damian was any, and he reckoned himself the real knowing one in this relationship. Part of it was just youth thinking they already knew every damn thing worth knowing, part of it was Misha confusing bedding down with strangers as real experience. Too, he'd had something akin to a relationship in Oliver, though even Misha recognized that wasn't anything real useful when it came to schooling. No, it was mostly the physical Misha believed made him more knowing, and he'd been doing that a real long time and a whole lot. Course, that was flawed and faulty thinking as could be.
Misha, if he was going to argue 'bout needing help, was silenced when Damian said they could help each other. That didn't sound one-sided any, and Misha couldn't find any reason to argue it. If he did speak out 'gainst it, it would just be his fear talking, and he knew Damian got real frustrated sometimes. Misha knew he was the one caused the frustration with his inability to see and remember things how Damian saw and remembered them. And it was all tangling up in the boy, that trust mingled with the refusal to see. But Damian agreed he could be helped too, and that made Misha feel less badly 'bout the monotone speech and the pill bottles. It was an opening. "I want to know if your pupils being small means you already done something. I want to know if once a day is more than it was six months ago. I want to know when I should fret, if I should fret. I ain't ever even heard of morphine 'til you mentioned it to me." It was an admission, real plain, of just how little Misha had lived in the world.
But, then Damian tugged him to the window, and his gaze lingered overlong on Damian's hip upon the sill. Could be it wasn't time for thinking 'bout things like the other boy's hip, but they were young, and Misha was a whole lot randier than he let himself be 'round Damian. Though, it was worth saying, the care he was taking on account of Damian's inexperience wasn't near what it used to be. That pale gaze lifted real slow as Damian inhaled cigarette smoke, and Misha's gaze was real fixed on the other boy's face as that smoke was exhaled through nose. He wanted to reach out and touch the other boy. He wanted to take that cigarette away and kiss him, and he was just working his way up to it.
He didn't manage it any, because Damian said his name ominously, and Misha just stared. What he was worried would come out of the other boy's mouth wasn't nothing that had time to coalesce. It was a nameless kind of fear, something tied up in endings, and Misha swallowed real heavy. Damian was real close now, leaned forward and not a whole lot of room for breathing or thinking, and could be that was a good thing. Misha, he was expecting something real hateful and dreadful, and it didn't come.
It took Misha a few long seconds to register the words Damian spoke. He just stared, not really comprehending, thinking his ears were playing with him, thinking he was imagining good things in the place of bad. Now, Misha, he hadn't never said those words to anyone but his momma or his foster daddy, not in a way that was personal and not just his love for all things living that was innate. But, like this, he ain't never heard it said like this, and he ain't never said it himself.