Re: In-person: Misha B/Damian W
[Some confusion.] What would be the right thing to do?
I am glad too. [Even amid the strange tumult, rot, and sharp corners of his reanimated emotions, he was glad. Physicality, he knew, was always grounding. It stopped the mind from carouseling off into nothing but abstraction, and with abstraction came dwelling.] I need to articulate, as you think that I would rather that, than this. [More pressure to chest.] Then sensation of what? The morphine? [It was apparent that Damian was not enjoying this conversation. It was difficult to delve into. And perhaps, briefly, the man could appreciate why speaking to other addicts was often preference. Not because he did not wish to share with Misha, but because there was a level of understanding that could only be achieved thusly.
The kiss was another grounding rod against the storm of overthinking, and Damian allowed his hands to be moved. He shifted as Misha did, making room where it was needed. He was happy to lose himself, however briefly, in the chaste kiss. He was still sitting with one shoulder against the back of the couch, facing inward, and he used his grip on hips to push up somewhat into the angel's lips. He opened his eyes. He looked at Misha and at that pale gaze.] You give parts of yourself when you help, Misha. One cannot expect to feel nothing in that scenario, to remain unbothered, when you are excavating your own trauma to assist others. Even an angel such as yourself. [He was earnest about this.]