Re: [in-person: damian & misha]
[Damian was in a long-sleeved shirt and boxers. He wore socks that went up mid-calf and the sleeves of the shirt threatened to overspill wrists. It was one Misha's, and perhaps he had squirreled it away before they left the flat in the Capital. Either way, it was what he wore. The cast iron pan on the stove was a bright, bloody red, though, obviously, there was no blood involved. Damian was a vegetarian. The large kitchen smelled of onions and tomatoes and open spices. Four eggs sat in the sauce, as of yet uncooked, yolks bright, jiggling suns.—He had not slept. He had wished to, but he had found himself unable to. He had stayed in Misha's room as the angel slept fitfully. He nearly left for his own room, to paint and, more importantly, get the morphine he had been lusting (nonsexually) for. But, he had not allowed himself to.
When he finally could no longer stay still, he had come straight to the kitchen. He did not actually know if Titus was in his room, but he suspected that if he checked his phone, the dog's tracker would say he was there. He only had to hold his nose to the fingerprint scanner to enter, though Damian would not tell anyone of this flaw in his system.—Damian himself was feeling very many things, but they were distant now. Not due to morphine. He did not know why. Only that they sat on his periphery as shadows and he ignored them as he worked in the kitchen. He glanced up as a very weary looking Misha joined him.
He smiled at the boy, his gaze dropping to bared belly, then back up as the angel perched.] Hello, [he said.]