Re: In person: Misha B/Damian W
[Damian flattened his palm, opening his hand, spreading fingers, when Misha sought to buffer the gouging of fingers. He allowed this, because he was not aware he was doing anything, really. That this wound appeared, that his finger was painted with blood, the thoughts did not connect in any real way. He was equally ignorant of Misha's silence and submersion into the past. There was too much occurring, the continued explosion of the universe about the point of his being, the sounds of music mingling with phantom screams. It would ebb and it would flow, and his grip was precarious at best.
He heard the sniffle and he peered about, as if it had come from elsewhere, before he looked back to the angel. Fingers were on his cheek, he pressed bloody palm atop them. This seemed to help ground him, but the closer he came to sanity, the harder it was to hold onto it.] You are crying, [he informed Misha with concern. He was squinting, but it was only because the boy appeared to him as bright as a sun.] Mishael, Mishael. [Damian pressed harder on pale fingers. Harder. Bruising.] You are very sad. [He kissed his boyfriend, then pulled back. He stood, trying to pull the boy up with him as he did so with a hand on one elbow. He bit his lip, an expression that was pulled by muscles unfamiliar with it; Damian did not do this often, if at all.] Who else is here?