Re: In person: Misha B/Damian W
[Before Damian's eyes, the morphine seemed to have disappeared. It was as a star swallowing itself, self-cannibalization, and then—poof!—it was gone. He blinked, then, as kept happening, once it was out of his field of vision, out of aural memory and acoustic rebound, it was gone from his memory. Misha, the knowledge of his presence, was the first thought to return, and Damian turned to find the boy.—He was happy then to find the angel there, as expected. It felt surreal to have an expectation. Why was that? It did not matter.
He leaned toward Misha as the boy came to hold his hand and squeeze. For a moment, green gaze skittered to the approaching vehicle, but, it slipped back easily, gladly to Misha when chin was tipped. He smiled a little bit, forgetting his fear and guilt and burgeoning sanity.] You will protect me? [This amused Damian. He tutted. He was, after all, an assassin.—This thought tripped him up and he remembered the dead men, he remembered the feel of his mind breaking in half. He frowned, a drop of distance returning between pupils and the world at large. He nodded without knowing what he was agreeing to, and knowing only that he did agree. The silver silhouette before him seemed warm, so he kept his hand in its shine, and he waited for whatever it was that approached on the periphery like blood seeping into vision.]