Re: [Madrasa Bou Inania.]
[Here was a miniature version of a (their? Damian's?) communication problem, no? Damian struggled to interpret others, including Misha, with precision and he slowed the conversation to a near standstill—to more than a standstill. At times, they went backwards to accommodate his inability to parse what people said. It made him feel somewhat stupid, as, after all, he was meant to be a genius, an assassin; he was the son of the World's Greatest Detective; he was meant to be able to read subtlety and nuance, and, instead, his mind offered him the most likely definition of the words spewed at him and he extrapolated from there. Often, it turned out, he did this badly. So even now, after going on about limits, it appeared this was not what Misha meant. Damian tried not to dislike himself for this misunderstanding. He focused on listening. He had been about to take the pause to speak, when pale fingers held his lips together. Okay. He continued to listen.] I understand what you are saying, [he said, instead of 'okay,' and he did. He had heard it. But, he felt the need to inform Misha that:] You are similar, you realize. You believe I am being disapproving or some such when I am speaking how I always have. Perhaps this is due to... emotional investment? We are worried about the other disliking us...? [He said these statements with the uptick of a question mark at the end, which was an awful lot of uncertainty to allow into a sentiment, but he was being vulnerable here with his boyfriend, so it was allowable.] I will try to keep what you have said in mind, that you are not saying anything about me, when you speak of others. It is a selfish weakness in me at present.
[The man had been attempting to hold his tongue better, and, ultimately, he was doing a fairly good job of it. But.] Well, angels are genderless, you have said. So, perhaps they are gay and they are straight. Bisexual. Pansexual. [He smiled, pleased with his own mental maneuvering, as well as his vocabulary of various sexualities. Of course, it was not the point. It was his turn to shake his head.] I was not actually saying this time that it must have been bad for you. Only, as I know how it felt for you, sex, I mean, and now, loving me, I do not know. Would it not be akin to losing some sense? Sight or smell or taste. To lose your angelness? I only thought perhaps seeing how it was for me would make you appreciate what you had more. That is all.
[The smile that was noonday sun earned a moon-slice of grin back. Damian swung his feet with Misha, matching his time to have something thoughtless to do with useless, dizzying energy running amok in him. Interest widened already overlarge eyes.] People are thought to be more empathetic to those that look like them, due to tribalism, et cetera. It is an inherent bias that is then exploited and deepened by time in society. Does this mean angels suffer the same bias? Is not empathy inborn in you? [The man attempted to curb the various paths his mind took from the idea that, perhaps, angels needed to curry some empathy now and again, to look to Misha's hand as it took his. His gaze shifted upward. He squeezed the angel's hand in his own.] But it always does come. There is no point in avoiding it. It does not matter that they do not think on it, as it will happen. [Damian pressed his palm to Misha's in a kiss. He kicked his feet.] Yes. We can talk about this. [He hesitated, unsure if he was understanding how they were meant to go about this.] You begin.