Re: In-person: Misha B/Damian W
[Damian was, likely unfortunately for them both, real. He had been watching Misha from the corner of his eyes, weak and not quite capable of looking at him head on, knowing he had left him here like this, but the boy, peering up, cocking his head, made him look over and fully so. His own gaze was green, shot through with bloody threads; it dipped once to spit-tangled fingers, then lifted.—The man frowned.] I am here, [he said, somewhat hurt that Misha would think the only version of him that would return would be one that was not him at all. Still, he attempted to bridge over his own feelings as best he could without morphine (or heroin), and he slid down to sit upon the floor, back to the mattress he had only just been perched upon.
He wished to go to his boyfriend. To perhaps run fingers through his hair, or caress his cheek, but he did not know if this was okay. So he remained at a small distance, arms crossed over himself defensively. He forced a tut.] You have not conjured me, you stupid boy. [He nudged at one of Misha's feet with his own, as if this might prove what he was saying. He sniffled and wiped at his nose with his shoulder.] I am capable of... of pulling my head out of my ass without needing you to create me from nothing to do it. [Damian shifted. He looked up at Misha from where he had his chin tipped down. He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them, though tear-film still kept lashes stuck in clumps.] I was going to get high.