Re: In-person: Misha B/Damian W
I have not been wrong yet. [Damian allowed the crescent curvature of his lips, just barely, to mimic Misha's own. And while, if Misha had imagined him before, he would have no idea, he was still very certain in his knowledge and he lifted his chin, just a touch, as if this would prove it.—Damian was careful to pet down the edges of the angel's dress/slip/thing, so that Misha would not feel inordinately exposed or some such. But, even this action was awkward. For all of his ease with their day-to-day affection, such displays, especially in differing contexts (such as this) were still foreign to the man, who, growing up, was much more likely to get stabbed in the throat by his mother than receive anything resembling a hug.
And though Damian was very selfish, too focused upon himself and his want for a high, he still knew the angel was letting him too easily off the hook. Too, he knew they were talking of him, rather than the fact that Misha was the one sucking upon his fingers in a self-soothing regression.] I fight and fail as well. I did yesterday. [And he did today. Or he would. He knew, with the heroin right there in his back pocket, that he would not be able to refrain forever. ...Still, he did not wish to admit he had purchased anything. Not just out of shame, but out of a very, very strong desire to keep the promise of a high for himself. He fought against himself, against his own bone-deep want, and finally admitted:] Yes. But, do not—do not, yet. [After all, he could (and likely would) still fuck this up, and if he did, he wanted to have options, no matter how self-destructive they were.
Damian tutted in earnest when Misha said he always thought of him always, but that bit of levity died quickly. The boy was speaking and Damian endeavored to listen. It was partially selfish, that listening, no? As it was to prove he could, he would, that he was not so useless. He blinked at Misha, sadness kept hidden as best he could as the boy said he did not wish for him to change what he thought. He nearly sought to explain Titus, that a part of it was that he did not intend to come back any time soon and Titus required looking after. That, partially, in fact, the angel was correct. It was a result. But that he did not think it was bad. That Misha likely changed his behavior toward, say, morphine at Damian's admission of addiction, et cetera.—But, the man realized his explanations were not necessary, so he swallowed them down. He stared at Misha's mouth, watching the words come and trying to keep any reactions from his own features.
Finally, once the angel spoke of the amulet, he interrupted.] I am back. I just did not wish for you to find me, if I... [He shook his head, he looked to his hands.] Is it difficult, high, not to think on these things? I find it easier, on the morphine, to keep everything away, but it does not sound as if it is the same for you. And I do not know what a child could have done. You are not an accomplice, Misha. Do not feel so guilty. [Damian leaned forward, toward his boyfriend, into him. He touched soft cheek, then jaw, as Misha had him before. Everything was an echo.] I made it better until I made it worse. And it makes me feel good to help you too, you know. I just am not so skilled at it, even when you do allow me to see what it is that ails you. [He looked away again.] I wish you would see that I—I—I love you. That nothing you say will change that. That I love all of you, as you say you do me, even the horrible, pathetic parts, no? But you are a hypocrite often about these things.