Re: log; misha and adrian
Misha, he knew human folk were real myopic. They saw their own little world, and they saw folks that circled that world, but mostly they saw themslves. It was just how folks were, and it wasn't something Misha held 'gainst them. Course, it meant that meeting folks who weren't like that, it was real special, and that was true 'nough. But, Misha, he reckoned humanity was real beautiful, and even in its shortcomings. He looked on Damian daily, all skin and bone, fragility combined with so much damn strength, and it reminded him how much and how big and how vast human folks were. Adrian, he was big and vast, and he saw the folks 'round him circling, and maybe he wasn't real good 'bout looking out yet. Misha, he hoped this helped the other boy see other folks better. He had to reckon that leaving some of his own anguish and confusion behind, that it would help Adrian. That was what Misha was counting on, on being able to help.
He looked at the pause screen on the phone, and he learned himself the name and tucked it away for later. Misha, he was real enamored of everything to do with music. Even when it came to his performing arts curiculm, he reckoned he wanted to focus on music and dance. He wasn't never going to be an actor, and that was just fine with him. So, he reminded him to try the song later, and he smiled at the boy that touched his shoulder. "I'm just fine," he said, soothing as could be. Misha, he always had purple 'neath his eyes. He was more tired recent, but he'd been doing a lot more moving 'tween boy and angel as of late, and it showed some on his face.
The concern 'bout time, that was surprising, but Misha didn't argue none. "It ain't bending precisely. Don't you fret," he added. "There really ain't nothing to worry 'bout." There wasn't. Misha, he reckoned Adrian was there for a reason, that Heaven had brung him here for a reason, and that meant he trusted that what he was going to do would work right. Heaven, it was all 'bout balance, and he could see why this boy would matter when it came to the balance.
He looked confident, did Misha, and he reached for Adrian's hand, and he squeezed it.
That squeeze, it moved them. They were gone from that dock, and they were nowhere. It wasn't dreaming, but that was the closest Misha had to describing where they were, seeing as it was a place comprised of thoughts, and it wasn't actually a physical plane any.
The ground 'neath their feet was solid and white, and there was a sky that was a sky in name only, and it was blues and light gray. It was warm, but not too warm. Cool, but not too cool. All 'round them was a fog, but not trapping. If they moved in any direction, the fog moved with them. It was just a place of soothing; it felt safe. And, in this safe place, Misha stood and waited on Adrian to feel settled.
He, Misha, was dressed in white. Denim and a hoodie, feet bare and his skin glowing real soft and warm. There weren't wings, but the sound of them rustling came whenever the boy in white moved. His eyes were paler than usual, and his fiddle wasn't nowhere to be seen, left on the dock they'd abandoned. "You good?" he asked Adrian, and it was more words in his head than actually spoke aloud, though Misha's lips did move; he'd learned folks got uncomfortable when his lips didn't move. "You say if you want to remember this or not," he said next. "We can do this and it's like nothing ever happened once we go back, or you can recall."