Re: [Treatment Facility: Dami & Misha]
Misha, he knew it wasn't unjust. When he'd needed Damian to be strong for him, Damian'd done just that. Now, Damian needed him to be strong, and he'd be damned if he let his own fears 'bout losing this boy make him unable to stand when Damian needed him to. It wasn't a ticking bomb, not to Misha's mind. To Misha's mind, relationships likely teetered. Now, this was his first relationship, and it wasn't like he'd been in a whole lot of them, not 'nough to know how they worked, and he was winging it some. But he had faith he was right, and it all really didn't matter any to Misha. Damian needed him, and he'd do all and everything he could to be strong for the other boy. Sometimes, he stumbled, but he tried not to do it often.
"I didn't do much at all, and neither did anyone else. You're the one who got her, took her home and got her tended, and you ain't going to shirk off credit when it's yours," Misha insisted. "You're good kin," he said, and that was he was real entirely certain of. He would've kept on, but Damian plucked at loose plaid with missing buttons, and Misha looked down and smiled just some, chapped lips cracking a smidgen. "It's comfortable," he said 'bout the plaid, but Misha was interested in fashion, and he didn't actually like the shirt any, which Damian likely knew. "Day labor's where they send folks out daily for jobs 'round the county. Usually the construction folk do it, but there's some other kinds of jobs too. My daddy did day labor when I was small. And, 'fore you fuss at me, aching-muscle work's real fine just now. It makes thinking hard," and he reckoned that was something Damian understood, seeing as Misha reckoned training was likely the same. Performing, dancing, it was all exertion, and Misha didn't want to stand behind a counter and ring folks up or nothing like that. "I could use the card to buy something pretty," he said, reckoning that was a good thing.
Misha, he hadn't been looking in mirrors a whole lot. He hadn't been thinking 'bout how things were different with him; he'd been mostly trying to keep himself distracted much as he could. He wouldn't be able to answer that question 'bout fuzz 'round his nipples, not without looking or touching, and Damian was pinching his nose, and so it didn't come 'round to be discussed. He laughed quiet, the sound rusty with disuse, and he kept on running his fingers through Damian's hair, his slouch in the chair becoming a more lazy and spent kind of slouch. Damian, he felt real and heavy and warm, and it was soothing plenty to Misha. "I did it for me. It was selfish as could be," he said truthfully of what he'd done. "I ain't sure how's it's different, and I was told I couldn't be trusted just now, so I reckon it's not forever. I ain't damned, I don't think, since I talked to them willing. It's a lesson." He looked down at Damian's face. "Do you mind any?" he asked, insecurity showing as Misha chewed on his lower lip after asking.