Re: [Treatment Facility: Dami & Misha]
It could not be healthy, even for angels, to cut themselves off, to help and bear others at the expense of themselves, at least not when it came to romantic relationships. Damian did not wish to make Misha worse, to not help him, to disallow him freedom of emotion, et cetera, et cetera, and he did do all of this simply by struggling with this addiction issue. It rendered him so weak, Misha felt he, Damian, could not bear a feather. Again, I will reiterate: Damian hated it. He hated himself and he hated the situation he had caused. He despised that he had made Misha feel this way, and he could sense that the boy was attempting even now to pretend he was fine, when truly, how could he be? And such a sensation left him uneasy, insecure, and guilty.
"I hope she will be okay. I am glad Sadie is coming for her." With his head less in his own ass, just slightly, Damian could be pleased for his sister. "I am certain you are glad as well." This was uttered with an iota of jealousy, but he kept it contained for the most part. In truth, he would be glad that Misha had someone, but it would be difficult, with the distance of the city, if the boy was to be staying out this way. "Perhaps you should stay in the city with them. It would be easier and you would be less alone." He picked at plaid, which he was glad for, as it earned a smile from Misha, slight as it was. "Yes," he said, fully of incredulity, "'comfortable.'"—Damian attempted to imagine what day labor was. He did not know if he liked the idea of Misha with a bunch of men, sweating under the sun, not thinking, but he did not voice this. He had already said what he had about the boy staying in the city, in any case, and perhaps there were different jobs there. "I understand," was his reply about the preference for exertion. "Yes, buy something pretty and you may wear it for me, yes? Also, buy food. I require you to eat better than however you have been eating." Damian nitpicked to nitpick and there was no heat to his words.
He smiled when Misha laughed, but even that faded as he closed his eyes to the running of fingers in curls. He had not been sleeping particularly well either, truth be told, and he felt this now more than ever. Damian knew he could fall asleep here, warm and safe in Misha's lap. He made himself open his eyes. "So I would not go and leave you?" He tipped his head back, further along the line of Misha's shoulder, to look at the boy and watch his face. He blinked when the boy looked upon him. His gaze shifted to teeth-torn lips that he felt the desire to kiss—when had he last kissed Misha? This too felt like a long time. (His sex drive while sick (and high) was no great thing.) "I do not mind." He touched the boy's chapped bottom lip with fingers warm from touching chest. "Do you mind?"