User blog:ThisIsXenon/~the language of my heartbeat~

Damian found him at his favourite spot, sitting in a pool of moonlight on the roof. He had a blanket tented over his head, hair poking out around his face from where Damian assumed it had come out of the bun he’d had it in earlier. The night was cold and windy—likely why Micah had the blanket—and Damian tugged his coat around himself tighter, breath crystallising in front of him.

He walked over as quietly as he could so as not to startle him, but Micah still jumped and leaned away when Damian sat next to him. His eyes—wide, intense dark purple—reflected the stars so clearly that entire galaxies could be seen in his pupils.

“Sorry, love.”

“N-no, it’s fine,” Micah ducked his head. Damian noticed the tear streaks spilling over his cheekbones. “M’s-sorry.”

“What’s wrong?” Damian moved a hand close to Micah’s shoulder. He’d learned to count in fractions of seconds—if Micah shied away for half a second or less, it was just a reflex, one he was still trying to tame. But if it was any longer, even if only by a tenth, it was a clear don’t touch me. At first, Damian had been irritated about the cues and the counting of seconds—why can’t you just tell me? he remembered asking. Why can’t you just tell me without snapping back? That had been in their early days, before Damian noticed where the trauma gathered in Micah’s shoulders, the small of his back, in his wrists, the knot in his chest that never went away; before Micah had finally broken down and told him everything that had happened. Now he understood. Micah couldn’t always articulate. He was still healing. He would always be. Damian wasn’t ever going to do anything to mess that up. And if that meant counting half-seconds for the rest of his life, so be it.

With this attempt at touch, Micah didn’t do anything. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Damian rested his hand on Micah’s shoulder—one, two, three, four seconds. Still no reaction, other than a glossy tear falling, a shooting star across his face.

“Love?”

A faint shudder of breath and the first ghost of air Damian could see. Micah’d been shaking this whole time.

I can’t reach him like this. Something had happened. Something had most definitely happened, to make him retreat into his head like this. Damian was going to shoot whatever or whoever had caused it.

“Micah….” He paused, waiting, then continued. “Micah, təla nair,” Micah’s head jerked up. “Hey, 왜그래?”

That’s how he got Micah to focus: change languages. Frequently. Make him think about what was being said.

“난괜찮아,” Micah replied. Then, switching again, “أنا بخير”

“Unfair,” Damian murmured. “Chan eil Araibis agam.”

Micah smirked. “Du erkennst es.”

“Yeah, but that’s not the same thing,” Damian slid an arm around Micah’s shoulders and pulled him close. He met no resistance. Good. “Now, for real this time. What’s wrong?”

“Flashback,” Micah blew out a breath. His heart pounded through his back. “Earlier today. Like, several hours ago. Still regrounding.”

“What triggered it?”

“Fuck if I know,” Micah’s voice soured. He leaned his head into Damian’s neck. “Fuck, Damian, coulda been anything at this point.”

“I’m sorry, love.”

“It’s fine, I’ll get over it,” Micah crossed his arms. “Just pissed that it’s still happening.”

“C’mere,아기새,” Damian tapped his chest with his free hand, and Micah climbed into his lap as best he could with his legs tangled in the blanket. It was so soft, catching on the roughness of his hands as Damian rubbed up and down Micah's body underneath to try and warm him. He’s so thin. He could feel every rib still, even though Micah had been eating again, even though he’d been eating again for years now. Micah’s shudders didn’t cease, and he tucked his head against Damian’s chest. Damian stroked the feathers behind his ears. “My little bird burrito.”

“I’m an empanada and I’m g-going to slay you,” Micah mumbled.

“Spicy,” Damian tilted Micah’s head back and kissed the soft skin under his jaw, which was slightly chilly. Micah’s mouth pulled into a smile. The blanket slipped off his head, revealing his half-unwound bun. Damian tugged out the tie and carded his fingers through Micah’s silky hair, pulling out tangles, until Micah frantically pulled the blanket back.

“C-c-c—” Micah couldn’t form the words. “춥다,” He’d gradually been burrowing into Damian’s jacket. “H-hard sounds are h-hard. I’m f-f-freezing. G-gods…..”

“How long have you been out here?” Damian cupped his face, icy. His lips were blue and cracked.

“D-Dunno. L-long time.”

Damian cradled him and picked him up gently. “Let’s go back inside and warm you up.”

He cursed himself as he headed down the stairs. ''Why didn’t I ask how long he was out there first? Why didn’t I check to see if he was cold?'' Micah trembled in his arms, breath shuddering in his chest. “I’ve got you, 아기새, I’ve got you.” He fumbled for the key to their apartment, unlocked the door, and carried Micah straight to their bedroom without checking to see if the door had closed all the way. Micah had been without shoes—goddamnit—and his feet were icy. So when he gently tucked Micah—still shivering, still not breathing right—into bed, he pulled up the bottom of the sheets and slipped heavy socks onto his feet.

Get him to focus.

He knelt by the head of the bed. “你要喝茶吗?” Tea would warm him up, and without caffeine, the cold wouldn’t work through his body any faster than Damian could warm him back up.

“Yeah,” Micah’s eyes fluttered open. “And m-more blankets?”

“Of course.”

He started the kettle on the stove and put a bundle of blankets in the dryer for a minute or two to warm them, then ran them back to Micah, who promptly buried himself in them. Then the kettle shrieked and he ran to steep a bag of chamomile in Micah’s favourite mug.

When Damian returned, Micah had moved to the beanbag chair by the glass balcony door, still bundled up, and shivering less. Damian pressed the mug into his hands.

“Here.”

“고마워,” Micah breathed in the steam, then nodded to the door. “눈이인다.”

Sure enough, flakes of snow were drifting down, slowly but surely. “It really was cold,” Damian sat down on the floor beside him, resting his head on Micah’s shoulder.

“First winter in the modern sect,” Micah sipped his tea.

“Huh. It is.”

They’d moved into their apartment earlier that year, right as spring was hitting its peak, and it was honestly one of the best times of Damian’s life. Packing and unpacking their space (their space, it belonged to both of them, was written in both their names and everything), figuring out where to put things, like Damian’s guitar, Micah’s records and the record player, their respective book collections, the weird mechanical sculpture Micah’s dad had given them as a housewarming (apartmentwarming?) gift. They’d put on a record and tried dancing among the cardboard boxes, tripping over themselves and laughing until their stomachs ached; they’d sat out on the balcony [really only big enough for one of them] and watched the sun set, passing a bottle of wine back and forth. And then their first night together in a place almost completely their own and what that could mean, what they could finally get to do without fear of interruption….They’d had to be so, so quiet at Fireon and the Keep and everywhere else they’d stayed before they’d arrived here that the caution made it hard to really get into It. Every little noise had sent them scrambling for cover. Now, with that worry gone, Damian had been thinking about It for nearly seven months. But with Micah’s health issues flaring up from stress and general adjusting, anything intimate kept getting pushed back. And that, Damian had realised, was okay. Neither of them were going anywhere. They had all the time in the world.

“아름답다,” Micah said. He set his mug down on the floor and shifted slightly so he could rest his cheek on Damian’s forehead. He was warming up, to Damian’s relief.

“눈이?”

“다,” Micah’s voice grew soft. “Absolutely everything. The snow, the stars, you….”

“So sappy.”

“Listen, I’m tired and cold and getting a headache,” Micah must’ve felt Damian tense up at that because he added. “But I’m alright. It’s normal.”

“I know,” Damian sighed and sat up so he could look Micah in the eye. “I just wish I could do something to help you when these things happen.”

“What you’ve been doing is perfect,” Micah said, kissing him softly. Damian’s hands knotted in Micah’s hair and stayed there even after the kiss ended. “반말,” He unfolded the blanket cocoon, and Damian slid in next to him. He tucked his head close to Micah’s chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart.

“This is nice.” He took Micah’s hand and kissed the beginning of his tattoo on his wrist.

“Wouldn’t trade it for anything,” Micah murmured. “Could do this for the rest of my life.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

“Then marry me.”

It came out of his mouth before he could think twice, and he was slightly surprised to notice that he had, in fact, meant to say it. He’d been thinking about it for ages. Only the day before, he’d looked at rings while Micah was in class [working on a degree in language-arts education, which was both a shock and kind of adorable]. He’d tried planning it, the perfect day, perfect place for a proposal, but nothing seemed good enough. He guessed he’d finally realised that the important part was the person, not the logistics. Because he’d loved Micah for years now, and didn’t want to spend his life with anyone else. So his brain had decided that now, logistically, was the time.

He felt Micah’s breath catch in his chest, and a slight tingle of panic went down his spine. He kept talking.

“I don’t have a ring or anything yet, but I—“

“Damian,” Micah cut him off, shifting so he could look Damian in the eye. They shared a shaky breath. Micah’s eyes were doing the shiny thing again, and Damian was worried for half a second that he’d fucked things up.

“Yeah….?”

“Yes,” Micah whispered. “A thousand times yes.”

And then they were kissing, and Micah was crying and goddamn it if Damian wasn’t too, holding back a smile until he couldn’t bear it anymore and had to pull away.

“Fuck, I love you,” Micah wiped his eyes.

“Love you too,” Damian kissed the tip of his nose.

“I‘m a little mad though,” Micah crossed his arms. “You beat me to it.”

“Wait, what? You were planning something?”

“Sure was,” Micah sighed. “I was gonna go pick up a ring tomorrow—“

“You got a ring?”

“Clay helped. He may or may not have sneakily asked you questions about it too, and I was worried you’d noticed.”

“I didn’t.” Damian tried to think back to all the conversations he’d had with Clay. “How long were you planning this?”

“Since….since we moved in?”

“Micah!”

“I know, I know, I’m a dumbass.”

“You totally could’ve beat me to it!”

“I know! But I kept putting it off and I was gonna wait until—y’know, it doesn’t matter,” Micah blew hair out of his face.

“All that matters is that I’m gonna marry the hell out of you,” Damian purred. “And I’m getting you a ring.”

“You don’t have to—“

“No, I proposed, you get a ring,” Damian shook his head. “And I’ll have Clay run recon. Use your rascally techniques against you.”

“Dork,” Micah grinned. That grin was doing things to him now. He physically couldn’t stop himself from leaning in to kiss him. Luckily, Micah didn’t seem to care.

Maybe things got a little heated and a lot messy. Maybe they’d had to close the curtains. Maybe he’d left hickeys on Micah’s neck that couldn’t be covered up. Maybe Micah had done the same to him. Maybe there’d be laundry to do in the morning. But that was okay. It didn’t matter. He had the love of his life lying next to him, and everything was exactly how it should be.

“사랑해,” He whispered, pressing his nose to Micah’s forehead.

“Nian nai !ela,” Micah closed his eyes.

“Ich liebe dich.“

“我爱你.”

“Je t’aime.”

“Mahal kita.”

“Se agapó.”

They kept whispering, repeating the phrase in every language they knew until they drifted off.

-fin-