[The truth is this: every fiber of him wants to say fuck it all and just tell Kavinsky yes, tell him just how much he needs it. But it's vulnerable in a way that makes it harder than it should be.
And Dimitri isn't a person particularly predisposed to the truth anyway, and this is a difficult thing. Eli had burned him in ways that he tried his best not to think about, not to focus on. He knows what it's like to love a boy like that and be left raw, cut apart in the aftermath -- because he still is. But he doesn't know how to put that into words, to prevent it from seeming like he's just giving Kavinsky the setup for something about how he doesn't know him.
He's not sure he could get his feet back after something like that.
The easy thing here, would be to just pounce on the sex joke implicit in how Kavinsky curses halfway through his line about how they could be something. But that would wreck the possibilities here, and Dimitri isn't willing to do that, even when it's tempting to just laugh it off. But it's in his eyes how much he wants it. Not that he hadn't had friends back in NYC, that he didn't have acquaintances at Aglionby that could be called friendly. But-- it wasn't the same. It wasn't enough.
He shifts, more overtly leaning in against the car's window so that he can look at Kavinsky properly, despite the other boy's sunglasses. Dimitri's body language becoming something less casual, not like halfway feigned disinterest. More honest, more something raw as he exhales, his breath a little rough. He was damaged, broken pieces held together with lies and a smile. But fuck, he was so alone. There was never a real possibility he'd say no.]
Never's a long time, Ioska. But yeah. If you want... fuck. If you're serious then I'm in. Might even be able to make your dreams less messy, unless you like playing rough.
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And Dimitri isn't a person particularly predisposed to the truth anyway, and this is a difficult thing. Eli had burned him in ways that he tried his best not to think about, not to focus on. He knows what it's like to love a boy like that and be left raw, cut apart in the aftermath -- because he still is. But he doesn't know how to put that into words, to prevent it from seeming like he's just giving Kavinsky the setup for something about how he doesn't know him.
He's not sure he could get his feet back after something like that.
The easy thing here, would be to just pounce on the sex joke implicit in how Kavinsky curses halfway through his line about how they could be something. But that would wreck the possibilities here, and Dimitri isn't willing to do that, even when it's tempting to just laugh it off. But it's in his eyes how much he wants it. Not that he hadn't had friends back in NYC, that he didn't have acquaintances at Aglionby that could be called friendly. But-- it wasn't the same. It wasn't enough.
He shifts, more overtly leaning in against the car's window so that he can look at Kavinsky properly, despite the other boy's sunglasses. Dimitri's body language becoming something less casual, not like halfway feigned disinterest. More honest, more something raw as he exhales, his breath a little rough. He was damaged, broken pieces held together with lies and a smile. But fuck, he was so alone. There was never a real possibility he'd say no.]
Never's a long time, Ioska. But yeah. If you want... fuck. If you're serious then I'm in. Might even be able to make your dreams less messy, unless you like playing rough.