— @katherinejbishop ;
Damian was restless. Still running on nerves after his conversation -- berating? -- from Gwen. He felt a little... stuffy. He wasn’t sure what it was. Perhaps he was allergic to something in the garden now that it was warmer and the plants weren’t under a thin sheet of snow. He tried not to mind it, more focused on the the nervous way his foot was tapping as he waited for Kat to arrive. He wanted something, anything, to keep himself from thinking about earlier but no matter how many plants he looked at or how many times he opened and closed an application on his phone, his brain just took him there anyway.
You’re just not. You’re not that guy, you’re pretending to be but you’re just damaged.
You think you’re some honest child of God or something, but you’re a fucking liar.
Stop, stop, stop, stop. He pushed a hand into his hair, wanting something to ground him, not caring that he’d upset the perfect coiffure his hair was in.
Then he heard it: a rustling. Thank God.
“Kat, is that you?” He called out, desperate to not be alone with his thoughts for a minute.