( specifically post-birthday ( dick is a detective, he has his Ways of finding things out ), there appears a box on damon's doorstep. perhaps something like a suspicious box, all things considered, black and sleek and without a card until further prodding inside. directly under the top, there sits a crucifix -- a joke, probably a cruel one, until damon gets the card underneath signed, 'Button ups are so last century. - Dick G.'
predictably, behind some dark tissue paper, there's a black, long sleeved shirt, made to hug the body and fitted to suit damon flawlessly, situated on top of an easy to move in leather jacket. buried inside there's a long debated after key before dick just said fuck it -- one naturally to the front door of his apartment, hopefully sending the you're always welcome message instead of the lets go behind her back one. either way it reads off! happy birthday, damon. )
delivery.
predictably, behind some dark tissue paper, there's a black, long sleeved shirt, made to hug the body and fitted to suit damon flawlessly, situated on top of an easy to move in leather jacket. buried inside there's a long debated after key before dick just said fuck it -- one naturally to the front door of his apartment, hopefully sending the you're always welcome message instead of the lets go behind her back one. either way it reads off! happy birthday, damon. )