the bastion
Remi flashes Ronin a fond grin, seaglass eyes sparkling with the kind of love that settles deep and steady in the bones. He reaches for his glass, fully intending to sip his water like a normal person, right up until Flora’s question lands squarely in the middle of the table, causing him to choke spectacularly.
Water goes down the wrong pipe, and the Bastion splutters, one hand gripping the table while the other flaps uselessly in front of him as if he can physically wave the question away. By the time he’s wheezing for air again, eyes watering, his curls are bouncing with every cough. The answer—less than a season—definitely isn’t coming out of his mouth tonight. "I—" He clears his throat, frowning in that guilty, betrayed-by-his-own-child way. "I don’t remember," he lies, the words somehow both flat and dramatically overacted.
Before Flora can press him, Remi inhales deeply and shifts, the tightness around his jaw easing as a soft smile curls through him, warming the edges of his expression. "Well," he begins, voice smoothing into something quiet and fond, "we met on a warm day in Northaven..." His gaze drifts toward Ronin, the memory painting light into his features. "I was on the beach sketching. And then I looked up—" His smile grows, boyish and radiant. "—and out of the water comes Ronin. Sparkling in the sun, all youth and muscles from training, and..."” He gestures vaguely, helplessly delighted. "Entirely naked." There is no shame in his voice. Only wonder, even now.
He takes Ronin’s hand beneath the table, fingers brushing with familiar ease as the story softens into laughter, back-and-forth teasing, and embellishments that have clearly been told a dozen times and loved more each time.
Dinner unfolds in a haze of warmth: plates filled and passed, feet kept mostly out of mouths, drinks sipped, gummy worms avoided (mostly), ghosts politely nudging chairs into place, and the kind of easy togetherness that feels like a rare gift; fragile, precious, and impossibly sweet.
~FIN
Water goes down the wrong pipe, and the Bastion splutters, one hand gripping the table while the other flaps uselessly in front of him as if he can physically wave the question away. By the time he’s wheezing for air again, eyes watering, his curls are bouncing with every cough. The answer—less than a season—definitely isn’t coming out of his mouth tonight. "I—" He clears his throat, frowning in that guilty, betrayed-by-his-own-child way. "I don’t remember," he lies, the words somehow both flat and dramatically overacted.
Before Flora can press him, Remi inhales deeply and shifts, the tightness around his jaw easing as a soft smile curls through him, warming the edges of his expression. "Well," he begins, voice smoothing into something quiet and fond, "we met on a warm day in Northaven..." His gaze drifts toward Ronin, the memory painting light into his features. "I was on the beach sketching. And then I looked up—" His smile grows, boyish and radiant. "—and out of the water comes Ronin. Sparkling in the sun, all youth and muscles from training, and..."” He gestures vaguely, helplessly delighted. "Entirely naked." There is no shame in his voice. Only wonder, even now.
He takes Ronin’s hand beneath the table, fingers brushing with familiar ease as the story softens into laughter, back-and-forth teasing, and embellishments that have clearly been told a dozen times and loved more each time.
Dinner unfolds in a haze of warmth: plates filled and passed, feet kept mostly out of mouths, drinks sipped, gummy worms avoided (mostly), ghosts politely nudging chairs into place, and the kind of easy togetherness that feels like a rare gift; fragile, precious, and impossibly sweet.
~FIN
I got a feeling inside that I can't domesticate
It doesn't wanna live in a cage,
A feeling that I can't housebreak
It doesn't wanna live in a cage,
A feeling that I can't housebreak
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
