RONIN
the white knight
Having nothing to add - perfect is a word that needs no expansion, and Ronin feels entirely the same - the Knight presses a warm kiss against the side of his husband's neck and reluctantly straightens up as their daughter spots the sea. Sugar, having claimed the empty juice cup, swoops away to the beams overhead to watch proceedings, as dilligently as she had when Aoife had been an infant.
"Next time we will be ready," he whispers to the Bastion. Ready with clothes and snacks to suit whatever outing their daughter chose for the day, and gods if it doesn't feel as though he could spend forever like this, in this singular and sun-dappled afternoon. "For now, maybe seeing it would be enough."
And to avoid any shrieks of dismay (they are on their way, he knows, as a result of their delay), Ronin crosses the houseboat and opens the door so Remi might carry her out onto the little stretch of dock.
"Next time we will be ready," he whispers to the Bastion. Ready with clothes and snacks to suit whatever outing their daughter chose for the day, and gods if it doesn't feel as though he could spend forever like this, in this singular and sun-dappled afternoon. "For now, maybe seeing it would be enough."
And to avoid any shrieks of dismay (they are on their way, he knows, as a result of their delay), Ronin crosses the houseboat and opens the door so Remi might carry her out onto the little stretch of dock.
