[SE] can you see me through the ashes and the smoke?

but that was then, and this is now

Remi had braced himself for something—awkwardness, hesitation, even outrage—but Mateo’s immediate bristle still hit him like a fist to the ribs. It’s not angry—ot outright—but it doesn’t have to be. The way his son stiffens, the way his voice drops into something clipped and careful, tells him everything he needs to know. And gods, he deserves it.

His throat works around a response that doesn’t come immediately, his sea-glass eyes flicking briefly toward the dim interior of the house before settling back on Mateo, quieter now. The edges of his expression soften into something close to contrition as he clears his throat. "I’m not here for Flora," he says finally, his voice low and careful. "I’m here to see you." He pauses, almost nervously. "To talk." He shifts his weight slightly, but not in the way that suggests restlessness; more like he’s standing in a space he’s not entirely sure he has permission to occupy. "To apologize, if you'll let me."

He extends the small, wrapped box toward Mateo, not quite pushing it on him, but offering it nonetheless. "For the things I said at the Festival of Lights."

the bastion

Table by the wonderful SKY