I believe that we were supposed to find this

REMI

Remi exhales, slow and steady, fingers pressing lightly against Ronin’s arm. His husband’s grief is a living thing, thick and suffocating, curling through the space between them like smoke—and gods, Remi would inhale every last bit of it if he could, just to make it easier for him to breathe. "Maybe," the Bastion concedes, because gods too many things had gone wrong for the pair since being sucked out of Northaven and spit out in the Grounds. "But I'm not sure we would have ever found one another quite like this if we had stayed." Maybe they'd have found happiness with other people—certainly Ronin had had Vanya and been happy with her—but Remi was absolutely steadfast in his belief that nothing compared to the love they'd found and grown and fought for over the years. Nearly a decade, in fact.

"You don’t have to do anything." Remi's voice is soft but firm, unwavering. "You don’t have to find a way forward. You don’t have to be strong. You don’t have to survive it the right way." He shifts slightly, his thumb brushing the fabric of Ronin’s sleeve. "Just going on is enough. Even if it’s messy. Even if it hurts. Even if you don’t know how." There is no standard, no expectation, no weight Ronin has to bear other than existing, hard as that might be at times.

"We can go back to the mountains, or even live under the sea if we want. There's a whole ocean out there that we can drag the Northaven around on if you don't want to be here anymore."

Table by sky!