REMI
For the first time since stepping foot back onto the Northaven, Remi lets his thoughts shift to someone other than Ronin. Mort, he pleads silently, a whisper of a prayer that he isn't sure will even be heard. If I’m wrong—if he turns on me—please, please don’t let him do something he’ll regret. It’s the only thing he has time to ask before he moves.
His fingers close around Ronin’s hand, skin against skin, and it hits him like a storm breaking over the sea. Grief; raw, searing, endless. It pours through the various bonds they share like black ink in water, staining everything in its wake, drowning him in a pain so deep it has no edges, no walls, no escape. Ronin is hollowed out by it, and yet somehow it still overflows. It claws at Remi’s ribs, spills over into his lungs, into his bones, into the cockles of his heart until he isn’t sure if he’s himself anymore or if he’s sinking inside Ronin entirely.
Remi's own emotions echo back through the touch, blooming like a flower bursting open too fast, too violently. He tries to keep it contained, to bury it beneath his own unwavering love, beneath his steadiness, but gods—how could he, when the thing he loves most in the world might already be slipping away?
He doesn't pull back. Doesn't flinch. But his breath comes shallow and his pulse beats like a war drum, and Ronin will feel that too. "Ronin, you're..." Remi says, barely a whisper, but his grip tightens like an anchor.
Using my 1x a year to call down Mort!
His fingers close around Ronin’s hand, skin against skin, and it hits him like a storm breaking over the sea. Grief; raw, searing, endless. It pours through the various bonds they share like black ink in water, staining everything in its wake, drowning him in a pain so deep it has no edges, no walls, no escape. Ronin is hollowed out by it, and yet somehow it still overflows. It claws at Remi’s ribs, spills over into his lungs, into his bones, into the cockles of his heart until he isn’t sure if he’s himself anymore or if he’s sinking inside Ronin entirely.
Remi's own emotions echo back through the touch, blooming like a flower bursting open too fast, too violently. He tries to keep it contained, to bury it beneath his own unwavering love, beneath his steadiness, but gods—how could he, when the thing he loves most in the world might already be slipping away?
He doesn't pull back. Doesn't flinch. But his breath comes shallow and his pulse beats like a war drum, and Ronin will feel that too. "Ronin, you're..." Remi says, barely a whisper, but his grip tightens like an anchor.
Using my 1x a year to call down Mort!
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.
