I believe that we were supposed to find this

REMI

Remi snorts softly, shaking his head as he turns to rummage through the kitchen. "Ah, yes. My mistake. I should have known that was your flattered face," he murmurs, his voice light, his hands steady as they move through the motions of preparing something that might pass as edible. It’s a relief, in some small way, to have Ronin engaged in this. If this is what normal looks like for now, then he’ll take it. "Besides, you've had death next to your bed, in your bed, and lots of other ways for several years now," Remi adds with a crooked smile.

"Are you sure you would not prefer wine?" Really, what was the difference between soup and wine, when you got right down to it, and why was Ronin so affronted about one and not the other? It's a question for the ages, one the Bastion is considering when warmth settles against his back, as the familiar weight of Ronin curls around him like a tether. "Hmm, supervise?" he echoes, his voice taking on a playful edge as he resumes his work, slicing through the bread. "How is it my fault when things get too hot when you're around, mm?" His lips curve into a smirk, that Ronin will feel through their bond more than see.

Table by sky!