REMI
the bastion
& my heart ran away with me
Remi holds him through it. Holds him like a vow, like a shield, like he can keep the world away if he just tightens his arms enough. One hand sinks into Ronin’s hair, the other spreads firm and steady between his shoulder blades, and together they cradle him like a dam, like something forged to keep this grief from cracking wider than it already has.
“I love you too,” he breathes back, voice thick with everything he won’t name. Then, softer, a hush in Ronin’s hair: “You don’t need to be sorry.”
Remi shakes his head slowly, the motion small and sure against the other man’s brow. “It took the three of us just to bring her down—and she didn’t even fight, which…” Hubris had been the Reaper’s downfall more than the demigods had. The bitterness is gentle but undeniable, the memory still fresh and lodged behind his teeth. “If speed was all we needed, she wouldn’t have left marks on Flora at all.”
His hand drifts from Ronin’s back, slides down to wrap around his waist instead, tugging him the final fraction of space into his arms. The kiss he gives this time is quieter—more worship than urgency, more promise than plea. His lips find Ronin’s again and again, brushing away the taste of sorrow and the sting of regret. Chasing the whiskey back to something sweeter. Humming into the touch like it’s prayer. Like it’s all he’s ever believed in.
“But we did do it,” he says finally, forehead pressed to Ronin’s as the air thickens with memory and the salt of unfallen tears. “She’s safe now. Not okay, maybe, but she’s actually safe. That’s more than we had this morning.”
And he means to let go. He really does. But his arms won’t listen, and the longer he holds Ronin pinned between his body and the sea-railed edge of their shared little balcony, the harder it is to believe that letting go could ever be the right thing again.
“I love you too,” he breathes back, voice thick with everything he won’t name. Then, softer, a hush in Ronin’s hair: “You don’t need to be sorry.”
Remi shakes his head slowly, the motion small and sure against the other man’s brow. “It took the three of us just to bring her down—and she didn’t even fight, which…” Hubris had been the Reaper’s downfall more than the demigods had. The bitterness is gentle but undeniable, the memory still fresh and lodged behind his teeth. “If speed was all we needed, she wouldn’t have left marks on Flora at all.”
His hand drifts from Ronin’s back, slides down to wrap around his waist instead, tugging him the final fraction of space into his arms. The kiss he gives this time is quieter—more worship than urgency, more promise than plea. His lips find Ronin’s again and again, brushing away the taste of sorrow and the sting of regret. Chasing the whiskey back to something sweeter. Humming into the touch like it’s prayer. Like it’s all he’s ever believed in.
“But we did do it,” he says finally, forehead pressed to Ronin’s as the air thickens with memory and the salt of unfallen tears. “She’s safe now. Not okay, maybe, but she’s actually safe. That’s more than we had this morning.”
And he means to let go. He really does. But his arms won’t listen, and the longer he holds Ronin pinned between his body and the sea-railed edge of their shared little balcony, the harder it is to believe that letting go could ever be the right thing again.
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.
