I shouldn't laugh, but I know I'm a failure in your eyes
"I do," Ronin says with a lopsided smile, "and I said it anyway." His laughter comes more easily as they stand together in the lapping surf, the Knight watching as the light begins to die away for good beneath the glittering horizon, heralding the arrival of the night and the stars. Stars they'd sailed, as Vanya points out, and Ronin's smile softens considerably.
"It was an honour to dip a toe in that particular ocean with you," he says, his voice as quiet and sombre as her own, "even if it wasn't for very long." He shifts to stand a little closer as Vanya's arm links with his; his head turns to nose against her wild curls, her warmth and vibrancy feeling dreamlike after so many years. "You have now," he points out. "Like it always should have been."
You would have loved Torchline he nearly adds, but opts not to sour the moment into bittersweetness. And besides, Vanya is already complimenting him enough to have heat rising to his cheeks, Ronin scoffing under his breath.
"The best parts?" he repeats, truly surprised by the question. So rarely does he think of the best parts of the past decade. It has always been one crisis after another: leadership and war and conflict, trauma and betrayal and loss and weariness, bone deep and heavier than the weight of the world he'd learned to carry. But the best parts?
"Truly? It's all been him," he whispers, his head turning enough to seek out the familiar silhouette of Remi back among the festivities. "We've both been leaders of regions. We've seen children come and go. We've lived... everywhere, it feels. But he's been there though it all - he's the best part of all of it. We married each other twice, you know." Ronin's grin is boyish and overjoyed. "And we lived up in the Cordillera for a time, next to an upside down waterfall. Remi makes gin from the water - there might even be some here for you to try. That's where we lived in the sandwich boat."
"It was an honour to dip a toe in that particular ocean with you," he says, his voice as quiet and sombre as her own, "even if it wasn't for very long." He shifts to stand a little closer as Vanya's arm links with his; his head turns to nose against her wild curls, her warmth and vibrancy feeling dreamlike after so many years. "You have now," he points out. "Like it always should have been."
You would have loved Torchline he nearly adds, but opts not to sour the moment into bittersweetness. And besides, Vanya is already complimenting him enough to have heat rising to his cheeks, Ronin scoffing under his breath.
"The best parts?" he repeats, truly surprised by the question. So rarely does he think of the best parts of the past decade. It has always been one crisis after another: leadership and war and conflict, trauma and betrayal and loss and weariness, bone deep and heavier than the weight of the world he'd learned to carry. But the best parts?
"Truly? It's all been him," he whispers, his head turning enough to seek out the familiar silhouette of Remi back among the festivities. "We've both been leaders of regions. We've seen children come and go. We've lived... everywhere, it feels. But he's been there though it all - he's the best part of all of it. We married each other twice, you know." Ronin's grin is boyish and overjoyed. "And we lived up in the Cordillera for a time, next to an upside down waterfall. Remi makes gin from the water - there might even be some here for you to try. That's where we lived in the sandwich boat."
RONIN
