REMI
the bastion
Darling, you never could scare me
Set me ablaze like you do
Set me ablaze like you do
Despite the revelry and the familiar buzz of voices curling like smoke through the warm air, Remi has spent most of the past hour slightly off-centre. Not unhappy—no, never that—but always a little turned, like a compass needle tugged by something truer than the tide. Every few minutes, without meaning to, his gaze finds Ronin.
It doesn’t matter if he’s half-listening to Sunjata recount a particularly scandalous fishing trip, or letting Aoife braid lavender into his curls with all the determination of a girl trying to crown her father—Remi still looks. And every time their eyes catch across the crowd, the world quiets. The lanterns blur. The music fades. And somewhere beneath his skin, where his wedding ring rests snug against the base of his finger, Remi feels the unmistakable answering pulse of Ronin’s heart—bright and immediate, like sunlight catching on water. It’s so steady it makes his breath hitch, as if the connection might be physical. As if Ronin’s heartbeat echoes inside his bones.
He doesn't grin—though he wants to. He just lets it hold him for a second too long before some polite murmur draws his attention away again.
But eventually—inevitably—they find one another.
Remi catches Ronin just as he’s breaking away from a conversation, his hair mussed slightly by the wind and by Aoife’s flowers, and his tie slightly askew like always. The Bastion appears with two glasses of gin, one offered in a hand still faintly scented of salt and citrus. "Here," he murmurs, and the moment Ronin’s fingers close around the glass, Remi leans in to press a kiss to his temple.
The gesture is soft and slow, reverent rather than rushed. His lips linger just a breath too long against sun-warmed skin before he draws back with a crooked smile. "I think I’ve spoken to more people in the last hour than I have in the last week," he says, the words quiet and slightly amused as he sips from his own glass. "I love them, but gods—how do you do it?" A wink follows, but the exhaustion beneath it is real, though laced with fondness.
His free hand slips lightly to the back of Ronin’s jacket, resting there without pressure. The sea whispers behind them, and laughter floats from one of the tents, but for now—for this moment—it’s just two men in love at their own party, returning to each other like the tide always finds the shore.
It doesn’t matter if he’s half-listening to Sunjata recount a particularly scandalous fishing trip, or letting Aoife braid lavender into his curls with all the determination of a girl trying to crown her father—Remi still looks. And every time their eyes catch across the crowd, the world quiets. The lanterns blur. The music fades. And somewhere beneath his skin, where his wedding ring rests snug against the base of his finger, Remi feels the unmistakable answering pulse of Ronin’s heart—bright and immediate, like sunlight catching on water. It’s so steady it makes his breath hitch, as if the connection might be physical. As if Ronin’s heartbeat echoes inside his bones.
He doesn't grin—though he wants to. He just lets it hold him for a second too long before some polite murmur draws his attention away again.
But eventually—inevitably—they find one another.
Remi catches Ronin just as he’s breaking away from a conversation, his hair mussed slightly by the wind and by Aoife’s flowers, and his tie slightly askew like always. The Bastion appears with two glasses of gin, one offered in a hand still faintly scented of salt and citrus. "Here," he murmurs, and the moment Ronin’s fingers close around the glass, Remi leans in to press a kiss to his temple.
The gesture is soft and slow, reverent rather than rushed. His lips linger just a breath too long against sun-warmed skin before he draws back with a crooked smile. "I think I’ve spoken to more people in the last hour than I have in the last week," he says, the words quiet and slightly amused as he sips from his own glass. "I love them, but gods—how do you do it?" A wink follows, but the exhaustion beneath it is real, though laced with fondness.
His free hand slips lightly to the back of Ronin’s jacket, resting there without pressure. The sea whispers behind them, and laughter floats from one of the tents, but for now—for this moment—it’s just two men in love at their own party, returning to each other like the tide always finds the shore.
I'd walk over coals in my bare feet
If that gets me closer to you
If that gets me closer to you
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.
