REMI
the bastion
Darling, you never could scare me
Set me ablaze like you do
Set me ablaze like you do
Remi laughs, low and warm in his chest, his smile curling sly as he lifts his brows in a way that’s just shy of scandalous. "Maybe," he murmurs, mischief feathering his voice like a well-kept secret. "But if there is another gift waiting back at the Northaven…" He lets the implication hang, teasing and entirely unspecific, though the way his hand trails lightly down Ronin’s spine says otherwise. "…you’ll definitely have to unwrap it." He sips his gin with an expression of innocent delight, though it’s somewhat undermined by the glint in his eye.
At Ronin’s words, he hums and nods in agreement, gaze drifting briefly out toward the crowd with genuine fondness. "Mmh. It’s a good kind of tired," he says, though his grin sharpens with dry amusement. "Better than the exhaustion that comes from being summoned by the Kid Gang." The name is said with resigned affection, as if they’ve all collectively robbed him of years off his life simply by calling on him to do his divine duty.
His nose wrinkles theatrically at the mention of Northaven parties, and he gives an exaggerated shudder. But then his expression softens, and his head tilts subtly toward the waves. The torches lining the beach cast their glow across the surf, and though the crowd continues on behind them, it feels distant for a moment—just the hush of sea and sand, and the space between them.
"I saw you with Vanya earlier," he says gently, his voice lower now, meant only for Ronin. "Did it help? Talking to her after all this time?" There’s no pressure behind the words—only care, only the quiet gravity of a man who knows the weight of grief and how it settles into the hollows of a heart. Remi’s thumb brushes lightly at Ronin’s side as he waits, offering closeness rather than insistence, the question made of love rather than curiosity.
At Ronin’s words, he hums and nods in agreement, gaze drifting briefly out toward the crowd with genuine fondness. "Mmh. It’s a good kind of tired," he says, though his grin sharpens with dry amusement. "Better than the exhaustion that comes from being summoned by the Kid Gang." The name is said with resigned affection, as if they’ve all collectively robbed him of years off his life simply by calling on him to do his divine duty.
His nose wrinkles theatrically at the mention of Northaven parties, and he gives an exaggerated shudder. But then his expression softens, and his head tilts subtly toward the waves. The torches lining the beach cast their glow across the surf, and though the crowd continues on behind them, it feels distant for a moment—just the hush of sea and sand, and the space between them.
"I saw you with Vanya earlier," he says gently, his voice lower now, meant only for Ronin. "Did it help? Talking to her after all this time?" There’s no pressure behind the words—only care, only the quiet gravity of a man who knows the weight of grief and how it settles into the hollows of a heart. Remi’s thumb brushes lightly at Ronin’s side as he waits, offering closeness rather than insistence, the question made of love rather than curiosity.
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.
