he had eyes like rain & hair like waves
& a soul as vast and deep as the ocean
& a soul as vast and deep as the ocean
Remi grins as if he’s won something, even if the prize is only Ronin’s begrudging compromise. "I’ll take it," he hums, amused as ever by his husband’s particular brand of superstition. "Though between the two of us, I do feel a little guilty even bringing lanterns. It feels a bit like cheating." His brush stills for a moment as he glances up, the candlelight catching in the slope of his smile. "After all we’ve been given and all we can do..." A shrug. "It feels unfair to tempt fate to give us anything more than we already have."
At Ronin's threat, Remi gasps, the sound sharp and scandalized, one hand flying to his chest with theatrical flair. "You wouldn’t dare," he whispers, eyes narrowing a breath later as the Knight begins blowing delicately on his paint like some kind of da Vinci. "If you turn into a perfectionist now, I swear—" His voice drops to a mutter, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. He does not finish the threat, because they both know how it would end: with Ronin covered in paint and Remi pinning him to the deck before Mort ever gets his lantern.
The Bastion bites the inside of his cheek to tame the curl of his smile, but it doesn’t quite work. His eyes flick up again at the wistfulness in Ronin’s voice, softening in a way that brushes gently against his ribs. "What sort of man?" he asks, feigning innocence with an exaggerated lift of his brows. "The kind who could barely best a golem on his own with a penchant for tripping over his own feet?" His voice is teasing, but there’s a thread of quiet adoration woven through it, because he knows what Ronin means, what he really means, and gods, Remi feels it too.
That despite the years and the grief and the battles they’ve weathered, some version of them still lives in those early days. Still chooses one another with a kind of sweetness that the world hasn’t managed to sand down.
At Ronin's threat, Remi gasps, the sound sharp and scandalized, one hand flying to his chest with theatrical flair. "You wouldn’t dare," he whispers, eyes narrowing a breath later as the Knight begins blowing delicately on his paint like some kind of da Vinci. "If you turn into a perfectionist now, I swear—" His voice drops to a mutter, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. He does not finish the threat, because they both know how it would end: with Ronin covered in paint and Remi pinning him to the deck before Mort ever gets his lantern.
The Bastion bites the inside of his cheek to tame the curl of his smile, but it doesn’t quite work. His eyes flick up again at the wistfulness in Ronin’s voice, softening in a way that brushes gently against his ribs. "What sort of man?" he asks, feigning innocence with an exaggerated lift of his brows. "The kind who could barely best a golem on his own with a penchant for tripping over his own feet?" His voice is teasing, but there’s a thread of quiet adoration woven through it, because he knows what Ronin means, what he really means, and gods, Remi feels it too.
That despite the years and the grief and the battles they’ve weathered, some version of them still lives in those early days. Still chooses one another with a kind of sweetness that the world hasn’t managed to sand down.
THE BASTION
& i guess i didn't mind d r o w n i n g in him.
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.
