// Start a tiny riot //
He doesn't say anything as she folds into him, just makes the room for her as he lifts an arm up. It winds around behind her as she tucks into his side, his hand perching on her shoulder. Fingers strum slow and slight against her skin periodically, an external pulse for her to come back to as she wades into something that's gonna get her hair wet with it's depth.
His other hand rests across his lap, fingers curling into hers as easy as air into lungs. The shooting star she drags down against him is what he's watching as she starts to talk, and even with the soft radiance of pretend stars, the faintest twitch of a smile becoming lost as she sinks. She isn't lost, not exactly. She's navigated these waters, but she's still dredging up something heavy and everything buoyant struggles with it.
Surprise is the first thing that finds him as she threads the tale, not the least of which is because she rather literally says, well let me start at the beginning—I was born. He knows of her parents, has met most of them even, but he doesn't know them or much about her earlier childhood. He's considers saying something comforting, like lots of kids aren't planned, but are still dearly loved, or weird way to be conceived, but they still love you. Wisely, he waits, listening even as her breaths pause for a moment in thought.
His eyes had long since drifted from the star to watch her, but now as she spins his palm over, needing it less for grip than a pad for artistry, he can only comply. It's more difficult than it should be to guess the pattern that she traces out, the ghost of her design leaving a subtle tingle on his skin that the hairs on his arms stand up at, gooseflesh rippling out. As she continues though, his attention snaps back up towards her, his disbelief so strong and sudden he can't bite back the harsh "what?!"
He's a bit slack jawed, 'brows furrowing with concern and the clash of reality with the easy going Ronin he's met thus far. "What the fuck?" is the only thing he can seem to manage, her story one so at odds with his experience he can't quite grasp it in full. "Ronin?" he breathes out, frowning a bit. "Just, the whole time? Ronin never made up for it? Remi never stood up to him, fought for you two?" He could maybe understand that initial reaction, especially if Ronin had been surprised by it all, but just essentially casting them out like that? Remi...if he didn't mean to have her, maybe he felt the visits had been enough, but what you mean, as Kaisel has begun to learn, doesn't actually matter much. Remi did have her, and clay stars aren't nearly enough for all the empty days.
A deep breath is blown out, softening parts of him that began to grow harder with an anger that doesn't really belong to him. What use is there in demanding answers of her for their faults, she probably still doesn't understand half of the whys of what they did, and maybe they don't either. Even if she does, the answers won't undo it.
He presses her in tighter with his arm. He won't apologize—he doesn't want to give her a gas station flower. Instead he just takes one of the smaller stars he still has and presses it firmly to her forehead, then tugs her back with him into a flop against the pillows and blankets she laid out, giving them a good view of the starry canopy. "I can see why you left," he murmurs, pressing a kiss into her hair. Why Enzo matters so much to her, because for a while he was all she really had. "Well I'm really glad you're here." Maybe no one had ever told her as much, but he definitely is.
"It's hard to tell when it's done. Some are still popping while others are smoking and when I think I have it, either half of it is still kernels and ruined or half is burnt and ruined," he huffs. He's not proud of his popcorn inadequacies. He might also be sprinkling some extra passion into the simplistic issue to keep her mind for falling back into that cold dark.
His other hand rests across his lap, fingers curling into hers as easy as air into lungs. The shooting star she drags down against him is what he's watching as she starts to talk, and even with the soft radiance of pretend stars, the faintest twitch of a smile becoming lost as she sinks. She isn't lost, not exactly. She's navigated these waters, but she's still dredging up something heavy and everything buoyant struggles with it.
Surprise is the first thing that finds him as she threads the tale, not the least of which is because she rather literally says, well let me start at the beginning—I was born. He knows of her parents, has met most of them even, but he doesn't know them or much about her earlier childhood. He's considers saying something comforting, like lots of kids aren't planned, but are still dearly loved, or weird way to be conceived, but they still love you. Wisely, he waits, listening even as her breaths pause for a moment in thought.
His eyes had long since drifted from the star to watch her, but now as she spins his palm over, needing it less for grip than a pad for artistry, he can only comply. It's more difficult than it should be to guess the pattern that she traces out, the ghost of her design leaving a subtle tingle on his skin that the hairs on his arms stand up at, gooseflesh rippling out. As she continues though, his attention snaps back up towards her, his disbelief so strong and sudden he can't bite back the harsh "what?!"
He's a bit slack jawed, 'brows furrowing with concern and the clash of reality with the easy going Ronin he's met thus far. "What the fuck?" is the only thing he can seem to manage, her story one so at odds with his experience he can't quite grasp it in full. "Ronin?" he breathes out, frowning a bit. "Just, the whole time? Ronin never made up for it? Remi never stood up to him, fought for you two?" He could maybe understand that initial reaction, especially if Ronin had been surprised by it all, but just essentially casting them out like that? Remi...if he didn't mean to have her, maybe he felt the visits had been enough, but what you mean, as Kaisel has begun to learn, doesn't actually matter much. Remi did have her, and clay stars aren't nearly enough for all the empty days.
A deep breath is blown out, softening parts of him that began to grow harder with an anger that doesn't really belong to him. What use is there in demanding answers of her for their faults, she probably still doesn't understand half of the whys of what they did, and maybe they don't either. Even if she does, the answers won't undo it.
He presses her in tighter with his arm. He won't apologize—he doesn't want to give her a gas station flower. Instead he just takes one of the smaller stars he still has and presses it firmly to her forehead, then tugs her back with him into a flop against the pillows and blankets she laid out, giving them a good view of the starry canopy. "I can see why you left," he murmurs, pressing a kiss into her hair. Why Enzo matters so much to her, because for a while he was all she really had. "Well I'm really glad you're here." Maybe no one had ever told her as much, but he definitely is.
"It's hard to tell when it's done. Some are still popping while others are smoking and when I think I have it, either half of it is still kernels and ruined or half is burnt and ruined," he huffs. He's not proud of his popcorn inadequacies. He might also be sprinkling some extra passion into the simplistic issue to keep her mind for falling back into that cold dark.
Kaisel
// Stop being so goddamn quiet //
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
