[SE] the world can wait

REMI

"As if we’re capable of doing anything else," Remi murmurs against the curve of Ronin’s neck, the words half-lost in a low, lazy chuckle. The thought of moving—even for coffee—feels sacrilegious right now, and so instead, he shifts slightly on the mattress, one shoulder rolling as a large tawny wing unfurls and drapes across both of them. It doesn’t hold the warmth of a blanket, not exactly, but it offers something deeper: a shield, a hush, a barrier of down and muscle between them and whatever the world might demand next.

When Ronin speaks again, Remi makes a quiet sound of inquiry—Mmm?—before the words settle in, and he huffs out a softer laugh against his husband’s skin. "That’s where you’re wrong, husband," he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of Ronin’s ear. "I think just about anyone could love you. Gods know how many secret crushes you have out there." His fingers flex gently against Ronin’s chest, reverent even in rest.

"But me?" The words come quieter, like they’ve been brewing somewhere deep. "I’m not so easy, and I’m certain only you could ever love me like this." His voice is steady but raw in its sincerity, every word etched with the weight of memory and knowing; of past mistakes, sharp edges, and the kind of devotion that has been tested and reforged a hundred times over.

Who are you? They ask. Death?
Sometimes... I say. But not today