the bastion
And you should know,
I left but never lost my place
I left but never lost my place
Ronin’s toast is still warm between them when Remi’s crooked grin returns, sly and sunny all at once. "Fitting," he drawls, glancing over the rim of his glass, "you have been known to switch a time or two." The edge of mischief in his voice isn’t sharp—it’s sugar-glazed and fond, a teasing nudge tucked in amidst the love that brims over.
He leans in just a little, conspiratorial now, curls catching the gold of the setting sun. "We can get matching aprons. And we’ll call it..." He squints at the sky like the name might float down on the breeze, before shrugging. "Something punny. The Shellfish Shanty, maybe. Shrimply the Best?" The shrug turns sheepish as a laugh escapes him, helplessly fond of his own terrible ideas.
The air around them is sweet with salt and sun and the promise of nothing urgent. Clinking his glass against Ronin’s with a grin that’s softer now—awed, almost—Remi lets the hush of this shared peace sink into his bones. One hand lifts to signal the server, two fingers up in an easy, wordless request. He tilts his head toward Ronin and adds a casual point for emphasis: that one’s a double.
Then he turns back to his husband, the smile still on his lips but melting slowly into something smaller, quieter, steadier. The kind of look that doesn’t need to be chased or named to be felt. The kind of love that has roots.
Letting it linger in the fading light, Remi takes another sip of his rabbit cocktail, the petals brushing his lips like memory. Whatever comes next, they’ll face it together—whether that’s a tambourine solo, a drunken stumble home, or building an empire of shrimp and karaoke.
~FIN
He leans in just a little, conspiratorial now, curls catching the gold of the setting sun. "We can get matching aprons. And we’ll call it..." He squints at the sky like the name might float down on the breeze, before shrugging. "Something punny. The Shellfish Shanty, maybe. Shrimply the Best?" The shrug turns sheepish as a laugh escapes him, helplessly fond of his own terrible ideas.
The air around them is sweet with salt and sun and the promise of nothing urgent. Clinking his glass against Ronin’s with a grin that’s softer now—awed, almost—Remi lets the hush of this shared peace sink into his bones. One hand lifts to signal the server, two fingers up in an easy, wordless request. He tilts his head toward Ronin and adds a casual point for emphasis: that one’s a double.
Then he turns back to his husband, the smile still on his lips but melting slowly into something smaller, quieter, steadier. The kind of look that doesn’t need to be chased or named to be felt. The kind of love that has roots.
Letting it linger in the fading light, Remi takes another sip of his rabbit cocktail, the petals brushing his lips like memory. Whatever comes next, they’ll face it together—whether that’s a tambourine solo, a drunken stumble home, or building an empire of shrimp and karaoke.
~FIN
and these nights I miss you most
my heart is yours to break
my heart is yours to break
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.
