no bullies or bums, the chums are tens here

the bastion

"Sì, il gin è ancora il mio preferito," Remi confirms with an easy nod, dimples deepening as Mateo slides the glass toward him. The little yellow umbrella earns a quiet trill of laughter, a sound so familiar it feels like a ghost of easier days. "Grazie," he adds, the word brightened by affection more than etiquette before he takes a sip. He hums, low and approving, though the truth is he would have done so regardless; even if Mateo had handed him bathwater, he would have smiled the same, the gesture mattering so much more than the drink.

Listening to his son’s laughter about Kaisel, Remi’s grin softens. "Sto essendo gentile," he sighs, lifting the glass faintly for emphasis. "Voglio solo che Flora sia felice, anche se è con qualcuno che è—" The rest of the sentence never arrives. Flora appears in the archway like a storm given shape, her presence commanding enough to halt even the spriggan on his shoulder, Remi’s brows lift in innocent surrender.

"I’d be happy to set the table," he offers, rising to his feet with exaggerated obedience. "And I’ll leave the cocktail-making in Mateo’s capable hands." Still smiling, he drifts toward the kitchen, the glass balanced loosely in his hand and Oria peeking out from behind his curls to watch the shifting colours of the stained glass above.

As he steps into the doorway, Remi nudges his husband through the attuned bond, wordless and wry, his amusement brushed in the warmth of fond disbelief. Do I have you to thank for that little interruption, he asks silently, his eyes flicking to the Knight over the counter, or has Flora suddenly been studying up on the travelling tongue?

I got a feeling inside that I can't domesticate
It doesn't wanna live in a cage,
A feeling that I can't housebreak

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!