the bastion
Remi listens to Ronin’s apology with something like awe threaded beneath the fondness; not because he doubts his husband’s ability to apologise (Ronin has always had a gift for sincerity), but because of how effortless he makes it sound. It’s a skill Remi has never quite managed to master, his heart too blunt and his pride too tangled, and he feels a brief flicker of gratitude that tonight, it wasn’t him who put his foot in anything.
His gaze shifts to Flora, worry pricking as Kaisel’s stance behind her takes on the shape of a shield. For a moment Remi tenses, bracing for a clean division—parents on one side, children on the other—the kind of quiet fracture that can turn the softest moments razor-sharp. But then Flora exhales, the drama returning to her posture, the frost melting into something familiar and theatrical, and Remi feels the knot in his chest unclench. Relief warms him from the inside out...until she opens her mouth again.
Her threat—detailed, anatomical, metaphor-laden—hits him square in the lungs. Remi inhales sharply, then almost chokes on air, hand lifting instinctively as if to ward off the mental images trying to claw their way into existence. "Oh—no, no," he blurts, shaking his head rapidly, curls bouncing like stunned punctuation. "I’m sure that will never be necessary."
He clears his throat, folding himself promptly into a chair as though the motion alone might save him from the horror of ever having to hear more. A crooked smile tugs at his lips despite himself—sheepish, rattled, and fond all at once—as he shoots Ronin a look that is equal parts please forget those words and you're incredible.
His gaze shifts to Flora, worry pricking as Kaisel’s stance behind her takes on the shape of a shield. For a moment Remi tenses, bracing for a clean division—parents on one side, children on the other—the kind of quiet fracture that can turn the softest moments razor-sharp. But then Flora exhales, the drama returning to her posture, the frost melting into something familiar and theatrical, and Remi feels the knot in his chest unclench. Relief warms him from the inside out...until she opens her mouth again.
Her threat—detailed, anatomical, metaphor-laden—hits him square in the lungs. Remi inhales sharply, then almost chokes on air, hand lifting instinctively as if to ward off the mental images trying to claw their way into existence. "Oh—no, no," he blurts, shaking his head rapidly, curls bouncing like stunned punctuation. "I’m sure that will never be necessary."
He clears his throat, folding himself promptly into a chair as though the motion alone might save him from the horror of ever having to hear more. A crooked smile tugs at his lips despite himself—sheepish, rattled, and fond all at once—as he shoots Ronin a look that is equal parts please forget those words and you're incredible.
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
It doesn't wanna live in a cage,
A feeling that I can't housebreak
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.
