REMI
Remi chuckles, warm and boyish, shoulders lifting in a shrug that says he can picture every absurd detail of the scenario—him and Ronin showing up at Safrin’s shrine with a bucket of popcorn and a petty request—but also that neither of them would ever actually follow through on such nonsense. The image lingers anyway, delightful in its impossibility, softening the edges of the chamber around them.
Then Ronin’s lips brush his fingertips and the reaction is instant. Heat rushes through Remi like a spark dropped into dry tinder; belly warming, breath catching, his spine arching just a touch as a soft, shaky sound escapes him before he can stop it. His lashes flutter, and when he exhales, the laugh that follows is breathless in a way that betrays exactly how good that tiny kiss felt. "Yeah," he manages, voice low and a little wrecked before it smooths back into something teasing. "Weird would absolutely be a mood-ruiner."
He draws in a steadier breath, sliding one hand down Ronin’s arm in a lingering stroke before he finally pulls his gaze toward the far end of the chamber. The symbols on the walls pulse in a slow, eerie rhythm, and the door at the end—massive, eldritch, carved with something that looks far too alive—waits like a held breath. Remi lifts a brow, the expression half challenge, half invitation, violet light catching in his sea-glass eyes. "Ready," he murmurs, tilting his head toward the ominous threshold, "to see what's behind that creepy door?"
Then Ronin’s lips brush his fingertips and the reaction is instant. Heat rushes through Remi like a spark dropped into dry tinder; belly warming, breath catching, his spine arching just a touch as a soft, shaky sound escapes him before he can stop it. His lashes flutter, and when he exhales, the laugh that follows is breathless in a way that betrays exactly how good that tiny kiss felt. "Yeah," he manages, voice low and a little wrecked before it smooths back into something teasing. "Weird would absolutely be a mood-ruiner."
He draws in a steadier breath, sliding one hand down Ronin’s arm in a lingering stroke before he finally pulls his gaze toward the far end of the chamber. The symbols on the walls pulse in a slow, eerie rhythm, and the door at the end—massive, eldritch, carved with something that looks far too alive—waits like a held breath. Remi lifts a brow, the expression half challenge, half invitation, violet light catching in his sea-glass eyes. "Ready," he murmurs, tilting his head toward the ominous threshold, "to see what's behind that creepy door?"
Now don't you look so grand, runnin'
Through the reds of my traffic lights
Through the reds of my traffic lights
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.
