brighter

Now the ashes of tomorrow sing your sad song

Remi glances back over his shoulder toward where Ronin still lingers near the doorway, squinting faintly as he tries to pull from memory a rumour he might have heard once; something about a group who dreamt of this place? His gaze drifts up toward the ceiling, as if the answer might be carved there in the stone. "I think that sounds right?" he murmurs, voice soft and uncertain, "But if anyone told me for certain, clearly I have forgotten." His shoulders lift in a small, helpless shrug.

Then Ronin’s arm slides around his waist, tugging him back from the cracked stone, and Remi huffs a quiet laugh, letting himself be reeled in like he’s on a line. His arms wind easily around Ronin’s neck, damp curls brushing the Knight’s cheek as he leans in, only to take two slow, exaggerated steps backward toward the fractured centre of the room, like he’s daring Ronin to either stop him or join him.

He hums his agreement to the Knight's assessment—yes, whatever was here was never meant to stay, yes, it feels like waking breath still lingers in the air—but his voice turns mischievous as he tilts his head, pressing closer until their noses nearly brush. "Don’t you want to make out just a little bit on the weird alien god-rock?" he whispers, grin broadening. "Just because we can?"

the bastion

Styling stolen from Sky (obviously)