we shall heal our wounds, collect our dead
"Are you calling me a liar, Remi?" Ronin wants to know, grinning crookedly to his husband as he emerges from the sea, glittering and backlit by the sun like he's coming straight off the set of Baywatch. His shirt has been rinsed out by the time the Bastion properly approaches, and he's threatening to tug it back over his head just as Remi's arm catches him around the waist. It's with an easy scoff of laughter that Ronin is tugged forward, shirt forgotten and the fire similarly fading into the periphery.
It's lucky that Sugar is still freewheeling overhead to take care of the last of it, because the moment Ronin's lips meet his husband's, the rest of the world slides out of focus. Remi fits against him like he's never meant to be anywhere else, and for as many years and wars and trials as there have been between them, it always almost feels like the first time. His hands trace scar-flecked skin, salt-sweet and warmed by sunshine, his lips reaffirming promises they've made with just as much enthusiasm as when they were first uttered.
"I love you," he whispered, surprised by his own sincerity, tugging Remi ever closer against him like he might somehow forget how this feels.
It's lucky that Sugar is still freewheeling overhead to take care of the last of it, because the moment Ronin's lips meet his husband's, the rest of the world slides out of focus. Remi fits against him like he's never meant to be anywhere else, and for as many years and wars and trials as there have been between them, it always almost feels like the first time. His hands trace scar-flecked skin, salt-sweet and warmed by sunshine, his lips reaffirming promises they've made with just as much enthusiasm as when they were first uttered.
"I love you," he whispered, surprised by his own sincerity, tugging Remi ever closer against him like he might somehow forget how this feels.
THE WHITE KNIGHT
and continue fighting
