REMI
the bastion
Darling, you never could scare me
Set me ablaze like you do
Set me ablaze like you do
Remi nods easily at that, the corner of his mouth lifting. " I would like that." There is something quietly pleasing in the thought, father and son crossing paths in the Grounds on purpose rather than by chance.
He turns back to the plant just in time for Mateo to begin very deliberately guiding him toward an understanding he is, quite frankly, not prepared to reach. Remi exhales through his nose, patient, indulgent, entirely unaware that he is the one being dense.
And yet.
When Mateo says the word, when he strips it down to something impossibly simple—twins—Remi blinks. The word seems to hang in the warm air between them, heavier than it has any right to be. His gaze drifts slowly from Mateo to the plant—two stems, two buds—then back to his son. For a moment, he says nothing at all.
His mouth opens, closes. He inhales, and the breath does not quite settle properly in his lungs. The meadow feels suddenly brighter, the sunlight harsher even beneath the umbrella’s shade. "Cosa?" he breathes. "No… non può essere." His eyes return to the plant as though it might rearrange itself into something more manageable. "Noi… è…" His hand lifts halfway, hovering uselessly in the air before falling back to his knee. He swallows, staring at the twin stems as though seeing them for the first time.
"Gemelli?" Slowly, he turns his head back toward Mateo, colour having drained just slightly from his face, though his eyes are wide and bright in a way that is not entirely fear. "Sei sicuro?"
He turns back to the plant just in time for Mateo to begin very deliberately guiding him toward an understanding he is, quite frankly, not prepared to reach. Remi exhales through his nose, patient, indulgent, entirely unaware that he is the one being dense.
And yet.
When Mateo says the word, when he strips it down to something impossibly simple—twins—Remi blinks. The word seems to hang in the warm air between them, heavier than it has any right to be. His gaze drifts slowly from Mateo to the plant—two stems, two buds—then back to his son. For a moment, he says nothing at all.
His mouth opens, closes. He inhales, and the breath does not quite settle properly in his lungs. The meadow feels suddenly brighter, the sunlight harsher even beneath the umbrella’s shade. "Cosa?" he breathes. "No… non può essere." His eyes return to the plant as though it might rearrange itself into something more manageable. "Noi… è…" His hand lifts halfway, hovering uselessly in the air before falling back to his knee. He swallows, staring at the twin stems as though seeing them for the first time.
"Gemelli?" Slowly, he turns his head back toward Mateo, colour having drained just slightly from his face, though his eyes are wide and bright in a way that is not entirely fear. "Sei sicuro?"
I'd walk over coals in my bare feet
If that gets me closer to you
If that gets me closer to you
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.
