i'm not the man they think i am at home
There’s something openly adoring in the way Remi watches him, something soft and almost boyish that lingers in his gaze as Ronin—the White Knight, Caido's relentless, unyielding protector—chooses, just this once, to surrender to the quiet pull of rest instead of duty. It isn’t a grand thing, not in the way battles or sacrifices are, but it feels no less significant for it, and Remi lets the moment settle warmly in his chest. "Indeed you can," he murmurs, the words threaded with quiet affection as he shifts slightly on the bed.
With careful precision he begins to move, half rolling and half lifting the twins from his chest to the mattress between them, his hands and tentacles working in tandem to keep the transition as seamless as possible. The moment they’re down, he nudges them gently together again, ensuring they remain pressed close, small bodies aligned so that whatever strange comfort they find in one another isn’t lost. He stills almost immediately after, one brow lifting in anticipation of the inevitable protest, his head tilting just slightly as though bracing for impact, but the screaming doesn’t come.
Instead, the twins remain settled, their earlier fussing reduced to soft, intermittent sounds as they shift minutely against each other, content in a way that feels almost miraculous given the chaos of moments before.
Remi’s expression shifts slowly from wary expectation to cautious, almost disbelieving success, and he flicks his gaze sideways toward Ronin over the small, bundled forms between them, the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth as though he scarcely trusts what they’ve managed. He doesn’t speak, not yet, as if saying anything might undo it, but the look alone carries the quiet, incredulous triumph of it: can you believe this is working?
With careful precision he begins to move, half rolling and half lifting the twins from his chest to the mattress between them, his hands and tentacles working in tandem to keep the transition as seamless as possible. The moment they’re down, he nudges them gently together again, ensuring they remain pressed close, small bodies aligned so that whatever strange comfort they find in one another isn’t lost. He stills almost immediately after, one brow lifting in anticipation of the inevitable protest, his head tilting just slightly as though bracing for impact, but the screaming doesn’t come.
Instead, the twins remain settled, their earlier fussing reduced to soft, intermittent sounds as they shift minutely against each other, content in a way that feels almost miraculous given the chaos of moments before.
Remi’s expression shifts slowly from wary expectation to cautious, almost disbelieving success, and he flicks his gaze sideways toward Ronin over the small, bundled forms between them, the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth as though he scarcely trusts what they’ve managed. He doesn’t speak, not yet, as if saying anything might undo it, but the look alone carries the quiet, incredulous triumph of it: can you believe this is working?
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.
