the bastion
i don't want the world to see me,
because I don't think they'd understand
because I don't think they'd understand
The sourness that moves through the bond feels painfully familiar, too close to what Remi had just been trying to swallow down himself, but this time he does not brace against it. He only turns his head enough to meet Ronin’s gaze, his eyes soft and seaglass green in the low light of the houseboat, understanding there before any argument can gather itself into shape.
As Ronin lists the infancies they have missed, all the small beginnings that were stolen or complicated or badly handled or simply lived at a distance, Remi nods slowly. There is no part of him that wants to tell his husband not to feel the loss of it, no part of him that does not understand the desperate sweetness of having Carlo and Calan exactly as they are now, tiny and warm and helpless against their chests. Still, understanding does not make the thought any less difficult. "It just makes me think about what Flora said," he says at last, his voice low and careful. "About how it is just our damage that we are passing on." His mouth tightens faintly before softening again, and he glances down at the twin resting against him, at the tiny fingers curled in fabric. "We reacted poorly to her news because of what happened to us in the past, and maybe I am still just being too sensitive about it, but I do not want the fresh start we promised to have with these two to feel like it is also being dictated by the past."
He sighs softly, then shifts one hand with painstaking care toward the middle of the bed, feeling around for Ronin in a way that will not disturb either baby. When he speaks again, his voice is even gentler. "I am not saying we should do it right now," he murmurs. "Only that...this stage of their lives, prolonging it is for us, not for them." His thumb brushes lightly once he finds Ronin’s hand or wrist or leg, whatever part of him is closest, and the ache in him opens through the bond without accusation. "Their lives cannot really begin until they are older, and I do not want it to feel like we are keeping that from them."
As Ronin lists the infancies they have missed, all the small beginnings that were stolen or complicated or badly handled or simply lived at a distance, Remi nods slowly. There is no part of him that wants to tell his husband not to feel the loss of it, no part of him that does not understand the desperate sweetness of having Carlo and Calan exactly as they are now, tiny and warm and helpless against their chests. Still, understanding does not make the thought any less difficult. "It just makes me think about what Flora said," he says at last, his voice low and careful. "About how it is just our damage that we are passing on." His mouth tightens faintly before softening again, and he glances down at the twin resting against him, at the tiny fingers curled in fabric. "We reacted poorly to her news because of what happened to us in the past, and maybe I am still just being too sensitive about it, but I do not want the fresh start we promised to have with these two to feel like it is also being dictated by the past."
He sighs softly, then shifts one hand with painstaking care toward the middle of the bed, feeling around for Ronin in a way that will not disturb either baby. When he speaks again, his voice is even gentler. "I am not saying we should do it right now," he murmurs. "Only that...this stage of their lives, prolonging it is for us, not for them." His thumb brushes lightly once he finds Ronin’s hand or wrist or leg, whatever part of him is closest, and the ache in him opens through the bond without accusation. "Their lives cannot really begin until they are older, and I do not want it to feel like we are keeping that from them."
when everything's meant to be broken,
i just want you to know who I am
i just want you to know who I am
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.
