the bastion
Were Torchline capable of cold in any meaningful sense, Remi might have thought to bring a coat. As it was, Deepfrost in Haulani meant only that the air had lost a little of its usual weight and the breeze off the sea had teeth instead of breath, leaving him perfectly comfortable in a knit sweater with one hand curled around a mug of tea and the other idly tracing the grain of the table in front of him.
He had been abandoned, though not very convincingly; Ronin had gone only as far as the other side of the café, caught by someone who had recognised him and who now seemed determined to make the most of it. Remi watched him through the shifting press of bodies with an expression that did a poor job of pretending to be anything other than fond, his curls slightly unruly from the wind outside and his smile tucked mostly into the corner of his mouth.
The second mug of tea steamed untouched across from him, Ronin’s jacket hooked over the back of the empty chair and Remi’s gaze had just drifted from the cup back to his husband when the girl’s cheerful greeting drew his attention, and though he did not recognise her, his expression warmed with the quiet politeness of someone who had been startled out of a pleasant thought rather than disturbed.
"By all means," he says, gesturing toward the chair with Ronin’s jacket on it before reaching to lift the garment free and fold it over the chair beside him instead. Glancing back through the crowd to where Ronin is still very much in conversation, Remi huffs a soft laugh under his breath. "If my husband makes it back before his tea gets cold, it will be a miracle." The explanation comes with a small tilt of his head toward the abandoned mug, affectionate rather than impatient, and he nudges it a little farther from the edge of the table to make room for her hot chocolate.
He had been abandoned, though not very convincingly; Ronin had gone only as far as the other side of the café, caught by someone who had recognised him and who now seemed determined to make the most of it. Remi watched him through the shifting press of bodies with an expression that did a poor job of pretending to be anything other than fond, his curls slightly unruly from the wind outside and his smile tucked mostly into the corner of his mouth.
The second mug of tea steamed untouched across from him, Ronin’s jacket hooked over the back of the empty chair and Remi’s gaze had just drifted from the cup back to his husband when the girl’s cheerful greeting drew his attention, and though he did not recognise her, his expression warmed with the quiet politeness of someone who had been startled out of a pleasant thought rather than disturbed.
"By all means," he says, gesturing toward the chair with Ronin’s jacket on it before reaching to lift the garment free and fold it over the chair beside him instead. Glancing back through the crowd to where Ronin is still very much in conversation, Remi huffs a soft laugh under his breath. "If my husband makes it back before his tea gets cold, it will be a miracle." The explanation comes with a small tilt of his head toward the abandoned mug, affectionate rather than impatient, and he nudges it a little farther from the edge of the table to make room for her hot chocolate.
I got a feeling inside that I can't domesticate
It doesn't wanna live in a cage,
A feeling that I can't housebreak
It doesn't wanna live in a cage,
A feeling that I can't housebreak
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.
