cinders and smoke

RONIN if there's one thing i'm good at, it's surviving "You could have. And we could have kept them and coveted them, and played those recordings over and over and over again, and it would kill us in the end," Ronin half whispered, his eyes closing as Remi's fingers brushed across his cheeks. His free hand came up to touch his chest, over his heart. "This is where she'll stay for me. It's where she lived from the moment she took her first breath, and that will never change." A grave had been a nice idea, Ronin blinking his eyes open and gazing into the hole; his fingers brushed absently across smears of blood along Remi's arm. Tutting his husband and his apologies, Ronin shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, you'll figure out how," he said, a soft and certain kind of knowing in his voice. "We can figure it out together. Every day you're here is a day when you didn't walk away into nothing. It's another chance to figure it out. So just focus on being here for now, okay?"