took a fall from a windy height

it was me who wrote onto the wooden door your name

With skin still clammy from the ocean, Ronin's fingers are like a soothing balm against frayed nerves and starved skin. It's like anywhere Ronin touches him, the Star's light pours into Remi's darkness, reigniting everything too numb or weary to feel. But now, with their bodies together in ways they haven't been for months, Remi is forced to pull himself back if only fractionally, to anchor himself in the moment. Much as he wants Ronin, unlike so many times before, he isn't seeking for the Star to heal anything in him. He isn't running away. Perhaps that's why he's suddenly so acutely aware of the soft brush of the blankets over the back of his thighs and how the sensation changes drastically where Ronin's hands replace the furs. He can hear the song of the plaza outside, bright and charming; Remi even has time to marvel at how the sound of his hands over Ronin's skin is loud enough to drown everything else out.

With a breath that shivers against Ronin's lips, Remi clenches his jaw as another shiver ghosts up from his toes. "Yes," He agrees, as one of his hands slides down the length of the Star's body, fitting itself around his hip. Whether it's there to keep the Star in place that they might continue, or to stop his hips from rising and causing further tension, even Remi doesn't know. "I will never not want you." Remi whispers against Ronin's lower lip, the words sounding as much like an apology as they do a caution.

it'll last there longer than in this body i can stay