cinders and smoke

RONIN if there's one thing i'm good at, it's surviving "Personal hardly matters when it comes to us," Ronin said softly. "...She warned me that if I continued on the path I was on, she could make Aoife's death look like nothing," he muttered. "She accused me of taking my anger out on everything else, of blaming her." Rubbing his forehead, he glanced sideways at Remi. "And she was right, too. So I'm trying to just... own my actions. Whether I decide to get fighty in a bar or love you until you're just bonedust, at least it's something I chose for myself." He snorted softly. "And this wasn't your fault either, Remi. I know you don't want to hear it, but it's true. It isn't your fault she died." As Remi's knees pulled to his chest, Ronin scooted closer, an arm moving around the alchemist's shoulders. Maybe it was selfish to want him close, but if Remi felt nothing, Ronin figured it wouldn't matter so much. "Instead of asking why, how about you try and answer the question?" he asked softly. "Why bother? Why are you still here, if you feel nothing? Why make this grave?"