walk me to the knife edge

you trace my lines, stirring my soul

Remi hasn't needed sleep, physically, for a while now. Neither has Ronin, which has served them well during their various nighttime activities. That doesn't change the way sleep clings to the Alchemist as he's roused from slumber, though he's quick to blink away his heavy eyelids as he smells the rain clinging to Ronin. It infuriates him that he was kept asleep, for there's no other explanation than that. As the Star explains he can't help the snarl on his lip, though he keeps his thoughts to himself. Ronin shares many of them anyway.

Without question, the Alchemist follows Ronin into the last death throes of monsoon season. One of his hands is curled around the back of Ronin's skull, holding it possessively as his tongue traces out the ghost of words that don't need to be said. Overwhelmed by the hot flood of raw emotion that bristles against him, Remi's grip on Ronin at every point they touch is unyielding and fixed. There may be storms outside and in, but just now Remi's feels as rooted in the world as he ever has.

"I've got you." He whispers when their lips do part, though the Alchemist keeps the Star close enough that Ronin's eyes are a dark sea instead of their regular sharp blue.

THE ALCHEMIST