you are terrifying and strange and beautiful
Ronin wants to respond - wants to say me neither, or to offer anything, but the reality of it caves in on him and he's unable to do much more than clutch Remi close, crying hard and silently into his embrace. He doesn't want to do this again. To miss another childhood, to be an absentee father for a third time. It isn't fair, and it isn't kind, and it isn't for the greater good. And he fucking hates it, in ways he can't ever say or describe to those in the place where he's found himself.
Remi draws back and Ronin smooths his curls out of his face with gentle, calloused hands, cupping his cheeks and leaning his forehead against the other man's. "I'm holding up," he whispers. It's not the same as alright, but it's more truthful than just blind agreement. "I'm in barracks. I've got... my own space. It's all very grey," he explains, though the truth is, compared to now, he barely remembers it.
The dream is more vibrant by far than the reality, and Ronin draws his husband in again, slumping back to sit on the ground so he can gather Remi as close as he can. "How's Mateo? The Greatwood?"
Remi draws back and Ronin smooths his curls out of his face with gentle, calloused hands, cupping his cheeks and leaning his forehead against the other man's. "I'm holding up," he whispers. It's not the same as alright, but it's more truthful than just blind agreement. "I'm in barracks. I've got... my own space. It's all very grey," he explains, though the truth is, compared to now, he barely remembers it.
The dream is more vibrant by far than the reality, and Ronin draws his husband in again, slumping back to sit on the ground so he can gather Remi as close as he can. "How's Mateo? The Greatwood?"
The huntsman
