we shall heal our wounds, collect our dead
"I love you too." Ronin has not said much, if anything, on the flight home. He has been more of a storm than the monsoon, even if he and Sunjata had sorted their differences (more or less). Because however much he understands, however much Ronin has tried to be a friend instead of a jealous asshole demigod, he's still angry. The wounds on his knuckles are nothing compared to the bruises against his mind and soul.
They arrive back at their apartment and Remi lets them into the shop. Still soaking wet, his clothes clinging to him and his hair plastered to his forehead, Ronin follows his husband. He's glad that Remi doesn't ask about it right away, and the tension that bleeds out of his shoulders says as much. Smiling tiredly to the Lullaby, he nods his agreement and heads to the spiral staircase, up to the sanctity of their bedroom.
"It's been a while since you needed to," he admits, wiping the rain from his face with the back of his sleeve. "I need a drink first, I think."
They arrive back at their apartment and Remi lets them into the shop. Still soaking wet, his clothes clinging to him and his hair plastered to his forehead, Ronin follows his husband. He's glad that Remi doesn't ask about it right away, and the tension that bleeds out of his shoulders says as much. Smiling tiredly to the Lullaby, he nods his agreement and heads to the spiral staircase, up to the sanctity of their bedroom.
"It's been a while since you needed to," he admits, wiping the rain from his face with the back of his sleeve. "I need a drink first, I think."
THE DARK STAR
and continue fighting
