we shall heal our wounds, collect our dead
"I thought those were your sweet nothings I could hear."
The door to the houseboat clicks open, revealing a second figure stripped to the waist, his hair wet and tousled, a towel around his neck. Scars and ink cover his torso in equal measure, some pink and others silver with age, and even a year in retirement hasn't changed the landscape of Ronin's body very much.
Padding barefoot through the garden and around the fishpond (and plucking up some rosemary and oregano to go with their breakfast), he approaches the man cursing on the rock and slips up behind him, letting firm, warm hands glide down his shoulders. "Tell me more," he implores, rubbing the tension from Remi's muscles before leaning past him to retrieve the notebook.
Alas, he hasn't got any more charcoal. Sorry, husband.
The door to the houseboat clicks open, revealing a second figure stripped to the waist, his hair wet and tousled, a towel around his neck. Scars and ink cover his torso in equal measure, some pink and others silver with age, and even a year in retirement hasn't changed the landscape of Ronin's body very much.
Padding barefoot through the garden and around the fishpond (and plucking up some rosemary and oregano to go with their breakfast), he approaches the man cursing on the rock and slips up behind him, letting firm, warm hands glide down his shoulders. "Tell me more," he implores, rubbing the tension from Remi's muscles before leaning past him to retrieve the notebook.
Alas, he hasn't got any more charcoal. Sorry, husband.
THE DARK STAR
and continue fighting
