I swear I still believe but I don't know
”Neither were you,” Ronin murmurs; nonetheless he had come back, and things had changed, and they had lost and found so much together and now...
It is Ronin’s turn to scoff out a laugh. ”Neither did I. Not with both of you gone. I didn’t intend to come out of that Temple...” Would it have changed anything, though? That’s where they disagree.
”It would have, for me.” His fingers flex beneath Remi’s. ”I have done grief with you, after Vanya. I can do anything, as long as there is you. Even if I’m an ungrateful reborn prick who didn’t see what he had until it...” Until it was swaddled in blankets a few feet away down the beach.
Ronin shifts back as Remi spins on his knees, able to do little more than watch the land meet the sea in a display that would not have been out of place in the Temple, just a short time ago. It’s the noise that spurs him to do something, the cry of grief like his own hurt made material, and he feels his breath catch around a sob that wants to come out.
Even that morning it would have been the easiest thing in the world to have Remi close, to touch and caress and comfort, but now they stand on burning bridges, and Aoife is forever stuck upon the far side. But Ronin had been serious, even after their fight and their vitriol - he can do anything, as long as there is Remi.
So he tries to reach for the alchemist, to draw him against his chest, fingers and hands all too aware of the extensive scarring that is new. That wasn’t there this morning.
It is Ronin’s turn to scoff out a laugh. ”Neither did I. Not with both of you gone. I didn’t intend to come out of that Temple...” Would it have changed anything, though? That’s where they disagree.
”It would have, for me.” His fingers flex beneath Remi’s. ”I have done grief with you, after Vanya. I can do anything, as long as there is you. Even if I’m an ungrateful reborn prick who didn’t see what he had until it...” Until it was swaddled in blankets a few feet away down the beach.
Ronin shifts back as Remi spins on his knees, able to do little more than watch the land meet the sea in a display that would not have been out of place in the Temple, just a short time ago. It’s the noise that spurs him to do something, the cry of grief like his own hurt made material, and he feels his breath catch around a sob that wants to come out.
Even that morning it would have been the easiest thing in the world to have Remi close, to touch and caress and comfort, but now they stand on burning bridges, and Aoife is forever stuck upon the far side. But Ronin had been serious, even after their fight and their vitriol - he can do anything, as long as there is Remi.
So he tries to reach for the alchemist, to draw him against his chest, fingers and hands all too aware of the extensive scarring that is new. That wasn’t there this morning.
the dark star
