sipping silly chartreuse champagne

remi Took a fall from a windy height, I only knew how to hold on tight & pray for love enough to last all night Through a slight veil of curls, the Alchemist looked across the table with patient sea-glass eyes as Oliver wound himself around the thing he apparently wanted to say. Far past the days of supplying meaning for others, Remi had no choice but to let Oliver flail in his lexical struggles. Exhaling the breath he'd been holding, Remi leaned back in his chair. Running a hand through his curls to brush them out of his face, he gave Oliver a long and thoughtful stare before answering. "Well...the sort that comes when you need them. The sort that can put them first." He answered, his voice even and smooth. But the man across the table, the man with scars across his throat, with eyes hardly ever filled with laughter, and with a heart only large enough for one, he couldn't be the sort of man he was roughly describing. Not anymore.