RONIN
”Humble is my middle name,” Ronin murmurs, smiling against Remi’s neck and delivering another kiss before he steps away. The box goes down onto the table, as does his wine glass, and he snags half of a sandwich to devour as they go through the rest of his supplies. The little wax jars, the broken beads, the glitter, all that comes out. So does a large ball of string, some thick sheets of parchment, a palette of paints and brushes and so on. Ronin swallows his bite of bacon and smirks to his husband.
”We should make bunting,” he informs him, picking up the wine again and cheersing Remi, taking a generous sip. ”Or maybe a paper lantern again, because we did so good at that last time.” Good was relative, but... hey. It’s fine.
”We should make bunting,” he informs him, picking up the wine again and cheersing Remi, taking a generous sip. ”Or maybe a paper lantern again, because we did so good at that last time.” Good was relative, but... hey. It’s fine.
soft spoken with a broken jaw
we step outside, but not to brawl
we step outside, but not to brawl
