this is me trying

RONIN if there's one thing i'm good at, it's surviving "We could," Ronin agrees, and already he's turning back to the cupboards and reaching out to withdraw a bottle of whiskey and a couple of those mismatched glasses Remi had brought back with him, pouring a generous measure into them. He also takes down a couple of tin cups for coffee (it's all he could steal from the barracks at short notice), adding a splash of whiskey to those too ready for when it's done brewing. Offering out a glass, Ronin doesn't even trust himself to let their fingers touch, and he flashes an apologetic smile to his husband. Why is it what's best? he wants to ask. Why is letting you know I care when someone has left you beaten and bruised so wrong? Of course, Ronin doesn't say that much, letting out a long and shuddering breath as he closes his eyes against the sight of his husband tiptoeing across the kitchen. "I don't want you to stay away from me," he whispers. "I just... I'm not trying to fix this with sex, or with touching. I just want to let you know I'm here, that I've got you." Blinking across at Remi, his smile boyish and almost sad, Ronin shrugs. "Because I am. And I do."