RONIN
the darkstar
light is easy to love.
That doesn't make it better, Ronin wants to say, his cheeks flushing with a mix of shame and irritation for the once-again-casual nature of Remi saying he'd nearly lost his life. It makes him want to turn away to the door, to leave the musician to his lonely studio and his bad nights and his terrible choices, because Ronin has seen enough death for his taste already. He doesn't though, of course. He merely stands like a dickhead in the open doorway of the apartment while Remi sits himself down.
And says he wants to talk.
"Yeah, alright," he mumbles, reaching out to click the door shut behind him and move to perch on the arm of the loveseat. He doesn't get comfortable and he doesn't let the bag shrug off his shoulder. He's got a feeling he won't be staying for very long at this rate. "Fire away."
And says he wants to talk.
"Yeah, alright," he mumbles, reaching out to click the door shut behind him and move to perch on the arm of the loveseat. He doesn't get comfortable and he doesn't let the bag shrug off his shoulder. He's got a feeling he won't be staying for very long at this rate. "Fire away."
show me your darkness.
