RONIN
the darkstar
light is easy to love.
"How privileged must I be," Ronin drawls, smiling as best he's able and raising his empty glass as if to cheers the other man again. "When I see you on the cover of Rolling Stone, I'll be able to point and say I knew you." He snorts, though whether that's at the idea that Remi will ever make it to a magazine cover, or whether Ronin would be the type to gush over the fact that he used to know someone famous... it could go either way, honestly.
"Oof, such a sharp tongue. I liked it better when you were French," he says with a smirk, setting down the glass on the bench beside him and rolling his shoulders, as if to try and tell which parts of him are going to be bruised in the morning. "They sound nice," he says of the family friend, because what the fuck else can you say when you've had no idea what's been said?
Say what, goes the Italian, and Ronin wiggles his phone at him. "You said you were surprised I remembered. What makes you say that? I came to your gig, didn't I?"
"Oof, such a sharp tongue. I liked it better when you were French," he says with a smirk, setting down the glass on the bench beside him and rolling his shoulders, as if to try and tell which parts of him are going to be bruised in the morning. "They sound nice," he says of the family friend, because what the fuck else can you say when you've had no idea what's been said?
Say what, goes the Italian, and Ronin wiggles his phone at him. "You said you were surprised I remembered. What makes you say that? I came to your gig, didn't I?"
show me your darkness.
