the things we hold are always the first to go
Ronin's what? is barred by a hiccup of noise that he thinks might be a sob, because the tears have already started to spill over his cheeks by the time Remi's words register to him. "Oh for fuck's sake," he manages - just about - and as the other man fights to clutch him close, he'll find no resistance in the Huntsman. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "Gods, I'm so fucking sorry."
His hands reach out to try and steady Remi, and though he's not sure whether either one of them is about to throw up or rage at the world again, Ronin is there all the same. "I don't know what to do either. I don't want to be like this. I don't want to feel like this." His embrace is not the crushing grip one might expect from two demigods; instead it's almost reverent in its gentleness.
"I'll do better. I know they're just kids. Fuck, Remi."
His hands reach out to try and steady Remi, and though he's not sure whether either one of them is about to throw up or rage at the world again, Ronin is there all the same. "I don't know what to do either. I don't want to be like this. I don't want to feel like this." His embrace is not the crushing grip one might expect from two demigods; instead it's almost reverent in its gentleness.
"I'll do better. I know they're just kids. Fuck, Remi."
