Nothing Left to Chance
Aug. 27th, 2022 11:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seleniasTitle: Nothing Left to Chance
Characters/pairing: Dimos/Rion
Fandom: Nier Reincarnation
Rating: all audiences
Word Count: 229
Notes: Takes place after City of Desolation event.
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Rion’s hands didn’t shake when he held the gun. His shot was precise, swift, and fatal. Perfect.
“Someone taught you,” Dimos croaked.
Rion looked up from his lap. His earrings jingled at the sudden movement. He held a small electrical box and was repairing it with a small driver with practiced movements. “What was that?”
Dimos shook his head. His voice box was not functioning well. His thoughts were everywhere. He felt unsure.
“You prefer a staff to a gun,” he said slowly.
“Ah. It’s very multipurpose,” Rion said. He hesitated. “It is also less threatening, I think.”
Dimos nodded. From the corner of his vision, Rion’s back straightened.
“You’re right though, I was taught. All soldiers and provisional staff learn how to use a gun and a sword.”
“You don’t.”
“No.” Rion leaned back in his chair. “It hurts my hands.”
“Don’t lie.”
Dimos imagined reaching across the distance between them, taking Rion’s pale unmarred fingers in his own. He did bruise easily, made of softer stuff than him --
“My father lived in fear of invasion. It’s why we’re always at war. He trusts no one. I reject that mindset.”
Risky and naive, Dimos thought. Out loud: “Thank you.”
As if reading his mind, Rion simply looked at him. “We’re partners,” he said, lips curling. “You’re my dearest friend. Trust me to take care of you.”
Dimos did.
Characters/pairing: Dimos/Rion
Fandom: Nier Reincarnation
Rating: all audiences
Word Count: 229
Notes: Takes place after City of Desolation event.
-
Rion’s hands didn’t shake when he held the gun. His shot was precise, swift, and fatal. Perfect.
“Someone taught you,” Dimos croaked.
Rion looked up from his lap. His earrings jingled at the sudden movement. He held a small electrical box and was repairing it with a small driver with practiced movements. “What was that?”
Dimos shook his head. His voice box was not functioning well. His thoughts were everywhere. He felt unsure.
“You prefer a staff to a gun,” he said slowly.
“Ah. It’s very multipurpose,” Rion said. He hesitated. “It is also less threatening, I think.”
Dimos nodded. From the corner of his vision, Rion’s back straightened.
“You’re right though, I was taught. All soldiers and provisional staff learn how to use a gun and a sword.”
“You don’t.”
“No.” Rion leaned back in his chair. “It hurts my hands.”
“Don’t lie.”
Dimos imagined reaching across the distance between them, taking Rion’s pale unmarred fingers in his own. He did bruise easily, made of softer stuff than him --
“My father lived in fear of invasion. It’s why we’re always at war. He trusts no one. I reject that mindset.”
Risky and naive, Dimos thought. Out loud: “Thank you.”
As if reading his mind, Rion simply looked at him. “We’re partners,” he said, lips curling. “You’re my dearest friend. Trust me to take care of you.”
Dimos did.
