Astaroth
// i ride the edge, my speed goes in the red //
The calm of the storm doesn’t last as the door closes and the anger comes back – well deserved, as far as Asta’s mind goes, but it isn’t until the next shove has him pressed against the wall that Astaroth reaches out finally, the butcher’s hands reaching for Danta as if to try to keep him from deciding to change his mind and perhaps shove at his not good shoulder.
“I should have sent a letter.” He adds into the apology, a frown forming on a face that has barely ever harbored anything other than a smile, if the wrinkle lines have anything to say about it. “I took a day to recover, and then went and saw Isla the day I was intending on leaving. I needed to thank her.” He says, as if it were the only thing he can say to try and make up for the fact that he’s fucked up.
It isn’t a good enough reason, though, and he knows this, and he doesn’t think that now is a good time to show the gift he’d gotten for the Maverick either, like he’s simply alleviating the issue of his lack of communication by bombarding with gifts. So instead, he tries to pull Danta into his chest, into a hug that he so desperately needs but too ashamed to admit it. “I no longer needed to clear my head. The drugs Isla gave me did enough of that for me.” His nose wrinkles at the memory, the vulnerability. “I am sorry for what I put you through.” He feels as if he’ll be apologizing for a long while, still.
“I should have sent a letter.” He adds into the apology, a frown forming on a face that has barely ever harbored anything other than a smile, if the wrinkle lines have anything to say about it. “I took a day to recover, and then went and saw Isla the day I was intending on leaving. I needed to thank her.” He says, as if it were the only thing he can say to try and make up for the fact that he’s fucked up.
It isn’t a good enough reason, though, and he knows this, and he doesn’t think that now is a good time to show the gift he’d gotten for the Maverick either, like he’s simply alleviating the issue of his lack of communication by bombarding with gifts. So instead, he tries to pull Danta into his chest, into a hug that he so desperately needs but too ashamed to admit it. “I no longer needed to clear my head. The drugs Isla gave me did enough of that for me.” His nose wrinkles at the memory, the vulnerability. “I am sorry for what I put you through.” He feels as if he’ll be apologizing for a long while, still.
// hot blood, these veins, my pleasure is their pain //
