[SE] or christ, hold me like a knife

// you've got a passion in those eyes //

Not right now isn't the same as never at all, and although Danta is still scowling and trying to parse through all he's heard and all the things he'd very much like to do about it, he does lean into the warm hand that clasps his jaw. "You aren't running to me to fight your battles," he objects, head turning and the words almost muttered against the soft skin at the inside of Asta's wrist. What exactly the butcher is running to him for isn't something he has the words to describe right now (or perhaps ever), but to fight for him doesn't seem like the other man at all.

"Alright," he says eventually, the agreement slow, and Danta steps in closer and clasps the other man against him as best he can given his injures. "I can do that. But I do need to go just one more time. I'll only be a few minutes though, I swear." He doesn't pull away for a long few seconds, at least, and when he does he replaces the warmth of his body with the glass of wine he'd poured for the butcher. "Drink. Eat. I won't be long."

Providing Asta doesn't reach out to physically stop him, the Maverick will take his leave again, clicking the door shut behind him. He's true to his word as well, returning perhaps ten minutes later, and when he does it's with a draught of strong pain medicine that will at least allow Asta to pass out when he feels like it.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //