[SE] or christ, hold me like a knife

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

"Mm, me too," Danta mumbles, shifting a little to get more comfortable against the wall, a gesture that only makes it easier for Asta to lean into him until both Ancients are able to watch the rolling storms like a pair of lazy felines at the window of some townhouse. "Do you remember the ones we'd get out at The Climb from the volcanic eruptions? I loved those." Volcanic lightning - a rare feat anywhere else, but one that the Ancients of old could enjoy on a fairly regular basis.

"If you're sure," he concedes about the medicine, though he does reach out absently to tuck the lock of dark hair back behind the butcher's horns where it belongs. "Wait, you... oh." Realising that these aren't new occurrences but additional details from his argument with Maea, the Maverick falls quiet to listen to whatever else might tumble out, his tongue running thoughtfully across his teeth.

"I didn't realise. I'm sorry," he mutters eventually, fingers grazing across the other man's throat before his hand settles around him once more. "Did anything else happen?" he wonders, unable not to pry now that the wine seems to have loosened the other man's tongue. "I thought you two just fought. And I mean, I can see it was bad, but..." Not as bad as Asta is revealing now.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //