[SE] or christ, hold me like a knife

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

It does sound lovely - what doesn't, though, is the way sudden and detailed descriptions spill from the butcher's lips, giving Danta a much more intimate look at all that had transpired between Asta and Maea. "If she cared when you were upset she wouldn't have made you feel trapped to the point of fighting." Wouldn't have swatted at him over and over again. If Danta had been there - and that's the fucking point of it, he realises, because he wasn't there - the Maverick would have known what to do. How to react. What not to say.

"Fuck," he hisses under his breath, glancing up as the other man shifts to face him. "Fuck, Asta. Stop acting like she was doing you a favour." For all the kindness and compassion Maea had preached, this doesn't match up, and it's starting to make him feel sick. "She's meant to be better than us." Or maybe she'd just said it to him enough that he'd believed her.

Huffing out a shuddering sigh and reaching out, suddenly, to clasp the other man's cheeks, he finds himself looking him over with fresh eyes, for injuries that go well beyond visible bruises. "I should have been out there," he apologises.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //