[SE] or christ, hold me like a knife

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

Unable not to scoff at the teeth that come snapping towards his outstretched hands, it's with old amusement dancing in Danta's eyes that he finishes his fussing and withdraws again, shaking his head to Asta. "Don't be - I'd have done the same." Might not have remembered to stop himself either, in truth, though he trusts the butcher to have pulled his hands back in time if the roles had been reversed.

Nodding to hear Asta's agreement, they fall quiet to eat in a relatively comfortable silence, though there are undoubtedly a thousand thoughts running through their minds at any given moment. (Well, more so for Danta perhaps - the Ancient beside him has the benefit of a large amount of wine in a small amount of time to slow things down a bit). "I hope so," he mumbles, of Asta feeling better - for a number of reasons, too.

"I'm not going anywhere," he chastises the other man with a playful smirk, having just been setting the tray aside when he finds his wrist snatched, the Maverick rising obediently to his feet. "Let's go, then." Knowing better than to press against the bruises that cover the butcher's body, instead Danta crosses the room and draws back the blankets for Asta to fall right into bed. In the meantime, he grabs up the draught of medicine and uncorks it, holding it out expectantly for him.

Dantalion

// so aim it straight and true //