reaching for a book of matches
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am
strike a light and then you'll see the real mess that i am
He stubbornly stares at the other man’s perfect lips, shaded a tint red from the drying blood and taste of iron that remains, and the silence drags on and it feels like it’s sharp as he does just wait for the bare minimum of Ferox to spill from Danta’s lips. What he receives, though, while well intentioned, and he’s sure that the Maverick can see the way he’d thought it would be a good idea, only for it to hit a little too close and too soon, because the recoiling starts to rebound in his gut.
It's like when things had become too serious and too close back in Levinsward, only this time Astaroth had been the one to ask for this, suddenly realizing that it wasn’t at all what he wanted to hear. What he thought would sound like music and relieving sounds more like a snap in the realization that the man beneath him knows so much more than anyone else has ever known. And it’s fucking terrifying.
Unfortunately for Danta, he gets the version of Ferox’s tonality with the aged face of Astaroth, as the butcher wars with himself. “Fine.” He decides, because it wasn’t anything Danta had done. It does come out odd, though, unhelpful, zero formality, voice dropping in a strange way that he’d never allow as he feels trapped for the moment, pushing himself up and off the Maverick to bury his face into the pillow beside him to muffle the groan that escapes him from his own stupidity. “Sounds like a fuckin’ funeral.”
It's like when things had become too serious and too close back in Levinsward, only this time Astaroth had been the one to ask for this, suddenly realizing that it wasn’t at all what he wanted to hear. What he thought would sound like music and relieving sounds more like a snap in the realization that the man beneath him knows so much more than anyone else has ever known. And it’s fucking terrifying.
Unfortunately for Danta, he gets the version of Ferox’s tonality with the aged face of Astaroth, as the butcher wars with himself. “Fine.” He decides, because it wasn’t anything Danta had done. It does come out odd, though, unhelpful, zero formality, voice dropping in a strange way that he’d never allow as he feels trapped for the moment, pushing himself up and off the Maverick to bury his face into the pillow beside him to muffle the groan that escapes him from his own stupidity. “Sounds like a fuckin’ funeral.”
Astaroth
i swear it's nothing personal - i swear it's nothing personal //////
