witching hour

all you have is your fire
and the place you need to reach

Not expecting the arm that folds around him, Danta almost falls into the offered embrace, his head buried against the crisp, clean collar of Asta's new shirt, hands clutching at the fabric that bunches near his lower back. With his fists clenched the trembling in his hands feels as though it vibrates through his entire body, and even as the butcher stands here, alive and warm and solid, the Maverick still feels the urge to try and put him back together, as if the glamour might fall away at any moment.

"No, you don't--" Understand? Feel real? Seem bothered by any of this?

"And I can't--" Breathe? Shrug this off? Lose you?

All but gasping out a breath into the crook of Asta's neck, something claws up Danta's throat and scrapes against the backs of his eyes, and he presses himself away from the other man as if needing to hold him at arms length without entirely letting him go. Blinking quickly, it's with a pulse to rival that of a hummingbird's that he glances fleetingly up towards the butcher, cold blue eyes made warm by the firelight. "I thought you were about to die."

Dantalion

don't you ever tame your demons
but always keep them on a leash