witching hour

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

"Another option, if you are ever comfortable enough with Moira, is for me to tie our order to her foot and send her down to the bar herself." Danta smirks, though he knows better than to suggest that this will happen any time soon. Still, it would give them options, he supposes, and he really ought to start thinking about his companion in more practical terms. "Though I did assume you would relish any opportunity to get dressed and go to show yourself off," he adds.

Not expecting Asta's laugh, for a moment the Maverick's eyebrow raises and he turns to glance up at the other man, only soothed by the words that eventually pass his lips. Releasing a sigh, he doesn't realise that he's been holding his metaphorical breath for the moment Safrin's presence properly fled from the butcher's veins. If his injuries had returned at that point, then all of Danta's suspicions would have been confirmed. That they haven't is a surprise, albeit a happy one.

"Good," he mumbles, waiting for Asta to draw back before redirecting his lips back against his own - properly, this time. Danta's kiss is one of weary relief, and as he draws back it's to let his head rest on the butcher's shoulder, eyes heavy and the tea forgotten in his hands.

Dantalion

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