laps up the vice like a wolf in the night

so what, my friend, whatever will it be?
i can give you what you crave, just not for free

But it is as per usual. He’s ruined two things lately. His date with Flora, and whatever this was between him and the Maverick. But he pipes down with a heavy sigh, relinquishing the rag to Danta to scrub at a particularly stubborn spot. “She took my shirt with her.” He says as if it helps anything at all. “Perhaps she shall send it back.” If she knew he got attached to the clothing he picked out. Which, he assumes she does.

But assumptions never really were something to settle on, as he’s figuring out.

Helpless in stopping Danta from cleaning him up, he allows it with a weariness to his gaze, a tight set to his jaw that pushes at muscles he otherwise rarely used unless to smile, the butcher ensures Danta is just as clean before the gesture to the closet is met with a shake of his head. “It’s okay, truly.” He doesn’t want to take more away from him, not his clothes or anything else, not if he was to leave in the morning, not if he was to give him space.

Instead, he slips out of his shorts and also tosses it into the fire, like it might wipe his mind clean of what happened today. “I will send her the letter, Danta. You don’t have to.” It was his mess, after all. Both of them.

Astaroth

you know what's on the line