laps up the vice like a wolf in the night

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

Danta probably ought to have kept to his side of the bed, especially given the churning in his gut and the way the past couple of hours keep replaying in his mind, whipcracking the barbs and insults on repeat. But there's something to be said for familiarity, and gods, with Asta right there it feels much more uncomfortable to hold himself tense and apart from the other man, even if he's uncertain how he feels about all of this right now.

And so eventually the Maverick gives in, and it's with another long and heavy sigh - this one a mix of relief and resignation - that he rolls over to slip himself against the butcher's back. Arms snake around him and he noses into the other man's dark hair, eyes slipping shut so there's only the steady thrum of his pulse and the crackle of the fire to be heard. That paired with their combined breathing and the butcher's shared warmth, and Danta can't help but succumb to the pull of sleep, however empty the relaxation might feel.

Dantalion