[SE] I walk my days on a wire

in space the stars are no nearer; just glitters, like a morgue

"I think so," Danta replies, his eyes closed as if to better hear the tap of the rain against the window outside. "If I'm inside, at least," he adds as a caveat. No Ancient is much of a fan of being cold and wet, after all. From here, though? The storm's music fills the silence of any thoughts that might want to flit through Danta's head, and he relishes the quiet of it, however contradictory it might seem.

He can sense the lights dimming even with his eyes closed and his face buried against Asta's neck and chest, the Maverick relaxing further into familiar heat, and the scent of pipe smoke, of blood and honey and wine. Only as Asta speaks about the food does Danta raise his head, his blue eyes quietly fixed on the butcher's face as if spotting the tells the other man had missed in him. 

"A deer will keep the beast from your door, even if it isn't your preference," he points out, voice soft. "I know neither of us wants a repeat of what happened to me." His floor is still scorched from it.

So saying, he shifts to sit up as best he can with the other man still wrapped around him, groping for the bottle of whiskey and the tray of food, just to keep the butcher happy.

Dantalion