hold me tight or don't

// there's shadows on the walls //

"I would hope so," Danta mumbles, of inns having rooms in general, but he's distracted by the sudden clasp of a hand around his own, of warm, calloused fingers and the way they have his heart jumping into his throat. "This way, I think." He's only average at navigating them around himself, but at least he knows his east from his west, the Maverick tugging Asta along with him as he hangs a sharp left to draw them deeper into Haulani.

There are a handful of people out here, some snoozing in doorways because they're too drunk to get home or unlock the door, others still arm in arm, marching down towards the beach, but the inn they'd stayed at previously soon comes upon them, all muted lights and flowers blooming along its windowsills.

To say that Danta totters into the building isn't entirely wrong - the cold air has hit him like a brick wall, and he offers a very lopsided smile to the receptionist as he asks if there are any rooms available. There's one, as it happens, but it's the most expensive one, and Danta doesn't know what he says (charge it to the Hollowed Grounds, he thinks), but the key is soon in his free hand so they can ferry them onwards. "There are stairs," he hisses, as if they've just come upon a monster to fight.

Dantalion

// of moments far too troubling to recall //