hold me tight or don't

// standing, stomping in the damage and the ruins of a slip of tongue //

That’s a problem for later, because the butcher fully intends on curling up and sleeping through the morning if not the afternoon too. For now, though, those thoughts are gone immediately as soon as they arrive, filtering through his mind. Wandering back toward Haulani, Astaroth walks side by side the Maverick, a clear opposite of earlier when they’d ventured out here. And despite feeling more like the butcher, his tone takes on the casual grace and accent of Ferox — something Danta may or may not realize as the groan parts his lips in a hint exhaustion and frustration.

“I didn’t know.” He protests, reaching up to rub at his temple. “We never talked about it turning into something serious.” He glances sidelong at the Maverick, rolling a bloodied shoulder in a shrug. “I’ve never been on any dates before, in case everyone forgot.” He’s just excellent at pretending. Or was. Either way, his tone drips in a touch of sarcasm.

Astaroth

// with tragic consequences, i think that we've all made our gravest mistakes //