hold you to the light, let you shine

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

Hilariously, Danta has no idea what a date is meant to look like, Ancient or otherwise, and so Asta would likely have been able to do anything and the Maverick would find it acceptable. As it happens, though, the butcher knows him very well, and so as he arrives under the red and orange streamers of sunset, it's to a quiet and empty Temple, and he heads to the space directed on soft feet, prowling around in search of the other man.

He doesn't find him, of course, but he does find the shrine, and already things are starting to click into place, but Danta refuses to entertain his own thoughts for too long lest he spoil anything by accident. Instead, letting his fingers dance over the sheer, perfect slab of obsidian right up until it buckles and cracks into chaos, he waits. He doesn't touch the wine or whiskey either - proof of his impeccable patience, you understand.

And when Asta does arrived, accompanied by the sound of hoofbeats on wood, Danta is already turning to appraise him, cold blue eyes trickling down the length of his body as if he might be the one intended to be the star of this presumed show. Unintentionally, it seems, they are a mirror of one another tonight - dressed in black and missing only the suspenders, Danta rolls his sleeves up as if guessing he might want them out of the way. "Good evening," he purrs. "Colour me intrigued."

Dantalion