hold you to the light, let you shine

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

Danta hopes it's easy to speak and breathe - he'd spent a few moments with the tailor whilst measuring to ensure there are panels taken from the mask in appropriate places to allow the butcher to do anything he wishes other than bite, though from experience they both know it won't take much for Asta to get his teeth through this particular muzzle. Even so, as the other man crowds into his space and they are able to look at the ensemble as a whole, he inclines his head as if to accept the virtue of being correct.

"Very much so, especially on the days when there are more chains and whips on display than anything else," he agrees, brushing his fingers against the sleek fabric of his shirt sleeve before snagging at his wrist. "In hindsight I ought to have gotten some gloves made for you as well. It's always a shame for me to see you bruise your knuckles," he murmurs.

Absolutely thriving to see his work come to life, the tailor gives them as much time as they require, asking only whether Asta plans to wear the new ensemble out of the shop or if he'd like it packaged up. In response, Danta raises his eyebrows to the other man as if to ask what he'd prefer. It isn't as if he minds either way, now that he's got to see him in it.

Dantalion