you tell me it feels a little colder

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

"Good." Danta isn't even guilty about saying it, because between Asta, Flora, and a man he's met only a handful of times if that, he'll hand every bit of hurt to Jack each and every time. Meanwhile, having successfully snuck the bottle out of the butcher's hands and coaxed him into turning around, it's almost a relief to feel him slouch into his arms, as if he stands a chance at finding Asta somewhere beneath the panic and tension rippling throughout his body.

"I know you do," he whispers, pressing kiss after kiss against his dark hair, holding him tightly as though he can protect against whatever imagined threat still haunts the other man's mind. "I'm so sorry." With a long, hard sigh he shifts only enough to sit back against the headboard, drawing Asta along with him and reaching up to brush gentle fingers against his bearded cheek. "I'll sit up with you. We'll get through tonight, and you'll feel better in the morning." He has no idea if it's even true, but the words slip out regardless.

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //