you tell me it feels a little colder

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

"Mmmmhm," Danta hums, sounding as though he'd like nothing more than to go back to sleep with Asta until it's practically mid-afternoon, but he can all but hear the cogs in the other man's mind start to turn as they shed the rust of slumber. "I meant to go with the sedative," he points out about the tea, though the smile in his voice suggests that he'll go to hang a kettle of water over the fire the second either of them can be bothered to peel themselves out of bed.

Which doesn't seem as if it will be just yet, not as Danta succumbs to the feel of gentle fingers in his hair and soft lips upon his own. Almost melting against Asta, even as the butcher draws back the Maverick is trying to follow, taking the opportunity to be the one to nuzzle against the side of his neck instead. "Torchline," he replies immediately, the words mumbled warmly against his throat. "Torchline at Longheat is one of my favourite places."

Dantalion

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