I told you, you were brave

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

Instinctively wanting to balk against the idea that he deserves anything, Danta perhaps wisely bites his tongue this time, though Asta will undoubtledly feel the way his eyebrows knit together in response to his natural uncertainty. Instead, savouring the thrum of music from the butcher's throat and the way it wisps through the air in a surprisingly gentle melody, the Maverick is left in very new territory indeed, feeling surprisingly fragile in the face of it.

They sway in a circle throughout the room, filtering between silver moonlight and the ruddy warmth of the fire, Danta's tail curling low near his heels and a small smile finding its way onto his lips. He almost doesn't want to stop the stillness vibrating through him more than the movement ever did, and as Asta reaches out to tilt his face up, the Maverick is already waiting for him.

Savouring the sweetness and peppermint on Asta's lips as much as the gentle way his arm has threaded around his waist, Danta's newly freed hand winds around the other man in turn, the other remaining clasped around his shoulders. It feels like an eternity before they part enough to breathe and speak, by which time stars have begun to dance at the corners of his vision and his throat has grown curiously tight.

I love you, he might have said for the third time tonight, but instead settles on a roughly spoken, "What was that song?"

Dantalion

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