i'm the escape to something that's worse
i am the shadow driving the hearse
i am the shadow driving the hearse
“Wise.” The butcher comments as he tugs that borrowed sweater from before over his head and a pair of warm, fuzzy pants (akin to joggers, I imagine). He pulls the blanket back up around his shoulders, though, right in time for Danta to tighten and tug it back up around his shoulders, too. There’s a faint smile that tugs at the corners of his lips at his lover’s fussing, before he’a glancing toward the tins of tea. “Vanilla and lavender, perhaps?” He suggests, scanning his face to see his opinion on the suggestion.
Warmth sparks where Danta’s hand rubs at his arm and he leans toward it, chasing it a touch stubbornly as the explanation is aired. He nods, understanding the theme, even if the Maverick hasn’t quite figured out why the butcher has asked. And ironically, Asta’s content to let that be the end all be all if Danta wasn’t up to playing a game. It would make a good distraction, of course, but… Given the course of the night, he doesn’t blame him if he doesn’t want to.
Ah, but then it clicks, and Asta perks up again — horned head lifting from where he’s been peering at the labels of the tins of tea. “I can’t remember the last time I played darts… or if I ever have.” His nose scrunches up, confusion causing his head to tilt before he reaches over to squeeze his lover’s hand. “I can make the tea if you want to grab it?” He is warming up, but his voice and posture is a strange mix of Astaroth and Ferrox; control and uncharacteristic submissiveness overcoming him hand in hand.
Warmth sparks where Danta’s hand rubs at his arm and he leans toward it, chasing it a touch stubbornly as the explanation is aired. He nods, understanding the theme, even if the Maverick hasn’t quite figured out why the butcher has asked. And ironically, Asta’s content to let that be the end all be all if Danta wasn’t up to playing a game. It would make a good distraction, of course, but… Given the course of the night, he doesn’t blame him if he doesn’t want to.
Ah, but then it clicks, and Asta perks up again — horned head lifting from where he’s been peering at the labels of the tins of tea. “I can’t remember the last time I played darts… or if I ever have.” His nose scrunches up, confusion causing his head to tilt before he reaches over to squeeze his lover’s hand. “I can make the tea if you want to grab it?” He is warming up, but his voice and posture is a strange mix of Astaroth and Ferrox; control and uncharacteristic submissiveness overcoming him hand in hand.
Astaroth
what was it like to feel in love?
