the evidence is on my body
but I never complain
but I never complain
“I think that would make it worse.” He murmurs, as if latching on the idea that there was something out there that could make it worse than being here already was. And despite the fact that he was already on the miserable side, having sticky fingers would certainly make it more unbearable. So he leans into Danta’s touch a bit longer, before he feels the Maverick start to move, and he shifts a little where he sits to make it easier for Danta to reach for the sticks and do whatever else he needs to do.
The butcher watches the fire instead of the surrounding area, seeing the flames dance and leave little spots within his vision that only add to the ability to blot it out temporarily. At least, until he hears the patting of something decidedly softer than the hard stone of the lava rock they were previously sitting on. His dark gaze flits toward him briefly, before he’s moving to sit beside him, leaning into the blonde’s side for as much comfort as it brings support.
Snagging the stick and a marshmallow, the butcher pierces the marshmallow with a touch too much force but is at least satisfied with the placement before he sets it off to the side of the flame, close enough to begin to bubble the side of it closest, keeping an eye on it to twist it around so each side could char evenly.
He’s strangely silent in the face of the bolstering responses Danta offers, leaving some of them open ended and unanswered. And while he knows his lover enough to know he doesn’t care, there’s a part that nags at him enough that he draws one long leg up, tucking it up against his chest as he wraps an arm around his leg. “I’m sorry.” He says quietly, though for what it’s hard to guess.
He's sorry for not being able to compartmentalize it? He’s sorry for dragging Danta out on this trip only for it to be boring and for him to do most of the work to ward away the crows?
He’s sorry for the scar on the Maverick's arm that he keeps hidden with a slip of silk?
The butcher watches the fire instead of the surrounding area, seeing the flames dance and leave little spots within his vision that only add to the ability to blot it out temporarily. At least, until he hears the patting of something decidedly softer than the hard stone of the lava rock they were previously sitting on. His dark gaze flits toward him briefly, before he’s moving to sit beside him, leaning into the blonde’s side for as much comfort as it brings support.
Snagging the stick and a marshmallow, the butcher pierces the marshmallow with a touch too much force but is at least satisfied with the placement before he sets it off to the side of the flame, close enough to begin to bubble the side of it closest, keeping an eye on it to twist it around so each side could char evenly.
He’s strangely silent in the face of the bolstering responses Danta offers, leaving some of them open ended and unanswered. And while he knows his lover enough to know he doesn’t care, there’s a part that nags at him enough that he draws one long leg up, tucking it up against his chest as he wraps an arm around his leg. “I’m sorry.” He says quietly, though for what it’s hard to guess.
He's sorry for not being able to compartmentalize it? He’s sorry for dragging Danta out on this trip only for it to be boring and for him to do most of the work to ward away the crows?
He’s sorry for the scar on the Maverick's arm that he keeps hidden with a slip of silk?
Astaroth
i wear it as a lesson, a curse, and a blessing
