the way we work is masochistic

// the kinda wrong that make you feel right //

Hushing Asta automatically as his apologies hit the air and he curls into himself to make himself small, Danta keeps his eyes on the dome overhead for now, ensuring he's able to feed enough of his magic into it to keep any gaps from appearing. Not that he would expect any respectable corvid to fly through fire unless absolutely necessary, but it's more for the man in his arms than the murder outside. "We both know you'd fight off a pack of fyrhunds for me if I needed you to," he murmurs, shifting against him enough that the words are almost whispered into his dark hair.

Matching his breath to the other man by instinct rather than conscious effort, he sits in silence for a few minutes more, his warmth flooding against Asta's back, their cage of flames flickering all around. And when he does move, it's only a fraction; enough to grab up the fur and draw it over Asta again. "Do you mind if I take a look at your hand?" Danta asks softly, choosing to focus on everything he can control for now.

Dantalion

// the little death that make you feel alive //