sweetest tongue has sharpest tooth

// up above so, up above so quiet //

“I understand, darling.” The butcher hums softly - even if he does think the circumstances are different. At least Thalassa isn’t entirely herself, whereas Maea had been in full control of herself at the time she’d decided to wrongly ‘try’ to be a friend of his. But he doesn’t air it, not as he mulls over the hidden meaning within what Danta has said, proving that he’s listening to him. He would just have to be careful about it, and that he thinks he can do.

Ah, but then he gets rigid again and Asta’s brows shoot up - hidden behind the blindfold that’s suddenly loose and falling between them. The stony expression has lines forming in his brows as they pinch, surprised perhaps to be essentially scolded. But rather than respond with a gut punch reaction, he’s measured. Hearing him. And in the discomfort he can see forming on his lover, Asta’s dark gaze scans the panes of his face as he nods. “I do recall that, yes.” He pauses, taking a slow and deep inhale before he tilts his head back to look up at the ceiling and their mezzanine, trying to recall anything specifically between Thalassa and himself.

“Would it be unwise for me to blatantly ask her?” Just thinking about it feels suddenly quite awkward for the butcher himself, as it turns out. What if she didn’t and he asked her and it became a thing?

Astaroth

// down below so, down below so violent //