sweetest tongue has sharpest tooth

in space the stars are no nearer; just glitters, like a morgue

Understanding is enough; Danta doesn't necessarily ask for agreement when it comes to the way the chaos flows and boils through his blood, especially regarding the butcher and his wellbeing. Perhaps the season is having a phantom effect on him as well, because suddenly all he wants to do is lock the doors to their room and remind the man beneath him with tongue and teeth and touch exactly why he's worth coming home to. He doesn't, though - not yet, anyway.

Because he doesn't realise it but he's been bracing for a fight about this from the second the words leave his lips, and when it doesn't come, he's left strangely adrift while Asta thinks it over. Danta's hands slip down to rest against his chest as the other man's head tilts back, his thumb brushing softly over the silk of his shirt. "I don't know," he confesses. "She's still in the thick of it with this Pierce shit, so I doubt it would be a welcome question. I just... I don't like feeling like a third wheel." He says it softly, as if it's only just occurring to him.

"I never feel like that with Flora, or with Charlie, or any of our other friends. But I'm starting to with Thal." It comes out almost like an apology, something he deeply dislikes in himself.

Dantalion