don't need love when it comes in a bottle

storm's comin', I can see the clouds

"We could fill a book with the things you'd crow about up there," Danta drawls, not bothering to hide the smile that spreads across his lips, half hidden by the way his cheek is pressed to Asta's chest. "Your name, people getting blood on your clothes, if the air was too smoky that day, some random giving you backtalk..." Said random might have been called Danta the majority of the time, but he'll never tell.

Still, he realises when it's better to let the past go, especially at times like this, turning his head to kiss the ribbons of scar tissue against Asta's sternum. "Luckily," he purrs, "you've got just as many things to nitpick here as you did there." So says Dandelion, the great weed.

"Mm, no, I suppose it wasn't. It happens to be one of my favourite things to say as well, so I should hope I'm getting it right," he murmurs, tilting his head into the way the butcher's fingers caress through his hair. "...I know I should be tired, but I don't know if I'll be able to sleep tonight," he admits softly a few moments later.

He might be in a much better state than when Asta had found him, and a lot more sober too, but he has no idea what will happen when he closes his eyes to let his subconscious take the reins.

Dantalion

No runnin's gonna save you now