// and rise with me forever across the silent sand //
He doesn’t push the conversation much more than the cliff notes of what he’s said. He doesn’t tell him that their goddess had to slap him to wake him up, that she’d told him roundaboutly that it was why she’d picked him – because something was happening and Knell wasn’t old enough yet. And he doesn’t mind leaving them out for now, not as he grabs the fountain water and returns to his number one priority: Danta.
“Of course.” Asta murmurs instead of a you’re welcome. Because there isn’t a situation these days that Asta can think of where he would gladly let Danta sit and stew in pain if he could help it. He sees the changes once the Maverick finally starts to sip the fountain water. His posture fixes itself, the tension bleeds away and leaves behind a bone deep exhaustion that the Butcher can recognize leagues away.
He sweeps in after the bottle lowers, reaching up to cup his fiancé’s cheek, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Mm, perhaps.” He doesn’t lie, but he does try to inject some small fraction of humor into it. “You have been overdue for a lapse in composure lately.” Because it’s mostly been the Butcher, and with the feeling that this entire afternoon had sparked, Asta is once again reminded of just how fucked up it is to put Danta through it time and time again.
“How can I help?” He asks after, withdrawing slightly to be able to look at his face, his hand dropping to the corner of his lips where the dried blood sits from where he’d presumably bit his cheek too hard, running his thumb over it gently like he has any kind of water magic to rid it.
“Of course.” Asta murmurs instead of a you’re welcome. Because there isn’t a situation these days that Asta can think of where he would gladly let Danta sit and stew in pain if he could help it. He sees the changes once the Maverick finally starts to sip the fountain water. His posture fixes itself, the tension bleeds away and leaves behind a bone deep exhaustion that the Butcher can recognize leagues away.
He sweeps in after the bottle lowers, reaching up to cup his fiancé’s cheek, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Mm, perhaps.” He doesn’t lie, but he does try to inject some small fraction of humor into it. “You have been overdue for a lapse in composure lately.” Because it’s mostly been the Butcher, and with the feeling that this entire afternoon had sparked, Asta is once again reminded of just how fucked up it is to put Danta through it time and time again.
“How can I help?” He asks after, withdrawing slightly to be able to look at his face, his hand dropping to the corner of his lips where the dried blood sits from where he’d presumably bit his cheek too hard, running his thumb over it gently like he has any kind of water magic to rid it.
Astaroth
// and the stars will be your eyes and the wind will be my hands //
