Ray Ray's Corner

"A job," she clarified softly. "I... I wanted something to take my mind off what happened."

The words came out rehearsed, like she'd spent the entire walk convincing herself she could say them without crying. Vergil didn't even want to ask what she meant. He could already see enough. Clothes that were clean but worn thin. Shoes a size too small. Dark circles beneath tired eyes. A child trying very hard to make herself as small as possible.

"...Can you sweep?" he asked.

She blinked in surprise. "...Yes, sir."

"Can you make tea?"

"...I think... so." she hesitated.

"Then you may stay."

Her eyes widened. "...Really?"

Vergil closed his book. "The floor requires sweeping."

It wasn't a warm invitation. It wasn't meant to be. Three days later, she was living above Devil May Cry.

Dante blinked. "...You adopted a kid?"

"I am providing temporary accommodation."

"That's adopting."

"It is not." Vergil defended himself.

Nico peeked around the corner. "...Holy shit."

The girl waved timidly. "Hi..."

Nico immediately smiled. "Well, ain't you adorable?"

The girl ducked behind Vergil's coat. He didn't move away.

Dante stared. "You let her do that?"

"I fail to see the issue."

"The issue is you've become a human jungle gym." Dante pointed at the small girl.

Vergil looked down, the little hand clutching the back of his coat tightened slightly. "...She is frightened."

Dante blinked again. "...You're serious."

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Nero arrived two days later. He walked through the shop carrying groceries.

"Hey, I got-" He stopped, spying a little girl sat at the counter coloring with Nico.

She looked up. "...Hi."

Nero looked between her and Vergil. "...Who's the kid?"

Vergil closed his book. "She is staying here."

"For how long?" Nero raised an eyebrow.

"I do not know."

He looked at Vergil in utter disbelief. "...Why?"

"She requires somewhere to live."

Nero frowned. "And?"

"And she is living here."

"No." Nero laughed once. "No, seriously."

"I am." Vergil dead panned.

The smile on his son's face disappeared. "...You're kidding."

"I am not."

Silence. Then, "...You?"

"Yes."

"You."

"Correct." Vergil gave a slight nod.

Nero looked genuinely confused. "You don't even know how to... talk to people."

"I manage."

"You barely know how to talk to me." he points both hands inward towards his chest, anger apparent.

The words landed harder than anyone expected. The girl lowered her crayons, quietly.

Vergil noticed. "...This conversation is not hers."

"It kinda is!" Nero shot back. "You disappear for years, you come back, you don't apologize, you barely acknowledge me half the time, and now you're... what? Dad of the year?"

"Nero-!" Dante warned.

"No." His voice cracked despite himself. "No. You don't get to do this."

The room fell silent. The girl stared at the table.

"I am not replacing you, Nero." Vergil remained still.

"It sure feels like it."

"It is not."

"You couldn't even raise your own kid! Now you just went and got another one because what? You wanted to try again!?"

The words echoed. Nobody moved. Not even Dante. The little girl quietly climbed off her chair.

"...I..." Her voice barely existed. "I can go."

Everyone looked at her as she kept her eyes on the floor, playing with her fingers. "I don't wanna make anyone mad."

Vergil stood immediately. "No."

The single word was firm enough that even Nero looked surprised. The girl froze. Vergil crossed the room until he stood beside her, placing a gentle yet firm hand on her shoulder.

"You are not the problem." She didn't answer. "You will not leave because of this."

"...Okay." She believed him. Again. So easily.

That somehow made Nero angrier. "You don't get it."

Vergil looked at him. "No?"

"You don't." Nero's jaw tightened, "I spent years wondering why I wasn't enough."

The confession came out before he could stop it. "If I wasn't worth sticking around for..." His voice broke. "...why is she?"

The room became painfully still. Even Dante had nothing to say. Vergil was silent for a long moment.

"You misunderstand."

Nero laughed bitterly. "Do I?"

"When I left..." Vergil looked toward the window instead of at his son. "...I believed strength demanded solitude. I believed attachment was weakness. I didn't even know of your existence. I simply believed I was protecting your mother."

"Yeah. You did a real great job with that." Nero scoffed.

"I know." The admission came quietly. Nero looked up. He hadn't expected that.

"I cannot alter your childhood, I cannot return what was lost, and I cannot ask you to forgive it. But..." Vergil glanced down at the girl standing beside him. "...I can refuse to repeat the same mistake."

She was looking at him now.

"If I send her away because I am... inadequate..." He paused. "...then she suffers for my failures, just as you had."

His hand hovered awkwardly for a second before resting, stiff and uncertain, atop the girl's head. The gesture was almost painfully rigid. He clearly had no idea what he was doing. Like someone trying to speak a language they'd never learned.

"You deserve a home," he told her, his voice calm. " and you will have one."

The girl's eyes filled immediately. She reached forward without thinking, wrapping both arms around his waist. Vergil went completely still with an awkward look on his face, Dante covered his mouth to hide his grin, Nico sniffed loudly. One of Vergil's arms remained awkwardly at his side. The other hesitated. Then, very slowly, he lightly rested a hand against the middle of her back. As though he was afraid she'd disappear if he held on too tightly. She smiled into his coat.

Nero watched the entire thing. Something inside him twisted. Not jealousy, well, not exactly. It was grief. Grief for the little boy who had wanted that hand on his own shoulder. Grief for the years he spent sitting in that orphanage believing he simply wasn't wanted. Vergil met his gaze over the girl's head.

"I cannot change what I was, but I would rather become something better..." His eyes drifted to the child clinging to him. "...than remain what made me lose you."

Nero looked away first. "...I still don't know if I can accept this."

"I know."

"I might be pissed for a while."

"I expect you will." Vergil muttered.

Silence settled again. Then the girl peeked around Vergil's coat. She looked at Nero nervously.

"...Do... do you still wanna see my drawing?"

Nero blinked. The paper was still sitting on the counter. A messy picture of Devil May Cry. Nico with a wrench, Dante holding pizza, Vergil standing impossibly straight, and.... an empty figure near the door with silver hair and a blue arm. She'd left space for him. Even though she'd only seen photos of him Dante put up around the shop, only meeting him today. Even after hearing everything. Nero swallowed hard.

"...Yeah." He walked over and took the drawing carefully. "It's... really good."

Her smile was tiny, but genuine. It didn't fix anything, it didn't erase years of hurt, it didn't make forgiveness come any faster, but Nero sat beside her. And Vergil, though he said nothing more, noticed.

You hesitated. Not because you feared the truth. Only because the truth felt far too small for what you wanted to say. Slowly and carefully, you lifted your hand. Vergil watched the movement. He didn't stop you. He didn't lean away. Your fingertips rested lightly against his cheek, barely touching. As though you were afraid the moment might shatter if you used anything more than the weight of a feather.

His skin was cool. Something you certainly didn't expect from a half demon whose blood you assumed ran incredibly hot. Your thumb settled just beneath his eye.

"So that's what this was about," he murmured.

You smiled faintly. "I like your eyes."

Silence stretched across the room.

"So much," you whispered. "They're..."

Your words failed. You laughed softly at yourself. "I don't know how to explain them."

Vergil said nothing. You searched his gaze again.

"I think..." You swallowed. "I think they're incredible. They're the most handsome part about you."

The confession settled gently between you.

"I remember meeting you for the first time." Your thumb traced no farther than the edge of his cheekbone. "I don't remember what anyone said, I don't remember where Dante was. I don't even remember why I was there. I only remember looking at you..and thinking I'd never seen eyes like yours."

His face remained natural. Like he didn't know what to say for once. "They're beautiful."

Vergil remained impossibly still. You wondered if perhaps you'd finally said too much. Then, very quietly, "You speak strangely."

A laugh escaped you. "I know."

"They're just eyes." he spoke.

"No." Your shook your head, your answer coming before he finished speaking. "They're yours."

Something shifted. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but you felt it beneath your fingertips. Like the smallest fracture spreading through ancient ice. Vergil's gaze did not leave yours.

"You are overly sentimental."

"I've been told." you smiled.

"It is an impractical thing to admire."

"Maybe," You smiled. "I still do."

The room settled into silence again, the afternoon sunlight drifting lower, painting gold across the floorboards, dust floating lazily through the air between you. Vergil studied your face as though searching for embellishment. For exaggeration. He found none. Your hand remained against his cheek, gentle enough that he could have moved away at any moment. He didn't.

"...No one," he said after a long while, his voice quieter than before, "has ever spoken of my eyes with such conviction."

"I can't imagine why," Your heart ached. "They're the prettiest thing I've ever seen."

For a moment, the distance he'd always kept between himself and the world seemed to loosen by the smallest measure. Like winter considering spring.

"There it is." You smiled because you couldn't help it.

Vergil's brow furrowed. "What?"

You withdrew your hand. "You almost smiled."

"I did not."

"You almost did."

"I assure you-"

"You almost smiled, and your eyes are still beautiful." you argued.

He exhaled through his nose, sounding faintly exasperated. "...foolish woman."

Vergil looked away first, his gaze settled on the window instead. Outside, the afternoon breeze stirred the trees into quiet motion. Inside, his reflection lingered faintly in the glass. You caught it only for a moment. Just long enough to see the barest upward curve at the corner of his mouth. So slight it might have been imagined, but real enough that your heart carried it home like a secret. You never mentioned it again. Some things were too precious to survive being spoken aloud.

“Well now I have all the more reason to try.”

Nico glanced up from beneath the van. “What’s impossible?”

You placed a hand dramatically over your chest. “Making Vergil smile.”

Nico’s wrench clattered against the concrete. Then she laughed loud enough to startle Nero. “Oh, that’s what this is?”

“This?” you question.

“You’ve been circling him like a cat since breakfast.” she points out.

“I have not.”

“You asked him if he wanted pancakes shaped like rabbits.”

“That was generosity.” you defend.

“Girl.” Nico deadpans.

In the room over, through the open door, Vergil sat in the old armchair by the window with a book open in one hand and tea balanced beside him. Unbothered and silent. Entirely unaware, or pretending to be, that your entire day had become centered around getting one visible reaction from him. One smile.

Not even a full one. You'd be happy with just a twitch of the corner of his mouth. And so far, nothing.

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Attempt one had been breakfast.

“Vergil.” you softly called his name.

He looked up from his tea. You set a plate in front of him proudly. Two pancakes, shaped vaguely like rabbits, one of the ears had collapsed. The syrup smile had slid halfway off the plate. Vergil stared at them. Then at you.

“…What is this?”

“Breakfast.” you said plainly, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“I gathered that.”

“Bunny pancakes.” you smiled.

There was a pause. Dante nearly choked on his coffee. Vergil lowered his gaze back to the plate in silence.

“Thank you.” his words were short and polite, but no smile.

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Failure two was verbal. You caught him in the hallway while he was heading downstairs.

“Vergil.”

“Yes?”

“If Dante and Nero switched coats without telling anyone… how long would it take you to notice?”

He paused. “…Immediately.”

“What if Dante styled his hair like yours?”

“Disturbing.”

“Would you be upset?”

“Yes.”

“Emotionally?”

“Profoundly.” he insisted, his face making more of a frown than a smile.

Nero, overhearing from the staircase, barked a laugh. Vergil continued downstairs, still no smile.

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Attempt three involved a sketch. A terrible one, but a sketch, nonetheless. You slid the folded paper across the table toward him while he read. He opened it. Inside was a charcoal drawing of him. Very serious. Very stoic. Except someone (meaning you) had added cat ears and labeled it: Vergil, if he allowed himself joy

He stared at it. You stared at him, waiting.

“…Did you spend time on this?”

“Yes.”

“I see.” He folded it neatly and placed it beside his book. No reaction, not even a breath. You dropped your head onto the table.

Nico patted your shoulder on her way past. “Tough crowd.”

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By late afternoon you were losing faith. Vergil remained exactly as he always was, composed and unreadable. Standing by the bookcase now while sunlight stretched across the floorboards. He turned pages with the same serene focus he always had.

You flopped dramatically onto the couch beside Dante. “I quit.”

Dante glanced over his magazine. “Already?”

“It’s hopeless.”

“Yep...” Dante agreed. “Nero said that.”

“Because Nero was right.” you sighed. “I thought maybe I could at least get a smirk.”

Dante snorted. “Vergil doesn’t smirk.”

“Yes, he does.”

“Nope.”

“I’ve seen it.” you insisted.

“That was probably indigestion.”

“I’m done trying.” You groaned into the couch cushion.

Across the room, Vergil turned a page, utterly unaffected. You narrowed your eyes at him from afar. He didn’t even look up like the ridiculous, impossible man that he is.

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Evening settled over Devil May Cry slowly. Nico shut down the garage, Nero had left to go back home to Kyrie, Dante left to grab food, and the office became quiet in that familiar way with the old wood creaking, pipes ticking, and the low hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.

You wandered in with a blanket over your shoulders and found Vergil alone near the window, tea untouched beside him, book open in his lap. The blue twilight spilling over the floor painting him as handsome as ever. You paused in the doorway. Then sighed dramatically.

“I surrender.”

He looked up. “Surrender?”

“I’ve spent all day trying to make you smile.”

“I am aware.”

Your jaw dropped. “You knew?”

“Yes.”

“Since when?”

“This morning.” he said taking a sip of his almost forgotten tea.

“During the pancakes?”

“Before the pancakes.”

You stared at him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Vergil turned a page. “You seemed committed.”

“That’s evil.”

“Perhaps.”

You walked farther into the room and dropped into the couch opposite him. “I can’t believe you knew.”

“You were not subtle.”

“Rude.”

“You asked if I would recognize Dante wearing my coat.”

“That was a legitimate question.”

“It was not.”

You huffed, blanket gathered around your knees. “Well. It doesn’t matter. I lost.”

“Lost?”

“I never made you smile.”

Vergil said nothing. You leaned your head back against the couch and stared at the ceiling. “Not even once.”

“I disagree.”

You turned so fast the blanket nearly slid off. “What?”

Vergil was still looking at his book. “You did.”

“When?”

“This afternoon.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You did.” he said plainly.

“Vergil.”

He closed the book carefully and set it aside calmly. “When you handed me the drawing.”

“The cat ears?”

“Yes.”

Your eyes narrowed. “That made you smile?”

“A little.”

“How little?”

He considered. “…Minimal.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“It does.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“It does.”

“You’re lying.” you pressed.

“I have no reason to.”

You sat up straighter. “Then prove it.”

Vergil raised an eyebrow. “Prove… that I smiled?”

“Yes.”

“That would be difficult.”

“Oh, that must be convenient for you.” You crossed your arms.

He studied you quietly for a moment. Then stood, moved toward the bookshelf to set his tea aside, and as he passed the couch, you caught it. So small you nearly doubted it. A faint shift at the corner of his mouth, gone almost instantly. You shot upright.

“There.” you pointed at you.

Vergil kept walking. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I saw that.”

“Saw what?” he said browsing the books like they weren't all his own.

“That.”

“You are imagining things.”

“I am not! You smiled.” you shifted in your seat.

“No.”

“You absolutely did.”

Vergil picked up another book from the shelf with perfect composure. You stared at him open-mouthed and victorious.

“Vergil.” No response. “You smiled.”

Silence. You stood from the couch, pointing accusingly. “You smiled.”

Still facing the shelf, he answered, “Perhaps.”

“I was.. um?.. observing.”

“Same thing.” he rolls his eyes.

“Not the same thing.”

“It absolutely is.” he sassed.

Across the garage, Vergil stood near the workbench flipping through one of Nico’s repair manuals with the same attention he gave ancient texts and demonic archives: unreadable, completely composed, and unapproachable.

Nico slid out from beneath the van, wiping grease across her cheek with the back of her wrist. “Ya got that look again.”

“What look?” you snap your eyes over to her.

“The one like yer about to ask him to step on ya.”

“NICO!” you exclaimed, utterly appalled she could read your mind.

“What?” she snorted.

“I hate both of you.” Nero groaned.

“I hate me too,” you muttered.

Unfortunately, Vergil looked up. Directly at you. Your entire body locked as he held eye contact with you for exactly two seconds, then returned to the manual. It somehow felt worse than him telling you how poor gunmanship was and he doesn't even use a gun.

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Everyone had a weakness. Nero’s was his motorcycle, Nico’s was explosions, Dante's was a hot pizza and an even hotter babe, and yours (for reasons you deeply regretted) was Vergil and not in a normal way. Not in a passing he’s attractive way. Not even in a harmless older man crush way. At some point it had become… noticeable. Painfully noticeable.

You knew things you absolutely shouldn’t know about a man that was at least 20 years older than you who also happened to not only be your best friend's father, but your boss' twin brother. You knew he preferred earl grey over black tea. You knew he disliked unnecessary noise before sunrise. You knew the exact sound Yamato made against wood versus concrete. You knew his footsteps before he entered a room. Which was insane. You knew it was insane and eventually so did everyone else. Especially Vergil.

It started with him leaving whenever you arrived. At first, you thought it was coincidence. Then it happened again and again... and again. You’d walk into Devil May Cry, Vergil standing by the bookshelf. He’d glance up, see you, snap the book closed, and leave. No words. No acknowledgment. Gone.

The first time? You kinda thought it was a weird coincidence. He probably just remembered he had something to do the second you stepped through the door. No biggie. The second? Once again, dismissive and not that big of a deal. By the fifth? It was utterly humiliating. By the sixth? Nico laughed so hard she nearly fell off a stool.

“He LEFT.” she said cackling and pointing in your face.

“I saw.” you said, taking a seat on the couch, staring holes into the floor.

“He didn’t even try to hide it.” her giggles continued.

“I know.” you murmured, picking at the bottom of your shirt, not breaking eye contact with the floor.

Nero grimaced from the couch. “…Yeah.”

You turned slowly. “You noticed?”

“Everybody noticed.” Nero said.

You considered walking directly into traffic.

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Then came the avoiding. If you were in the garage, Vergil stayed upstairs. If you were upstairs, Vergil stayed outside. If you were in the kitchen, he’d enter, see you, and immediately leave. Once you were carrying laundry through the upstairs hallway when he stepped out of Dante’s office. You nearly collided.

"Oh!" you say startled. "Sorry, Vergil!"

That's all you said. A genuine apology for almost smacking him with a laundry basket. Vergil looked at you and turned around instantly, walking the other direction. You stood frozen holding the towel basket against your hip, shock and embarrassment written all over your face. Nico saw the whole thing from the stairs.

“Oh. my gawd.” she wheezed from the staircase with the other laundry basket she was following you with.

“Don’t.” you whispered.

“He literally U-turned.”

“I know.”

“Like a frightened deer.”

“I. KNOW.” you shouted.

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You tried fixing it. You really, really tried. You tried being normal. Less staring. Less hovering. Less asking Nero questions like:

“Does your dad always sharpen Yamato himself?”

“Why do you care?”

“No reason.” you shrugged.

“Creepy.” he said under his breath, giving you a side eye.

That shut you right the hell up. You stopped lingering. You stopped looking whenever he crossed the room. Or at least you tried, but it didn’t matter. Because by then Vergil had already formed an opinion. You were strange and he treated you accordingly. Like something mildly concerning that might unexpectedly follow him home.

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One afternoon Nico sent you upstairs to grab one of Dante’s old ledgers from his office. Just an easy and quick little adventure so she can see the logs between gun/sword maintenance and cleanings. A grab it and leave kind of thing. You found the book, tucked it against your chest, and stepped into the hallway just as Vergil emerged from the bathroom.

You froze. He froze too. There was nowhere to go. Trapped in a narrow hallway with a man that can't even stand to be within 5 ft of you. There was no side exit, no escape. You gave a tiny, awkward nod.

“Hello.” it left your mouth small and quiet. You were just trying to be polite.

Vergil said nothing. He walked forward and you stepped against the wall to let him pass, his sleeve brushing yours for barely half a second. Your brain immediately short-circuited. And because the universe despised you, you smiled. Small, instinctive, hopelessly obvious even though you meant it for just yourself.

Vergil stopped walking and your stomach dropped. Slowly, he turned, his expression was flat, cold and tired. Like patience worn dangerously thin.

“You need to stop.”

Your breath caught. “What?” it came out as a small squeak.

“This.” He gestured toward you vaguely. Your face. Your expression. Your entire presence.

“I- I don’t know what you mean.”

“You do.” His voice was clipped. “Your behavior is strange.”

Heat flooded your face instantly. “Vergil I-”

“You stare.” You went still as he interrupted you.

“You follow.” Your throat tightened. “You appear wherever I am.”

“That’s not-”

“It is.” Silence fell around you both, his words cutting through you and gaze remaining fixed on you.

“If I leave a room, you enter it shortly after.” Your fingers tightened around the ledger.

“If I speak, you stop what you’re doing to listen.” You looked at the floor.

“You watch me as though I am some kind of... curiosity.” He exhaled through his nose.

“I have ignored it for weeks.” That hurt more than expected. “But it has become increasingly difficult to tolerate.”

You felt physically ill.

“You are Nero’s friend.” You nodded once. “That is the reason I have been patient, but I need you to understand something clearly.”

You forced yourself to look up.

“I am not interested in your attention, and I do not welcome it. I do not misunderstand it, and I do not return it.”

Your hands trembled slightly around the ledger, forcing yourself to look up at him. The silence rang louder than shouting.

Your voice came out embarrassingly small, cracking halfway through your scentence. “…I didn’t realize it was that obvious.”

“It is.”

You nodded your head, swallowing the lump in your throat. “…Understood.”

Vergil held your gaze one last second.

Then, quieter: “Whatever fascination you have with me…keep it to yourself.”

Then he walked past you down the stairs without another word. You stayed in the hallway for several minutes after he left, holding Dante’s ledger so tightly the edges dug into your palms. Your face burned and your chest felt hollow. You kept replaying it.

'Your behavior is strange.'

'I am not interested in your attention.'

'Whatever fascination you have with me… keep it to yourself.'

You swallowed hard, your back against the old wallpaper. Then, after a deep breath, you forced yourself downstairs. Nico looked up first from the desk, Nero glanced over from the couch, and both immediately went still. You made it halfway across the living room before setting the ledger down a little too hard on Dante’s desk. Neither of them said anything at first.

Nico slowly pulled off one of her gloves. “…Wut happened?”

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out because suddenly your throat hurt and your eyes burned.

Nero sat up immediately. “Hey.”

You laughed once, small and miserable, then covered your face before either of them could really see it. “I'm so fucking stupid.”

Your voice cracked halfway through the sentence.

Nico froze. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” you whispered. You tried to laugh again. It came out shaky. Then your shoulders betrayed you. Your breath hitched and suddenly tears were slipping through your fingers before you could stop them.

Nico’s expression dropped instantly. “Oh shit-”

Nero was already on his feet, guiding you to sit on the couch. “Whoa! Hey.”

“I’m fine,” you said automatically. Which would’ve been more believable if you weren’t actively crying your eyes out so hard you were choking on your breath.

Nico walked closer. “No, yer definitely not, sweetie.”

You wiped at your face too fast. Which only made more tears fall.

“’m okay,” you repeated.

Nero crouched in front of you. “What happened?”

You looked at him through wet eyes and immediately wanted to disappear. “Your father happened.”

Nero physically winced. “Oh no.”

You laughed weakly through tears. “Yeah...”

Nico pulled a stool over and sat in front of you too. “What’d he say?”

You inhaled shakily. Then said it before you could lose the nerve. “He told me I was strange.”

“…He actually said that?” Nico blinked.

You nodded as fresh tears immediately spilled over your lashes. “And he said he finds me difficult to tolerate.”

Nero dropped his face into his hands. “Oh my god.”

“And he said he’s not interested and that he doesn’t welcome my attention and that I need to keep whatever weird fascination I have with him t-to mys-selffff.....” Your voice broke completely into your sobs, hiccupping through your words.

You covered your mouth with your hand as tears kept falling. “I didn’t even realize it was that obvious. I mean I knew it was obvious, but I didn't realize I was THAT bad.”

Nico’s eyes widened. “Jesus Christ.”

Nero looked devastated for you. “Did he really say all that?”

You nodded miserably. “He said he’s been ignoring it for weeks.”

Nico muttered a horrified “Dayum.”

You wiped under your eyes with your sleeve. “I’m never coming back here.”

“Yes you are,” Nero said immediately.

“No, I’m moving.” you choked out.

“You said that last week because Nico laughed at your playlist.” Nero said rubbing your back.

“This time I mean internationally.” almost entirely serious.

Nico reached over and squeezed your shoulder. You laughed through tears again then immediately cried harder.

“Oh no,” Nico said quietly.

“Stop looking at me like that.” you whispered miserably.

“I’m ain't lookin at you weird.” Nico defends.

“You are.”

“I’m lookin at cha with concern.”

“That’s worse.” you whined.

Nero handed you a rag from the workbench since apparently that was the closest thing available to a tissue. You took it and pressed it to your eyes.

“This is humiliating.”

“Yeah,” Nico said.

“Thank you.” you said sarcastic, your eyes still watery.

“But in a deeply tragic way.” she pressed.

“Thank you so much, Nico.” you said, throwing your hands down onto your lap. "Boy, am I lucky to have you as my best friend."

Nero leaned closer to you on the couch, putting his arm over your shoulder. “He was harsh.”

“Mm-hm.” You sniffed, laying your head on his shoulder.

“Way harsher than he needed to be.” he spoke into your hair.

You stared at the floor, shaking your head. “He wasn’t wrong.”

Neither of them answered immediately because that was the worst part. He wasn’t wrong. Maybe intense and brutal, but not wrong. You did stare. You did listen for him. You did notice every tiny thing. And now he knew. And worse he’d been uncomfortable enough to avoid you over it. Enough to leave rooms when you entered. Enough to turn around in hallways. Enough to finally say it out loud.

Nico rubbed your back once. “Yer not weird.”

You gave her a flat tearful look. “I know things about his tea preferences.”

“…Okayyyy....” she drawled out.

“I can recognize his footsteps.”

“Okay, that one’s rough.” Nero admitted.

“I know the difference in what Yamato sounds like against hardwood, tile, concreate, and when its being unsheathed.” you named off on your fingers.

Nico sighed. “…Yeah.”

Nero groaned. “Okay maybe a little weird.”

You made a wounded noise, playfully shoving him away. “Not helping.”

“But,” he added quickly, “not in a bad way.”

You dragged the rag down your face. “Your stupid dad thinks otherwise.”.

Then Nico leaned closer.

“Well…” she trailed off. “He’s weird too.” She shrugged.

You snorted despite yourself. Then laughed. Then cried again immediately after.

Nero sighed. “Better?”

“No.”

“Fair.” he sighed.

You sat there between them for a while after that. Still sniffling. Still embarrassed. Hands still wrapped around Nico’s grease-stained rag like it was doing anything helpful while leaning against Nero's shoulder. The living room settled into a softer quiet around you. Music humming low, the sound of pipes ticking as they cooled.

And for once, you weren’t listening for footsteps upstairs. Weren’t glancing toward the staircase. Weren’t wondering if Vergil might walk into the room. Because now you knew. No confusion. No maybe. No false hope. Vergil was uninterested, and he had made sure you understood it with brutal clarity.

It hurt. Far more than you expected. Not just because he rejected you, but because he’d seen every embarrassing part of it. Every moment you thought maybe no one noticed, he noticed. And he wanted distance. And somehow that hurt worse than anything.

Nico nudged your shoulder. “C’mon, creepy. Help me with the carburetor.”

You sniffed. “I’m emotionally destroyed.”

“Yup.” she says walking off.

Nero stood from the couch, clapping your shoulder. “You can be emotionally destroyed while holding a flashlight.”

You looked between them with red eyes. “…You guys suck.”

Nico grinned. “Probably.”

But you stood anyway. Even with tears drying on your face. Even with your chest still aching.

Dante leaned against the doorway holding two mugs of coffee. “One for you.”

“You’re bribing me?” you questioned him.

“Correct.”

You dried your hands on a towel with a small teasing eyeroll and took the mug. It was slightly too hot. Exactly how he liked it.

You took a sip. “Thanks.”

He watched you over the rim of his own. “You sleep at all?”

“Some.” you hummed out from behind the mug.

“That wasn’t a yes.” he frowned faintly.

“It wasn’t a no.”

“Smartass.” he huffed.

You smirked faintly, but Dante noticed how pale you looked under the kitchen light. How dark the circles under your eyes had gotten. How your hand trembled just slightly when you set the mug down.

You immediately changed the subject. “How much did Morrison's client pay?”

“Not enough.”

“Obviously.” you laughed.

Conversation over.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time it got bad, you were halfway through mopping blood and demon guts off the front office floor. A nasty cleanup after a job. Nero and Nico had already left, Vergil was somewhere doing whatever Vergil does, and Dante was tossing broken furniture into a pile near the entrance.

You were wringing out the mop bucket when the room tilted, hard, when your grip slipped. Water sloshed over your boots, the floor lurched sideways. You caught yourself on the desk before hitting it face-first. The mop clattered loudly against the tile.

Dante looked up instantly. “Hey-!”

“I’m fine.” Your voice thin and the excuse flying out of your mouth too fast. One hand white-knuckled against the desk edge.

Dante dropped the chair leg he’d been holding. “Whoa.”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re not okay.” he pressed.

You tried to stand upright, and your knees nearly folded. Dante crossed the room in three long steps and caught your elbow before you went down. “Easy.”

“I’m fine, Dante.” you hissed.

“Quit sayin’ that.”

“I just stood up too fast.” you brushed him off.

“Bullshit.”

His hand stayed locked around your arm, steady and warm. You hated how weak your legs felt. Hated that Dante was seeing it. Hated that you couldn’t seem to catch your breath.

“Let go,” you muttered.

“No.”

“Dante.”

“Nope.”

You tried pulling away. The motion made your vision blur. Dante swore under his breath. Then his grip shifted, firmer this time, guiding you toward the couch.

“I can walk.”

“Great. Walk to the couch.”

“I still have to finish the floor.”

“The floor can cry about it.” He says dragging you around the side of the couch.

“Dante-”

“Sit down.” he interrupts.

His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut clean through yours. Sharp enough that you actually stopped arguing. He eased you onto the couch, your hands shaking. You tucked them under your thighs before he could see. Too late.

Dante crouched in front of you. Elbows on his knees. Watching. Not joking anymore, not smiling. He was completly focused on you.

“When were you gonna tell me?”

You frowned. “Tell you what?”

“That you feel like shit.”

“I don’t feel like shit.”

He stared.

“…Okay. Maybe a little.” You sighed.

“A little.” He dead panned.

“Dante-”

“How long?” You looked away. That told him enough. His jaw tightened. “How. long.”

“…A while.”

“A while meaning days?”

Silence.

“Weeks?”

You rubbed a hand across your face. “…Months.”

Dante went quiet. Rain tapped against the windows. Somewhere upstairs floorboards creaked. He sat back against the coffee table with both hands over his face. When he spoke again, his voice was lower.

“Months.”

“It’s manageable.” you mumbled out.

“You almost passed out.”

“But I didn’t.”

“You caught yourself on the damn desk.” Dante pointed out.

“That doesn’t count.”

“That absolutely counts.” he argued.

You didn’t answer. Dante looked at you again. Really looked. And there was something in his expression now you didn’t see often. It wasn't anger... it was closer to frustration.

“You should’ve told me.”

You swallowed. “I didn’t wanna make it a big thing.”

“You collapsing on my floor is a big thing.”

“I’m handling it.”

“No,” Dante said quietly. “You’re enduring it.”

You stared at the stained floor.

Dante exhaled hard and leaned forward, forearms on his knees. “Why do you keep pushing until you drop?”

“Because stuff still needs to get done.” you laughed humorlessly.

“So let somebody else do it.”

“There isn’t somebody else.”

“There’s me.”

You finally looked up. Dante was already watching you. Completely serious.

“There’s always me.”

Your throat tightened unexpectedly. You looked away again. He stood and went to the kitchen. He came back with a bottle of water and one of the old blankets from the hallway closet.

“Dante…” you took the bottle reluctantly.

He threw the blanket over you anyway. “You’re freezing.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

You were. You pulled it tighter around yourself. Dante dropped into the armchair across from the couch, arms folded, watching like he expected you to bolt the second he blinked.

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything?” you say confused.

“You were thinking about getting back up.”

“…Maybe.” you admit.

“Don’t.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

An hour later the office lights were dimmed, rain still tapping the windows. You were half-asleep under the blanket with your head against the couch arm. Dante sat nearby pretending to read a magazine upside down.

“You’re still awake?” Your voice came rough with exhaustion.

“Yep.”

“You don’t need to babysit me.”

“Not babysitting.”

“Then what.”

He set the magazine aside. “I'm makin sure you stay put.”

“Bossy.” you huffed tiredly.

“Occupational hazard.”

You smiled faintly. Then winced when sitting up too fast.

Dante was beside you immediately. “Easy.”

“I’m okay.”

“Yeah, I’m banning that sentence for a while.”

You leaned back again. “…Sorry.”

“For what?” Dante frowned.

“For not saying anything.”

He leaned against the couch beside you. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

“You don’t gotta earn your place here by working till you fall over.” Dante answered softly, making your chest tighten. He kept going. “You help out because you want to. Because you care.”

You stared down at the bottle in your hands.

“But if you’re hurting, if something’s wrong and you hide it until you’re barely standing…” He exhaled. “That scares the hell outta me.”

The words hit harder than expected. You glanced over. Dante wasn’t looking at you now, just the rain on the window, his jaw tight, hands clasped loosely between his knees. Suddenly you realized he had been scared. Scared because he’d turned around and seen you nearly hit the floor.

“…I didn’t mean to.” Your voice came quiet.

“I know.”

“I just didn’t want to be a burden.”

That made Dante look at you immediately. His expression softened into something tired and aching. “You’re not.”

You said nothing. He nudged your knee with his.

“Not even close.” Dante said as he stood and reached for the blanket where it had slipped from your shoulder, pulling it back around you. His hand lingered briefly at the back of your neck, warm and steady. “Now get some sleep.”

“What if I say no?” you murmur, holding eye contact.

“Then I throw you over my shoulder and lock you upstairs.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Wanna test it?”

You looked at him. Took in the serious set of his mouth despite the teasing. Then sank deeper into the couch. “…Maybe later.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He switched off the lamp beside the desk, the office falling softer in darkness, rain still drumming against the glass, and Dante stayed in the chair across from the couch long after your breathing evened out.

Bright where he was sharp-edged. Warm where he was cold. Your presence carried that strange, unmistakable celestial calm that demons either found soothing or deeply unsettling. A gorgeous half-angel. Dante once described standing next to you as, “Like being hugged and judged at the same time.” You took it as a compliment.

Vergil, somehow, liked it. Not openly, of course. Never openly. But privately was different. It started with late-night conversations after missions, silent company in the shop when everyone else had gone to sleep, you patching wounds he insisted weren’t serious, Vergil standing too close while you worked.

Then it evolved into hand against yours, his forehead resting briefly against your shoulder. The kind of affection that felt impossibly precious because they came from him and the sneaking around somehow made it worse. Or better.... probably both. Because Vergil refused to call it sneaking.

“We are exercising discretion,” he’d said once.

“You literally climbed through my window at two in the morning.”

“The hallway floorboards are loud,” he insisted. “They are not sneaky.”

You’d laughed so hard he almost left immediately out of irritation.

The worst part was how good Vergil is at hiding things. Terrifyingly good. Nobody questioned him disappearing for hours because that was normal behavior for Vergil. But you? You were apparently incapable of acting natural afterward. Especially when he’d spent the last hour quietly kissing you breathless against the shelves in the Devil May Cry library while pretending he wasn’t touch-starved.

You walked downstairs glowing (literally glowing faintly beneath your skin) and immediately froze when Lady looked up from cleaning one of her guns.

“…Why are you glowing?”

Your soul nearly exited your body. “I’m not.”

“You are absolutely glowing.” she accused.

From behind you, Vergil descended the stairs with perfect composure. Lady’s eyes narrowed immediately between the two of you.

“…Why do you both look weird?”

“We do not,” Vergil said smoothly.

“You look like somebody told you emotions are illegal.” she smirked.

“Irrelevant.”

“And she,” Lady continued, pointing at you, “looks like she just got kissed stupid.”

You choked violently. Vergil went completely still beside you. Lady’s eyes widened slowly. “…No way.”

“No way what?” Dante yelled from another room.

“NOTHING,” you answered immediately.

Lady looked between you and Vergil again. Then slowly, very slowly, a grin spread across her face. “Oh. my. god.”

Vergil turned and walked away instantly. That cowardly bastard.

“VERGIL.” Lady sounded delighted. “VERGIL, GET BACK HERE.”

He did not. You buried your face in your hands while Lady laughed herself breathless.

“You two are SO bad at this,” she said.

“We are not together,” Vergil called from upstairs.

Lady cackled louder. Still, somehow, nobody had concrete proof. Mostly because Vergil became even more careful after that. Which honestly should’ve been impossible. But suddenly he was appearing silently in your room at impossible hours, standing outside the shop waiting after missions, and brushing against your hand only when nobody was looking. Like now.

Now you were currently sitting in Vergil’s room above Devil May Cry while he kissed you like he was trying to make up for every word he never said aloud. His hands rested at your waist, steady and grounding while one of yours curled into the front of his coat and into the hair on the nape of his neck. The room was quiet except for your breathing.

Vergil kissed differently than people would expect. It was like every bit of affection was being given with terrifying precision. Which made it significantly worse for your heart. You smiled softly against his mouth.

“You know,” you murmured, “normal couples don’t have to hide in bedrooms like teenagers.”

Vergil’s eyes opened slightly. “We are not hiding.”

“We are absolutely hiding.”

“I simply prefer privacy.” he shrugged.

“You threatened Dante with bodily harm if he knocked on this door.”

“A reasonable precaution.”

You laughed quietly. Vergil looked at you for a long moment after that with that calm, unreadable gaze softening just slightly around the edges the way it only ever did with you. Then he kissed you again. Slower this time, gentler. One of his hands moved upward, thumb brushing along your jaw with surprising care.

The faint golden glow beneath your skin brightened instinctively at the touch. Vergil noticed immediately, his face twisting into awe. He always reacted to your angelic traits like that. It fascinated him.

“You glow when you’re emotional,” he said softly.

“You say that every time.” you giggle.

“And each time, it remains true.”

You smiled helplessly as you leaned in for another kiss. God, you were doomed.

“HEY VERGIL, DID YOU-” The door slammed open.

Silence. Absolute silence. Dante froze mid-step, you froze, Vergil however did not freeze. Because Vergil, apparently, could stare directly into catastrophe without blinking. Dante looked between the two of you. Your position on Vergil’s lap, Vergil’s hand at your waist, your glowing face, how close your lips were to his.

“…WHAT.”

You immediately buried your face into Vergil’s shoulder.

“You failed to knock.” Vergil looked profoundly irritated.

“YOU’RE MAKING OUT WITH AN ANGEL.”

“A half-angel,” you corrected weakly from where your dignity had gone to die.

“THAT’S THE PART YOU CORRECTED?!”

Vergil exhaled slowly through his nose. “Dante.”

“No, no, hold on, I need a second.” Dante pointed aggressively at both of you. “Since WHEN is this happening?!”

“A while,” you admitted.

“A WHILE?!”

“You are being a nucence,” Vergil informed him.

“A NUCENCE?!” Dante repeated incredulously. “YOU’RE secretly dating?!”

“It was not your concern.”

“You’re in my shop!”

“You also fail to knock.” Vergil repeated.

“That is NOT the issue here!” Dante stressed.

You could physically feel Vergil getting more annoyed the longer Dante talked, which unfortunately made this funnier. Your shoulders started shaking slightly with suppressed laughter.

Dante noticed immediately. “Oh, you think this is FUNNY.”

“A little,” you admitted through small giggles.

“You’re encouraging him!”

Vergil looked unimpressed. “I require no encouragement.”

“That somehow makes this worse,” Dante said as he paced dramatically across the room. “I can’t believe this. I leave for ONE hour-”

“It was twenty minutes,” Vergil corrected.

“-and I come back to forbidden romance?!”

You blinked. “Forbidden romance?”

“You’re all starry and glowing and he’s…” Dante gestured vaguely toward Vergil. “…like That.”

“Like what?”

“Like a tax-paying thunderstorm.”

“Neither one of you pay taxes,” you deadpanned. "And what does that even mean?"

“It means moody.” Dante rolled his eyes.

“I am not moody.” Vergil frowned slightly.

Eventually Dante crossed his arms dramatically. “So what, you’re just together now?”

A quieter silence followed. Because despite all the chaos, that question kinda mattered. You glanced toward Vergil carefully, waiting for an answer. Vergil met your gaze briefly before looking back at Dante.

“Yes.”

Your chest tightened instantly.

“…Huh,” Dante muttered. "Y'know big brother, I never thought you had it in ya."

Vergil’s hand settled against your back again naturally, unconsciously protective. And for a second, Dante simply looked at the two of you sitting there together. At how calm Vergil seemed. How your light curled warmly against all that sharp darkness without fear.

Then Dante groaned loudly. “Oh my GOD, you’re actually in love.”

You immediately choked. Vergil’s expression went flat. “Dante.”

“YOU ARE.” Dante pointed accusingly. “That’s why you’ve been acting weird for months!”

“I have not.”

“You let her steal your book.”

A pause. “It was not stolen from me…she asked....”

“You hate when people touch your books.”

Another pause. “She returned it.”

You finally lost the battle and started laughing outright. Vergil looked down at you, deeply unamused. “You are not assisting, my love."

“You’re quite the man, Vergil,” you informed him affectionately.

Dante made a horrified noise. “UGH. Okay. Nope. I’m leaving before anymore sappy shit happens.”

“You caused this situation,” Vergil reminded him.

“And I regret EVERYTHING,” He pointed at the door dramatically while backing out. “Keep the weird forbidden celestial demon flirting behind locked doors!”

Then he paused. “…Actually no, that sounds worse when I say it out loud.”

“It truly did,” you agreed.

Dante shuddered. “I need pizza after this.” Then he narrowed his eyes at Vergil. “And if you break her heart, I will hit you with a chair.”

Vergil looked unimpressed. “You have attempted that before.”

“Yeah, but this time it’ll be like... worse or something I don't know.”

Then Dante disappeared downstairs muttering to himself about “angel boyfriend nonsense.”

Silence settled again. You looked up slowly. Vergil was already looking at you.

“…Tax-paying thunderstorm?” you asked.

“I dislike him.”

“Nooooo. That's your brother. You love him.”

Vergil sighed faintly. “…Unfortunately.”

You smiled softly and leaned forward, pressing another kiss briefly against his mouth. Vergil let you.

“IF I HEAR KISSING AGAIN, I’M PLAYING LOUD MUSIC,” Dante yelled from downstairs.

Vergil closed his eyes briefly. “…I may kill him.”

“You say that affectionately too.”

“I do not.”

Leonardo

Leo is simultaneously impressed by you and deeply stressed by you. The first time he saw you charge a mutant yelling “FACE ME, COWARD,” he genuinely thought you had no survival instinct. Turns out you do have one. You just ignore it. He admires your determination a lot, though. You throw your entire heart into everything you do, and Leo understands that better than most people.

Sparring between you two gets INTENSE. Not angry intense, it's more like a competitive intense. You grin every single time he actually manages to knock you down.

“YES!! AGAIN!”

“…You’re... supposed to avoid that...”

You constantly try to hype him up after missions. “Your leadership was GLORIOUS.”

“You don’t have to announce it like that.”

“BUT IT WAS!!!!”

Leo secretly likes how straightforward you are. No mind games, no weird hidden meanings. If you care, you say it. If you’re angry, you say it. It’s refreshing and he really appreciates it.

You also absolutely lose your mind whenever he does something cool with his swords. “THAT WAS AMAZING.”

“It was a basic disarm.”

“AN AMAZING BASIC DISARM, I'LL SAY!”

He tries SO hard to stay composed when you aggressively compliment him. Sometimes he fails and smiles a little. You notice every single time.

---------------------------------------------------------------- Raphael

You and Raph are the loudest people in any room immediately.

Half your interactions are basically:

“YOU WANNA GO?”

“YEAH, I DO.”

“AWESOME.”

The others think you’re fighting constantly. I mean, you are, technically, but it’s affectionate. You absolutely adore how strong he is. Not in a weird way. You’re just genuinely impressed every time he lifts something huge.

“YOUR POWER IS EXTRAORDINARY.”

“…Why do you talk like a medieval knight?”

Raph pretends your enthusiasm annoys him. It does not. He actually likes that you don’t get intimidated by him at all. You challenge him constantly with arm wrestling, sprint races, and rooftop jumping contests. One time you challenged him to see who could yell louder. Splinter banned both of you from doing it again.

You’re one of the only people who can calm Raph down during bad moods. Mostly because you never react fearfully when he snaps. You just stare at him and go: “You are upset. Do you wish to destroy something together?” It's weirdly effective.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Donatello

Donnie is fascinated by you. Not just because of the spear. (Though he is obsessed with the spear.) He once asked if he could study it. You handed it to him immediately. He almost dropped it because it was WAY heavier than expected.

“HOW ARE YOU SWINGING THIS THING?!”

“WITH PASSION.”

You absolutely do not understand half the science words he says, BUT you listen VERY attentively anyway. Like he’s revealing the secrets of the universe. Which honestly boosts his confidence a lot.

Every time he invents something, you react like he cured all disease.

“YOU ARE A GENIUS.”

“Well, actua-”

“-A GENIUS.”

He gets flustered when you praise him too hard. You ask him a million questions during repairs. Most of them are things like:

“What does this button do?”

“Please don’t touch that.” You touch it. Explosion. Silence.

Then:

“…Fascinating.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Michelangelo

You and Mikey are a DISASTER together. Actually horrible for group stability. The energy levels become unbearable immediately. You encourage every bad idea he has.

“I bet you can jump off the railing.”

“I LIKE THE WAY YOU THINK, TURTLE-BOY.”

Leo has developed MULTIPULE stress headaches because of this.

You think Mikey is hilarious. Mikey thinks you’re the coolest person alive. You both get way too emotionally invested in games. Especially Mario Kart. There has been screaming. At one point, you stood up dramatically after losing and shouted: “THIS VICTORY IS BUILT ON LIES.” Mikey fell off the couch laughing.

You also hype him up constantly. Mikey says one funny thing, and you react like he delivered legendary comedy.

“HAHA!! YOUR HUMOR IS POWERFUL.”

“THANK YOU.”

He LOVES making you laugh because your laugh is super loud and contagious. You both also share exactly one brain cell during missions. Mikey says: “Wouldn’t it be funny if-" And you’re already doing it. Somehow this results in success way more often than it should. Splinter finds this concerning.

The box under your bed was plain cardboard. Old and soft at the corners from weeks of being touched too often. The edges worn pale from your fingertips. Taped once along the bottom seam where it had nearly split from the weight of what it carried. Inside were photographs. Dozens of them. Glossy and small was your quiet archive of devotion.

Some developed at convenience stores beneath buzzing fluorescent lights. Others printed on Nico’s cheap printer while everyone else was distracted or out devil hunting.

Every. single. one. was Vergil.

Not obvious. Never obvious. You weren’t a careless idiot.

You never took them while he was looking, nor directly from the front unless other people filled the room. Most were stolen from shadows across the garage or behind doorframes. A few were taken through half-closed spaces where his reflection fractured in dark glass.

A shoulder by the bookshelf, his hands curled around porcelain, Yamato leaning silent against the wall like another extension of him, a blurred photograph of him standing in the rain behind the shop; coat soaked black with water to name a few favorites.

Your most prized was his hand turning a page. Nothing else. Just fingers against yellow paper. Elegant, pale, and yet unmistakably him. You knew those hands better than your own. You've imagined them every night since you'd met him. The image of them gliding across your soft skin and finding a home between your thighs, pleasuring you in ways your own never could. The line of tendon beneath his wrist always got you the most worked up.

The photographs were tied together with a faded ribbon. Stacked carefully inside the box beneath sweaters and winter scarves. Buried under ordinary things. Hidden where no one would think to search. Especially not Vergil.

Sometimes you opened the box just to count them. Not because you didn’t know how many, but because touching them felt ritualistic. Like you were holding pieces of him he never knew he’d left behind.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Can you hand me that wrench?” You tossed it to Nico without looking. She caught it one-handed. “Thanks.”

The garage smelled like hot metal and gasoline. Nero argued with Dante by the jukebox over something loud and expensive. You sat perched on the edge of Nico’s workbench sorting screws into containers while pretending not to notice movement near the stairs. Vergil descended without sound. Stillness wrapped around him like armor.

You didn’t look. Not immediately. That was how people got caught. Instead, you focused on the screws in your palm. Silver, steel. Large, small. Count them, sort them. Take one big breath. Then, after a few seconds, you casually glanced up.

“Good morning!” you chirped

Vergil gave a small nod, his voice low. “Morning.”

Then he crossed toward the kettle. To him, you were easy to figure out. Nero’s sweet, harmless friend who charmed Dante into giving her a room and job at the shop. The girl who laughed too easily. Who bought groceries. Who patched wounds with careful hands. Who sometimes fell asleep downstairs on the couch after staying up too late sorting through all of his idiot brother's paperwork that he was far too lazy to do himself. That was all.

And you preferred it that way. Because the moment someone saw too much, everything you built would come down crumbling around you. Harmless girls were invisible, and invisible things could remain close. Close enough to hear the kettle begin to boil before anyone else noticed. Close enough to catch the scent of tea leaves when he lifted the lid. Close enough to brush past his sleeve in the kitchen and pretend it meant nothing.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later, Nico and Nero left for parts. You stayed behind to organize invoices Dante had ignored for weeks. Vergil sat by the window reading, rain whispering against the glass. The shop felt hollow with quiet. You sat cross-legged on the floor beside the coffee table, papers spread around you like a shield. And if you tilted your head, just slightly, you could see him reflected in the dark television screen, enough to watch him without looking.

He turned pages slowly, one hand against the armrest and his legs crossed. Still as carved stone. You kept your gaze on the invoices, only glancing at the reflection.

Three seconds.

Look away.

Two seconds.

Look away.

You knew better than to stare directly. Vergil noticed things. Far too many things. Breathing shifts, footsteps behind closed doors, movement caught in mirrors, eyes that lingered too long. So, you learned to watch around him instead. You knew every surface in Devil May Cry capable of catching him. Every angle. Every fragment. Through windows after dark. Through polished silverware. Through glass doors. Through reflections in spoons and television screens.

There was nowhere he could go, without you finding a way to look at him...even if it was only through glass, reflection, or memory.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that evening, the shop settled into one of its rare silences, rain whispering faintly against the windows. Nico had long since shut herself in the garage. Dante’s laughter drifted from downstairs before fading toward the front office. Nero’s footsteps crossed overhead once, then disappeared. And then... nothing.

You moved quietly through the hallway. Not sneaking. Sneaking implied guilt and you did not feel guilty for what you were doing. You walked the way you always did, soft-footed and absent-minded, like you were on your way to the bathroom, looking for a misplaced charger, or checking whether someone had left something downstairs.

Your hand hovered at Vergil’s bedroom door. Then curled around the handle. Unlocked. Of course it was. Anyone willing to enter Vergil's room without his permission had a death wish, and he made this known. However, desire and hunger for him settled deeper within your bones than any threats made by the object of your obsession.

You stepped inside. The room smelled faintly of old paper, clean linen, and tea leaves. His room was exactly what you imagined it would be. Neat with everything in place. Books stacked in measured order on the desk. A coat folded over the chair. Boots aligned carefully beside the wall. Even silence felt organized in here.

You shut the door softly behind you. Your heartbeat was loud enough to fill the room. You stood still for a moment. Your gaze slid slowly over everything. His open book on the desk with a ribbon marking the page, a teacup left rinsed beside the washbasin, gloves folded beside Yamato’s stand, the bed still made. Everything was perfect, untouched.

You stepped farther in, fingertips brushing the edge of the desk feeling the old, splintered, rough wood, your touch feather-light. Like if you were gentle enough, the room wouldn’t realize you didn’t belong there. Your eyes landed on the coat draped over the chair. Dark and heavy. Still holding the shape of his shoulders.

You stared and reached for it before you could think too hard. The fabric was cool and weighty in your hands. Smooth beneath your fingers. You lifted it carefully and held it against yourself. The sleeves are far too long, and the hem brushes your shins. The scent was stronger now in the cold air. Old leather, tea, and something distinctly his with no name you could give it.

You closed your eyes and lifted it up to your nose, drowning your senses in him. Your fingers tightened around the fabric and a fire burned deep in your loins, a small puddle forming in your underwear. Your eyes rolled back as you inhaled his scent again, a soft moan dying in your throat.

Your fingers loosened their grip as you reminded yourself where you were and that you had to be out of here quickly. You folded his gorgeous coat carefully and tucked it beneath your arm. Just for tonight. You’d return it in the morning before anyone noticed. Before he noticed.

Your gaze drifted toward the small table beside the bed. A pair of black gloves lay folded there. Beside them a silver bookmark tucked between the pages of a closed book. It was simple and thin, metal catching the dim light that spilled from between his curtains.

You picked it up, cool against your skin. He would notice the gloves. Maybe the book. But the bookmark.... perhaps not immediately. Perhaps later. Perhaps never. Your thumb traced the engraved edge once before slipping it into your pocket. A pulse fluttered painfully in your throat as footsteps started somewhere in the hallway. You froze, breath caught in your lungs. The footsteps passed the door, continuing in their journey down the hall, eventually dying down.

Your body remained still several seconds longer. Then slowly, you moved back toward the door. At the threshold you paused. Turned once, looked back at the room once more to drink it all in, making sure it looked just as it did when you entered. Nothing disturbed, chair slightly emptier, bookmark missing, and everything else exactly where it belonged. As though you’d never been there. You slipped into the hallway unnoticed, the door clicked shut behind you with barely a sound.

Later, back in your room, Vergil’s coat rested folded across your blanket. The silver bookmark hidden inside the cardboard box beneath the ribbon of photographs, pressed between glossy paper edges like something delicate enough to bruise.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your room was quiet that night, only plagued by the hum of the bedside lamp and well... a simple toy of yours.

The cardboard box sat open across your blanket, the newest photo in your hand and his coat pressed to your face as you brought yourself to climax again and again.

The photo was freshly printed, still warm earlier from the machine. It was Vergil at the kitchen counter, head bowed slightly as he poured tea. Sharp profile under soft yellow light. His expression unreadable. Your thumb brushed the glossy edge, then traced his silhouette as though touching something holy. Jaw, collar, shoulder all wonderfully sculpted.

God he was such a sight to behold.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A week later, it almost went wrong. Vergil stood outside behind the shop, the evening bleeding into blue while he leaned against the railing with a book in one hand. You saw him through the upstairs window, grabbed your phone, and told yourself, "Just one." Because the light caught silver in his hair. Because the wind moved the ends of his coat. Because the moment felt too beautiful to survive unwitnessed.

You stepped out through the side exit, raised your phone, adjusting to the perfect angle and lighting. Your finger hit the button. The shutter clicked louder than expected. Tiny but sharp enough to split the silence. Vergil turned and you lowered the phone instantly. Your heartbeat slammed against your ribs.

He looked at you, expression calm. “What are you doing?”

You lifted the screen. “The sky.” you pointed out.

He glanced upward, the clouds streaked violet and silver above the rooftops. “…I see."

“It looked nice.” You smiled.

Vergil studied you another second... then turned back to the railing. You walked inside before your knees gave out.

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After that, you were more careful. But not careful enough. Because obsession had teeth, and greed made them sharper. It happened on a Sunday. It was another rare quiet day in the shop. Dante was gone. Nico asleep upstairs. Nero buried beneath a motorcycle.

You wiped down the kitchen counter while Vergil stood at the sink rinsing a teacup, sunlight pouring through dusty windows like spilled gold lighting up every deliciously sharp angle of his face. He dried the cup and placed it beside the kettle. You stood across the room with your back half turned watching his reflection in the chrome faucet when he spoke.

“You carry your phone often.” he said without looking at you.

Your hand stilled on the rag. “…Everyone carries their phone often.”

“Mm.” he grunted.

You forced yourself to keep wiping. The fridge hummed. Metal clanged in the garage. Vergil dried his hands, then turned slightly.

“Do you enjoy photography?”

The question landed inside you like a blade sliding between ribs. “Sometimes.” You smiled lightly.

“What do you photograph?”

“Just whatever’s around.” He studied you. Not accusingly. Perhaps it felt that way with how paranoid you had gotten recently after such a close call last month. “The garage,” you added. “Nico’s projects. Dumb stuff Nero does.”

“HEY!” Nero shouted from the next room.

You nearly laughed, a small smile playing on your lips. Vergil’s gaze lingered another moment.

“I see.” He said as he spun on his heel to leave the kitchen.

You stood frozen long after he was gone, rag clenched in your hand, pulse in your throat.

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That night you pulled the box from beneath your bed. You opened it, looking through every photo one by one, your hands unsteady. There were too many. Far too many. Evidence. Proof. A shrine disguised as scraps of paper. Vergil by the window, Vergil reading, Vergil beneath the rain. His hands, shoulders, and side profile. His coat over the chair...

So many fragments and pieces of a man who had never once offered himself to you, yet you kept him anyway. You remembered where every photo was taken. The day and hour, who else was present. What book he held and what tea he drank that day. Whether he seemed tired, whether he spoke, or whether he sighed before turning the page. You remembered all of it.

You gathered them carefully, straightening every edge and tied the ribbon as you placed them back inside the box. You slid it beneath your bed until cardboard touched wall. Safe, hidden, and untouched. For the first time since you've started your little.... hobby your chest tightened when you let it go because of the way he looked at you in the kitchen.

It wasn't an accusing look. No, you'd seen him look at Dante accusingly and that was nothing like the way he looked at you tonight. It was more... thoughtful and observant. Like he’d noticed a thread hanging loose and had not yet decided whether he wanted to pull it.

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The next morning, you came downstairs carrying coffee like always. Vergil sat in the armchair by the window, book open in his lap. A wonderful cup of tea steaming beside him, sunlight across the floorboards. Nero half asleep on the couch, and Nico shouting unintelligible from the garage.

“Good morning.” You smiled.

“Morning.” Vergil looked up. His gaze stayed on you one second longer than usual. Then returned to the page. Nothing else. No accusation. No question.

But later, while retrieving something for Nico upstairs, you looked up and caught him once, standing in the upstairs hallway. Looking toward a bedroom door. YOUR bedroom door, you realized. It was only briefly and his expression was unreadable. Then he walked away.

And for the first time in months, your hands shook badly enough that you dropped the toolbox.