BREAK THIS CHAIN

someone called them cringe uncle and cringe dad

𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘰 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦’𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘥. these are not his words ─ yet, for nero it will take time to recognise the depth of his actions.

right now, they’re by themselves and he thought it never possible to feel so GRISLY in the presence of a person who shares his blood. neither is he used to people interested in his motivation, they assume it most of the time and it’s his job to act against their expectations. while nero’s unsure where the reference to vergil’s question lies, he knows no matter the sᴄᴇɴᴀʀɪᴏ his reply would be the same. 

❝ i am not like you, that’s why. ❞

   He is young, he thinks, somewhere between the call for pickup and the silence that pervaded the moments the vans doors open to reveal Nero's figure waiting expectantly. Words were exchanged, yet were lost on ears unhearing--guided only by curt gestures of impatience from his junior to cross the threshold. The thrumming of what remains of his own made portal ceasing to be, sounding  distant until fully disappearing to some part of him. It was a familiar humming feeling that could be called upon at will, whereas impossibility made itself in every breath he took, every drop of light rain that dripped spontaneous.

   The air bitter sweet, nearly choked the act of swallowing easy. Time seemed to slow despite the the screeching of tires on gravel and sudden jolt of the van in speed -- unable to uproot his chosen position on the rough hewn couch however. His body unused to the uncertainty that beaded and pooled in this stillness that provokes something within to survey the boy in stolen glances, peering betwixt parted digits loosely covering and propping up the apple of a cheek. The human world wholly foreign in its sheer silence.  But it is the weight of safety that some part let's go of tensely guarded brawn despite Dante's presence mere feet away lounging in the passenger seat.

   Why did you help me?, the thought lingers in brief moments recounting up to this point-- nearly blurted out yet given form in soft curious tones that reach out genuinely without malice or fear. A stranger with his face, yet actions entirely self-made it would seem. Or so was what the retorted claim demanded, with strength, for a returned answer likewise. Eyes looking anywhere but him, Vergil notices, understanding and unknowing in the same breath that renders him mute. For once, words failed him -- albeit temporarily.