bittersweet.

the bandage is seeping blood — ugh, troublesome, he’ll have to get changed soon. the pain is starting to return, & it makes him wince a bit, clutching teeth with a hiss. he notices a familiar face on his walk outside the inn, a friend (@sageofjustice) , a companion, long fiery locks of cherry red, & he composes himself to make himself, taking in a deep breath of air.

“what’s wrong?”

cloud is curious, almost tentative, & a little bit awkward; he tries to be zack but cannot. that’s to say, he’s pretty bad at comforting words. unlike his best friend. but he wants to try because he knows in his heart, that he still cares, even if his feelings for sephiroth (@pyramultimuse) may be a bit complicated — more complicated than they need to be. ( it’s simply because romance, the swelling of his chest when he sees the silver-haired man, & the dizziness that he feels whenever he is near his dear ‘friend’, are all a little overwhelming to him, but when he feels that warmth when sephiroth’s arms around wrapped around him — oh how at ease he is. )

as cloud approaches sephiroth, he reaches out gingerly, & his grip against sephiroth’s shoulder is light but secure; a lovingly touch, a welcoming touch. with deep, careful breaths, cloud does his best to get a good look at sephiroth’s face, brows furrowed, gnawing on his bottom lip, & he swears his eyes are playing tricks on him. no. “is that blood?” clear as day, splattered across sephiroth’s face and on his hands, staining his gloves. “what the hell happened?!” was sephiroth too careless? was he attacked? millions of questions buzzing in his mind but he could only manage to get out that specific one. what the hell happened?

her heart is hammering against her chest — this a shock even nana was not expecting. pools of blood bleed to her feet, staining her perfectly good boots, some of it is splattered against celia’s face, & nana looks upon her with wide eyes, gulping a lump down her throat. this scene is all too familiar, a corpse with no life in their eyes, snapped open, caught in a moment of surprise. nana sees herself in this corpse because nana has lived it, nana was once this corpse. she didn’t realize, she didn’t realize she would become another corpse. her dark brows furrow, but that does not mean she is angry, she is confused, by celia’s protection; no one has ever done that before… she’s always been one to look out for herself. till now.

“were they… a bad person?” nana mutters, her hands forming fists that turn her knuckles white. “everyone wants me dead, they all know him.” & he especially wants her dead. “they do not seem to realize that i cannot die — not anymore.” but nana is appreciative of celia’s help, especially when no one else would give her the time of day. she stares at the blood once more, almost completely hypnotized by its color. “why do you help me?”

“i am not a baby, i do not need you to protect me!” a strange way to respond to seeing camillus completely snuff the life out of a human who harassed her — more than just harassed her, attempted to put their hands on her, even with her high status of grey warden. she has a dagger, one dipped in poison, & she could’ve easily cut his throat should she want it. but camillus was already on him before juno could even unsheath her blade. & it pisses her off. “what? do you believe me to be a delicate flower? do you think i’ve not dealt with humans like him before?! i’m no stranger to cutting throats, to drowning people in their blood — i am not a pushover.” she is perfectly able to rain hell down a person, especially a human male, & even for someone of her small stature. hell hath no fury like a woman’s scorn, & all.

in her dark, heavy-lid eyes, there is an intensity welcomed by the fury she feels, & part of her wonders if she even feels this fury because camillus felt the need to save her, or because no matter where she goes, she cannot escape the whispers, the slaps to the face, & the prejudice that screams at her in every corner. her father was always one to warn her of the dangers outside the alienage, but she’s not a little girl anymore, she has seen more blood than the average man. she has tasted sorrow so frequently, it is like water to her at this point.

“watch yourself, camillus — you do not want to cross me.” she still has that poison-soaked dagger.

“babe, what’s wrong?” dante is a curious, curious man, though cocky by nature, his heart is not a stranger to feeling the tinge of sadness. he believes it is called empathy. ( the more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense he is the most empathetic when it comes to him & vergil, but he believes vergil can still be soft — in his own way. ) he feels it — something is bothering lilah, & though curious, he feels a bit of that pain too. usually, he is shit at approaching these subjects, but most days, the human side of his heritage pokes its head out & reminds him he has these types of feelings too. gingerly, he reaches up to brush his finger in her hair, then trails that finger down to trace the outline of her jaw… ( if she cries, he knows how that can be — he knows all too well! ) finally, he captures her chin, & tilts her head up enough so that they can meet eye to eye. dante, in his ‘giant’ glory, & lilah standing at 5’4’’.

“is it… him?” there are devils in lilah’s life like there are devils in his own — he is one, & the fact that lilah has been running from a particular type of devil has him a little worried. he remembered the first words he uttered to her when they befriended each other: if she ever needed to hire a devil hunter, all she needed to do was call. dante even wrote down the number & password to his place on the back of a pizza pamphlet for her to take home.

but what can he say? ‘i want you to tell me what’s going on’? he cannot force her to talk, especially about some complicated shit. there’s a lot of complicated shit he cannot speak on himself, it's like glass shards in one’s throat. but that powerful sense of determination swam in his veins, the undoubtedly feeling of wanting to keep lilah safe. maybe it’s foolish. she is a strong woman, after all.

dante doesn’t risk making the whole situation worse, or stupid, by opening his goddamn mouth & uttering something that might only bring the mood down further, but he wants to express just how much he means it when he says he’ll be here to help her. actions speak louder than words. his lips press tenderly against lilah’s mouth, drinking in every bit of her despair, & making it his own. if he could suck it out like venom in a wound, he would, & he hopes he’s doing that right now. lilah tastes sweet, & he deepens the kiss with a longing that almost has him choking. it’s a funny, funny feeling, but he likes it.