Seraph

his skin is nearly entirely smooth and blemishless, with taut, well-developed muscles building up his torso, save for the single injury he's presented you with, and the stillness with which he sits at your kitchen table, facing you, reminds you of living, breathing marble. his clothes aren't particularly torn too, aside from where the gash is, and you get the sense that it's rare that he ever gets injured, at least not these days.

yet he's come to you with a simple unspoken request to patch him up.

as your eyes flit up for a moment, they meet his cool blue ones, focused on you intensely enough that you can feel your cheeks warm and you lower them again reflexively, which sets your gaze back to his core, which doesn't help you further.

now a little distracted, you stand up straight again.

"i'm done."

vergil's eyes don't look away from you, and he doesn't immediately begin move, but once you toss his shirt back in his direction then turn to gather up your set supplies, he huffs.

"i thought you would provide a bandage at the very least."

you whip around a little too fast to avoid betraying that you're flustered.

"vergil, i'm not an idiot. you regenerate."

he blinks, then tilts his head, as though confused.

"but there happens to be a persistent injury, is there not? i believe we can both see it."

your nostrils flare in annoyance.

"you are in your third decade of life and have not a single scar or freckle on that body of yours. i looked at the wound - it's not imbued with any kind of magic. it will close up."

for a moment, you watch vergil consider this, his face flickering with something like disappointment if only for a transient moment.

"fine," is all he says.

and it closes up instantly, to your shock. as if it were never there.

you blink.

"wait."

vergil stands up quickly, and says not another word as he puts his shirt back on, and you look back at him practically gaping like a fish.

"did you just...?"

vergil glances at you sideways as he puts on his coat.

"you said i regenerate, so i did."

still trying to wrap your head around what just happened, you stammer,

"but not all at once?"

"perhaps that one chose to heal that way." he moves to the exit, but you grab his wrist to stop him, and he turns, first looking at your hand on his wrist, then at you, an unreadable expression on his face.

"did you..." you trail off because what you're about to say sounds ridiculous but it's the only explanation you can come up with at the moment, "hold on to that injury so you could come here?"

vergil chuckles, as you let go of his wrist.

"now why on earth would i do that?"

Dante: this is my seat. Pick another one.

Vergil: but I want the one you’re on, move.

Dante: *leans back on his chair on two legs* no-

Vergil: *uses Yamato to knock the chair to the floor, knocking Dante off, before taking the chair and sitting down*

Dante: (name) help me!

of all the things that can be whispered in an intimate moment, when your gazes are still fixed to each other like the draw of two magnets, this probably isn't the one that should have come to vergil first, but you remain still. waiting. you've learned by now that loving vergil is an ordeal of patience, of slowing yourself to anger, doubt or fear, of learning to listen before running in the opposite direction.

vergil's hand still cups the side of your cheek tenderly. the ghost of his lips still haunts the skin of your face and neck. you wait for a moment, and a small smile on his features.

"i mean my mother. eva." it's said before you can ask, as if he could see the gears you've put to a physical stop to turning in your head.

your eyes flutter.

"why would i-"

"i'm only saying it because you don't look like her, but you still manage to remind me of her."

he lets out a chuckle that isn't humorless but is rather wistful, and his hand drops from your face, but you catch it on its way down, squeezing. still there. always.

"how so?"

the passionate kiss you've just shared in one of fortuna's alleyways is suddenly an afterthought as the two of you step over a few fallen demonic corpses and start your path back to your lodgings for the night. vergil's grip readjusts so that he's holding yours, rather than you holding his - so stubborn even down to minutiae.

it's that detailed spirit you find you like so much about him, however.

"if you're afraid, you don't always show it."

your eyes furrow, and vergil notices. "you can't possibly take offense to that," he starts.

"not offended, but... i'm not that brave."

vergil doesn't pause a stride.

"well, you don't fear me when you should."

"what's there to fear?"

vergil about a year ago would make you experience fear, just on a whim, just to prove something to himself. but today's vergil, your vergil, laughs once, a little too loudly, then stands still before presses a kiss to your forehead.

"that's what i mean."

you look at him quizzically for a moment, but then you see it, a trace of black ichor that blends into the locks of his white hair -

demon blood, not so different from that which runs in his veins. blood he spilled so comfortably it was an afterthought.

and yet your very human blood always stays cool, fearless in the wake of those icy blue eyes, and that too smooth, alabaster-white skin.

perhaps in this, you start to understand what he means.

sparda may have been many things to eva, but he never scared her.

Game Vergil as a child: