As far as Dante was concerned, this was the golden hour. The office was currently graced by the presence of a cheesy, circular masterpiece: a large pepperoni pizza. He glanced at the side order: a smaller, separate box containing a thin-crust mockery of true greatness topped with olives and sun-dried tomatoes.
It was Vergil’s, of course. Dante had noticed his brother still struggled to adapt to the human world, especially the concept of eating for pleasure. Even now, Vergil was merely pecking at his food, looking more like he was dissecting a specimen than enjoying a meal. Dante decided to help end his misery, even if there were olives involved.
“You gonna eat all that, Verge?” Dante asked, his hand drifting lazily toward Vergil’s box. “Even olive infested pizzas deserve to be eaten warm.”
The reaction was instantaneous.
Before Dante’s fingers could even hover over the crust, a low, vibrating sound rumbled through the room. It wasn’t a verbal warning; it was a visceral, guttural growl that started deep in Vergil’s chest and ended with a flash of white teeth bared in a feral snarl.
Vergil’s pupils didn’t just blow wide; they sharpened into needle-like slits, dark and predatory. They locked onto Dante’s hand as if guarding a fresh kill from a scavenger. For a split second, the polished Son of Sparda was gone, replaced by something that had spent a decade eating flesh and demon marrow in the dark.
Dante froze. He didn’t pull back—that might trigger a strike—he just stared. He’d seen Vergil do a lot of things, but watching his stuck-up and stoic brother go full lizard-brain over a slice of pizza was a new level of heavy, twisting his gut in all sorts of ways.
Clearly the Underworld was a harsh teacher. In the pits, if you didn’t fight for what you wanted and guard what little you had, you didn’t survive.
“Whoa,” Dante said, slowly raising his palms in a gesture of surrender. “Okay. Not messing with your food then.”
The tension snapped like a tight band. Vergil blinked, the predatory haze in his eyes clearing as he realized, with a sickening jolt of self-awareness, that he was currently baring his fangs at his brother over a piece of bread. He straightened his coat, an embarrassed flush creeping up his face. The growl died in his throat, replaced by a cold, suffocating silence.
“I... am no longer hungry,” Vergil muttered. He pointedly pushed the box of pizza aside.
“Suit yourself. A lil’ leftover never hurt anyone,” Dante tried to joke, but it fell flat. He felt a pang of guilt; he’d accidentally tripped a wire he didn’t even know was live.
They spent the next twenty minutes talking shop, because nothing buried tension quite like work. It was the usual grind: a high-level demon sighting by the docks, another lesser nest in the sewers, and the soul-crushing reality of debt and utility bills. Vergil was clearly back in his comfort zone, speaking in clipped, professional tones, but he never once looked back at the food.
When the business was concluded, Vergil stood up with his usual, practiced grace.
“I’ll see to the harbour job,” Vergil said, eyes drilling into his brother. “Do not laze about, and do not let the clients negotiate the fair pay downward. If I have to start supervising your contracts like a toddler, I will simply hand the work over to Nero.”
He turned on his heel to leave, headed off to sulk in his own way.
“Yeah, yeah. I hear you, father of the year,” Dante teasingly called after him.
As the front door shut, Dante sighed, reaching for a slice of his own pizza only to realize the box was empty. As he pulled back in disappointment, his hand stopped mid-air.
There, on the edge of the desk, sat Vergil’s box.
Vergil hadn’t just left it. He had pointedly slid it across the table, nudging it firmly into Dante’s territory. It was a silent, prideful apology. The demonic equivalent of: ‘I recognized you as a threat, but I remember now that you are pack. Feast.’
Dante looked at the vile olives, then at the door, and shook his head with a small, lopsided grin.
“What an over-dramatic idiot,” Dante whispered. He picked up a slice of the pizza, flicked off the offending olive, and took an appreciative bite.
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