#xdd;

He wasn’t waiting for his dad. Nope. Not at all. V wasn’t at all just idly cleaning out the rifle his father had given him on his 18th birthday, making sure all the parts were still in tip top shape (and not smushed into bits because he had asked Nightmare to carry it, because damnit dad, a sniper rifle doesn’t fit my aesthetics, and no, I’m keeping it! ). And V definitely did not have Shadow just lurking about in mini-cat form to alert him when his father arrived home.

So when he heard the door open, V did not rush to exit his bedroom, and he was certainly not just dropping Tharmas (the rifle) as he stood. (But he certainly was wearing a shirt. Just a plain black shirt, and not the embarrassing things that his dad was insistent on buying - V would much rather be a walking advertisement to a pizza chain than wear one of dad’s gifts.)

He made his way to the railing, a half grin on his face as he leaned over, giving a wave. “I had thought, father, that I was your only son - unless, I suppose, you couldn’t control yourself and I’ve got a baby sibling wandering around without my notice.“ V laughed, before making his way down to the main floor, all the while keeping his grip on the railings. “How was work? Had any fun?“

“How…” A small pause, and he rephrases his words. “… You’re just saying that, aren’t you? In an attempt to ease my mind, or something similar to that, correct?” He doesn’t look up at Dante; he simply just focuses upon something else; the small little fingerprints that had marked the leather cover of his book was particularly riveting. “I’ve had time to accept what’s been said.” V shrugs, seemingly unperturbed by that statement thrown at him earlier, though the tenseness of his shoulders belies his true feelings.

Sure, he had once confessed that what he wanted was to be loved and protected…

wordless prompts (accepting !)

blaze – muse a feels muse b’s forehead

There was something off about Nero, today. His reaction times were a little slower, and if V wasn’t mistaken, his skin seemed to be a little more flush than usual. “Nero,” V called out, waiting for the other man’s attention to turn to him, before V approached, an outstretched hand reaching up and resting upon Nero’s forehead. His expression quickly morphed into concern as soon as V felt the unusual heat Nero was giving off.