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Jolting awake, Vergil's hand fumbled for the hilt of the Yamato, his fingers gripping her so tightly he was sure he would break his own fingers in the process. Before he could unsheathe the sword, he realized quickly what had happened. The hard jab of a wooden bed-frame against the space between his shoulders grounded him as he realized he was still in his room in Dante's shop, his wide eyes peering through the darkness to see his son knelt in front of him. Chest heaving with a lack of oxygen, Vergil tried to soothe himself, swallowing hard against the dryness of his throat as Nero watched him with concerned eyes and his lips set into a thin line.
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"Gifts, Vergil knew, were an important part of this holiday. To show the people he had come to care for that he appreciated them, he wanted to offer them things they would find appealing."
In which, Vergil learns about Christmas, and family fluff ensues.
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"I… Find myself troubled by our lives. By my life, and it's effect upon you, I suppose. Though we are siblings, I… I have treated you rather terribly, haven't I? I would like to apologize for that. For… my foolishness." Vergil spoke slowly, carefully picking his words one by one as they filled the shop and that deafening silence. Vergil felt his tongue press into the uneven, crooked line of his bottom teeth as he tried to hide the way his voice pitched in the face of his confession. It was ridiculous, feeling this afraid. What did he have to worry about? Dante had forgiven much worse people than Vergil in his lifetime, surely that would hold true towards his own brother? Yet, something about the way Dante sat there in silence drove him insane. It was as if Vergil's entire body was frozen in time, his throat tight and his fingers gripping the sleeves of his coat as his arms remained folded. He began to feel nervous, afraid that Dante would turn him away.
Or worse, that Dante would laugh at him. He wasn't sure he could handle that.
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“Are you waiting for someone?”
The voice came from somewhere far away, or perhaps that was just how Sora heard most people these days. Ever since he’d arrived here, in this world so much like his own and yet completely different, everything had felt off. He couldn’t place what it was; everything was real, but every interaction held a sort of false, cheap feel to it. People’s smiles were shallow, their eyes either had too much light to them or not enough, and he took notice of the fact that nobody touched one another. Not so much as a bump, a graze, a soft nudge between friends.
There was nothing. Empty, shallow. Unremarkable.
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It's Christmas morning, and Riku knows the plans won't last. But that's fine with him.
- Language:
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