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The lights of Devil May Cry flickered faintly against the evening haze, the hum of the neon sign almost drowned out by the relentless patter of rain. It had been a long day, the kind where even Dante’s usual confidence seemed to falter. You’d noticed it all week—the way his humor never quite reached his eyes, the tension in his posture that only seemed to increase with every passing day. It wasn’t like him. Dante, the ever-present demon hunter with a cocky smile, was always the life of the shop, even if he was fighting demons just to pass the time. But now, he was different.
It had been a few months since you’d started working alongside him, helping with the demon hunting gigs that rolled through the office. The first time you’d met Dante, he’d been the picture of brash confidence, tossing out jabs at you like it was second nature. But over time, you’d become familiar with the man behind the jokes—the one who hid his loneliness behind bravado, the one who had yet to really heal from his past.
You’d been chasing a few leads of your own recently, dealing with some pesky demons in the city, but tonight, the rain had kept you indoors. And it wasn’t just the rain. Dante was here too, and for the first time in days, he hadn’t made a single sarcastic comment. There was something weighing on him—he couldn’t hide it anymore.
You walked into the office, shutting the door gently behind you as you hung your jacket by the coat rack. The familiar scent of coffee, cigarette smoke, and… well, Dante’s aftershave mixed in the air. You spotted him sitting at the counter, his usual spot. The mug in his hand had gone cold, and his gaze was distant as he stared out the window into the torrential downpour.
“Dante,” you called softly, walking over to him. He didn’t acknowledge you immediately, and for a brief second, you wondered if he even heard you.
“Yeah?” His voice came low, almost too soft for someone who was usually so full of life.
You leaned against the counter, studying his face. There were dark circles under his eyes, his usual vibrant blue eyes clouded with exhaustion. He looked older, tired in a way you hadn’t seen before.
“You’ve been off lately,” you said quietly. “Is everything okay?”
He half-smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m always off, sweetheart. You know that.” The way he said it, though, sounded forced.
You raised an eyebrow. “You’re not fooling anyone, Dante. Not me. What’s going on?”
There was a long pause, and Dante finally lowered the mug from his lips, staring at it for a moment before meeting your gaze. He didn’t say anything at first, but you could see the conflict in his eyes—the old demons, the past he couldn’t outrun, and the present that kept weighing him down.
“Just… tired,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Fighting demons, running from the past… it gets exhausting, you know?”
You nodded, your heart aching a little. You’d known Dante long enough to understand that there were days when his past—the legacy of Sparda—would come rushing back, threatening to swallow him whole. It wasn’t something he liked to talk about, but you knew it haunted him, especially when he least expected it.
“You don’t have to deal with it alone,” you said softly. “I’m here. You know that, right?”
His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and for a split second, you saw something more vulnerable than he ever let on. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by that familiar smirk.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he said, waving it off with a casual shrug. “Don’t get all sentimental on me now.”
You couldn’t help but smile at his attempt to brush it off. “I’m serious, Dante. I’m not going anywhere.”
There was a brief silence between you two, thick with unspoken words, before Dante stood and stretched, his joints cracking in protest.
“You hungry?” he asked, a bit of normalcy returning to his voice. “I’m ordering some pizza. You in?”
You chuckled, shaking your head. “Are you even capable of cooking anything other than instant ramen and burnt toast?”
Dante’s grin returned, his usual cocky demeanor sliding back into place. “You wound me. I’m a culinary genius.” He grabbed his phone off the counter and started typing. “But fine, I’ll admit I’m a little out of practice. Pizza’s the safe bet.”
You chuckled again and leaned against the counter, crossing your arms. “I’ll take a slice, but only if you promise not to burn the place down in the process.”
“Hey, I’ve got this under control,” he said with mock seriousness. “Just don’t start doubting my skills.”
You shook your head, amused but grateful for the shift in tone. Maybe it wasn’t much, but it was a step. Dante was opening up, even if just a little. You figured you’d let him take the lead tonight, let him lean into normalcy for a while. His life had been anything but normal, and it was rare that he allowed himself any semblance of peace.
The minutes ticked by, and the soft hum of the storm outside filled the space between you as Dante busied himself with ordering the pizza. You couldn’t help but watch him, your thoughts wandering back to his earlier words. Fighting demons. Running from the past. It wasn’t the first time he’d said something like that, but tonight it felt different. It felt more… personal.
You had known from the start that Dante had a complicated history. His father, Sparda, had been a demon of immense power, and that legacy had always cast a long shadow over his life. But it wasn’t just about his father—Dante had his own battles to fight, ones that weren’t always visible to the outside world.
A sudden thought crossed your mind, one that had been lingering at the edge of your consciousness for a while now. It was risky—maybe even reckless—but it felt like the right time to ask.
“Dante,” you said, your voice quiet, “have you ever thought about… confronting the past? About Sparda, I mean.”
He froze, his fingers halting over his phone screen. For a second, you thought he might brush it off, change the subject, or make one of his usual jokes. But instead, he set the phone down and turned to face you, his expression unreadable.
“Confronting it?” he repeated, his voice a little softer than usual. “What’s there to confront? It’s done. It’s all in the past.”
You could hear the bitterness in his words. “Is it really? You’ve been running from it for so long, Dante. You never talk about him. About… about what happened.”
His eyes darkened, and you saw a flicker of pain pass through them. “It doesn’t matter. What’s important is now. The here and now. What’s left for me is right here, in this shop, in these damn demons. That’s my reality.”
You stepped closer to him, your voice gentle but firm. “But you can’t keep burying it, Dante. You don’t have to face it alone. I’m here. You know that, right?”
For a moment, Dante didn’t respond. Then, slowly, he lowered his gaze, staring at the floor for what felt like an eternity. Finally, his voice came, quieter than you’d ever heard it.
“I don’t know if I’m strong enough to face it,” he admitted, his voice cracking slightly. “I don’t know if I can look at it all and still be the same person. I don’t know if I can carry it anymore.”
Your heart went out to him in that moment. You stepped closer, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to carry it alone, Dante. I’m here. Whatever it takes.”
He looked up at you then, his blue eyes searching yours, as if seeing you for the first time. There was something raw in his gaze—a mix of hope, fear, and a hint of gratitude. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw the man behind the devil-may-care attitude.
“Thank you,” he said softly, the words almost a whisper.
You smiled, feeling a weight lift off both of you. Maybe the road ahead wouldn’t be easy, and maybe there were still shadows lurking in the corners of his mind. But tonight, at least, Dante wasn’t alone in facing them.