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Vergil sat there in the corner of the office, not doing much. His posture was rigid as ever. He stared at the floor, silver hair falling slightly over his forehead, obscuring his eyes.
He hadn't said more than a handful of words since their return three days ago. Dante did most of the talking while Vergil grunted and nodded.
It was the opposite of when they were in the underworld, where they fought side by side and helped the other out.
Dante's frustration simmered like a pot left too long on the stove. He'd imagined this differently: brothers reunited, sharing stories over pizza and alcohol, maybe even laughing about the close calls.
But Vergil? He was a ghost in his own skin, distant and very untouchable.
Why won't you just talk to me? Dante thought, clenching his jaw. We survived that shit together. Doesn't that mean anything? He focused on the magazine in his hands instead.
Vergil's mind, meanwhile, was a storm he couldn't contain.
Remorse tore Vergil from every side. The years spent locked in rivalry, the blood staining his hands, the relentless pursuit of power that had cost him everything, even the one person who had ever truly mattered. Dante. His brother.
The light to his shadow.
But it wasn’t just remorse anymore. It had deepened into something far more dangerous, something he couldn’t name without shame. Unrequited love coiled tight in his chest, a quiet, desperate ache that stole his breath whenever Dante so much as looked at him. Vergil loved him, not as a brother, not anymore. Those boundaries had long since eroded in Hell, in fleeting moments where Dante’s grip had steadied him, where their eyes had met and lingered just a second too long.
And his thoughts… God, the thoughts that plagued Vergil.
They came without warning, fierce and vivid. Vergil pictured Dante towering over him, that cocky grin fading into something predatory. Dante's strong hands pinning Vergil's wrists above his head, pressing him down onto the cold office floor. Vergil's breath hitched at the memory—no, the fantasy—that played out in his mind. Dante's body grinding against him, his cock hard against Vergil's thigh. Fuck me, Vergil imagined whispering, his voice breaking. Take me, Dante. Make me yours. Dante would rip away his clothes, expose him, then thrust inside without mercy, filling him completely, thrusting into him until Vergil's composure shattered and he came undone, crying out his brother's name.
The image was so real that Vergil's face heated, and he shifted uncomfortably on the couch, forcing his gaze to stay on the floor. He couldn't look up. If he did, Dante would see it, either the hunger or the shame.
It was dangerous, this obsession. It made his heart race and his body respond in ways he despised. He was distant because he had to be, or else he’d ruin everything they had tried to fix together.
Suddenly, Vergil’s thoughts were interrupted as Dante slammed the magazine down, the sound echoing in the quiet room.
“Alright, that's it,” he growled, swinging his boots to the floor. He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, staring at Vergil's bowed head. “You've been moping around here like a damn statue for weeks. We beat Hell, Vergil. We won. Thought maybe you'd crack a smile or say something. Anything! About any of this. But nope. You’re only quiet.” He gestured vaguely at his brother.
Vergil didn't respond. His fingers tightened on his knees, knuckles whitening. Inside, the fantasy flickered again: Dante's weight on him, breath hot against his neck as he whispered taunts: What's wrong, big brother? Can't handle a little heat? Vergil swallowed hard, willing the image away.
Dante took his silence the wrong way.
“Seriously!” Dante stood up, pacing now. “Come on, man. We're family. Brothers. I thought after all that shit down there. Fighting together, watching each other's backs. Things would be different. Better even. But you're shutting me out. Again.” His voice softened at the end, laced with hurt he couldn't quite hide.
Vergil’s chest tightened, Dante’s words striking deeper than any demon’s blade. He wanted to reach out, to confess it all: the guilt that haunted him, the love that twisted painfully in his chest, the shameful desires that kept him restless through the night. But to say it aloud? Unthinkable. It would shatter whatever fragile bond they still had. So he said nothing, letting the weight of it all bear down on him until it felt like he might crack.
Dante halted his pacing right in front of him, hands planted on his hips. “Look at me, Vergil. Just fucking look at me.”
Vergil reacted before he could stop himself, his gaze snapping up to meet Dante’s. For a fleeting second, reality blurred with something far more dangerous. Dante, too close, too commanding. He could almost imagine those hands on him, holding Vergil in place, claiming him. Heat rushed to his face, and he tore his eyes away, rising abruptly. Distance was the only shield he had left.
“What the hell is your problem?” Dante exploded, stepping closer. “You won't even make eye contact? After everything? I thought we were past this bullshit rivalry crap. Hell tried to tear us apart, and we came out stronger. Or at least, I did. What about you?”
Vergil’s composure finally wavered. The guilt surged. I’ve hurt you too many times, Dante. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, much less your touch. But beneath it, the longing burned hotter, pushing him to the edge. He lashed out, voice cutting sharply. “My problem? You think this is about you? Always the center of everything, aren’t you, Dante? Charging in without thinking, expecting the world to bend around you.”
Dante blinked, taken aback. “Whoa, hold up. Where's this coming from? I'm just trying to—”
“Trying to what?” Vergil cut in, his voice cold despite the rapid beat of his heart. He couldn’t stop now, the words were breaking loose like a shattered dam. “Pry into my head? Make me spill everything like this is some therapy session? You have no idea what I’ve been through! What I’m still going through.” The sexual thoughts intruded again: Dante shoving him against the wall, yanking his pants down, fingers digging into his hips as he fucked him rough. Vergil swallowed, and he turned away, fists clenched.
Dante caught his arm and spun him back. “Then tell me! That’s the whole point. I’m your brother, Vergil. I care. I want us to be close, like we were before… before everything went to hell.” His grip was steady, not harsh, his eyes searching Vergil’s face for something real.
The contact sent a jolt through Vergil, only feeding the storm in his head. He pulled free, forcing distance between them. No. “Close?” he echoed, his voice rising, bitterness creeping in. “You think you understand what that means? You’ve always been the one to run from it. Hiding behind jokes and cheap flirtation, keeping everyone at a distance. But me? I face what’s there. And it consumes me. Every day, every hour. It never stops.”
Dante’s frustration finally snapped. “Consumes you? What the hell does that even mean? If this is about guilt, then let it go. We’ve both done messed-up things. I forgave you when you came back from the dead, twice. So why can’t you just… talk to me?”
“Because it’s not that simple!” Vergil snapped, the words breaking free before he could contain them. He began to pace now, mirroring Dante’s earlier agitation. “You think Hell was the worst of it? Surviving that was nothing compared to this, this silence I have to keep. The thoughts that…” He trailed off, horrified. He couldn’t say it. Couldn't admit the love, the lust that made him hard just thinking about Dante's body pressed against his, cock sliding deep inside, claiming him in ways no one else ever could.
Dante stepped directly into his path, cutting him off. “Thoughts that what? Finish the damn sentence, Vergil! For once in your life, don't hide behind that superior bullshit.”
Vergil’s eyes flashed with anger. “You want the truth? Fine. It’s you. It’s always been you. The guilt over what I’ve done to you, to us. It never ends. And the rest…” He broke off again, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. The fantasy clawed at him: Dante pinning him to the desk, spreading his legs, thrusting in hard, making him moan like a whore. He couldn't look at Dante. “It's overwhelming. Dangerous. So I stay quiet. Distant. Because if I don't, I'll destroy what's left between us.”
Dante was so fucking lost. His expression shifted from anger to confusion, then something softer, almost concern. “Destroy us? Vergil, you're not making sense. What thoughts? Talk to me, damn it.”
“You wouldn't understand,” Vergil snarled, lashing out again to push him away. “You with your easy charm, your endless parade of lovers. You take what you want and toss it aside. But me? I can't. I won't voice it because it's poison. It makes me weak, makes me want things I shouldn't.” His voice cracked on the last word.
Dante reached out again, but this time Vergil slapped his hand away. “Don't touch me! You think you can just demand closeness? After years of me chasing power, of me leaving you to pick up the pieces? I came back from Hell for you, Dante. To make amends. But every time I look at you, all I see is what I can't have. What I'll never have.”
The room fell silent. Dante stared, piecing it together slowly. “Can't have? What are you saying? You can have everything here with me. Unless there’s something else you want? Tell me, and I’ll make sure it happens,” he said, hoping it’d make Vergil tell him everything.
Vergil turned his back, shoulders tense. “Nothing. Forget it. Just leave me be.” He still couldn’t do it.
Dante didn't move, his voice firm. “No. I'm not leaving it like this. We've been through too much. If it's me, if you feel something, say it. I can handle it.” He assumed Vergil had unkind things to say to Dante.
Vergil whirled back, finally having had enough of Dante’s prodding. “Can you? Can you handle knowing your brother's been fantasizing about you? About you dominating me, taking me apart? It's sick, Dante. Wrong. That's why I'm quiet! Because saying it would end us.” The confession out in the open.
Now that made Dante’s eyes widened at the implication. But it couldn’t be, surely Vergil didn’t mean that. He stepped closer, asking softly, “Fantasizing? You mean like sex?” He didn’t recoil at all.'
“Yes!” Vergil spat. “You towering over me, pinning me down, fucking me until I can't think straight. It's all I can think about sometimes, and it terrifies me. The remorse for our past, the love I shouldn't feel—It's too much. So I shut it away and instead lash out. Because that's what I do best, hurt the ones I care about…” He closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted.
The silence lingered after that.
And then Dante’s hand hovered for a moment before resting lightly on Vergil’s shoulder. “Hey… it’s not too much. Not for me.”
Vergil shrugged it off, the anger inside him far from settled. Their fractured bond probably wouldn’t be the same anymore after this. Not after the confession.
He couldn’t stay. He couldn’t stand there under Dante’s gaze, feeling seen in ways he wasn’t ready for. The intrusive thoughts still lingered at the edges of his mind, now twisted with shame instead of longing. He needed space, distance, anything to rebuild the walls that were falling apart around him.
Without another word, Vergil turned sharply and strode toward the door, fingers closing around the handle, his body tense as if ready to disappear into the night like he always did when things became too real.
“Whoa, hold on a second.” Dante’s voice cut through, urgent. He moved quickly, grabbing Vergil’s arm again, grip firm enough to stop him. “You’re not walking out after dropping something like that. We’re talking. Now.”
Vergil pulled free, glaring at his brother. “Let go of me, Dante. I’ve said more than enough. This changes nothing.” His voice dropped, something closer to desperation. Run. Before he sees too much. Before I lose control completely.
Dante stepped in front of the door, blocking it, arms crossing over his chest. His coat shifted with the movement as his gaze locked onto Vergil’s. “Nothing? That’s bullshit! You just admitted you’ve been thinking about me. About us. and now you’re going to run? Not happening. Face it, Vergil. We deal with this together.”
“Together?” Vergil sneered, then he scoffed as he stepped back, though he didn’t fully retreat. The room felt smaller, the air heavier, charged with everything left unsaid. Dante’s presence was too close, too real, stirring emotions Vergil couldn’t suppress. He could smell his scent. Vergil forced his hands into fists, grounding himself, in order to ignore the unwanted thoughts: Dante pushing him against the door, hands roaming, cock pressing hard against his ass. “You don’t understand,” he said in a low voice. “This isn't some demon we can slay. It's me. My weakness. Let me go before I drag you down with me.”
Dante's jaw tightened, frustration etching lines on his face. “Weakness? That's what you call it? Loving your own brother? Fantasizing about him fucking you senseless? If that's weakness, then we're both screwed, because I've been there too.”
That halted Vergil’s thoughts. He peered at Dante in disbelief.
“You expect me to believe that?” Vergil let out a scoff. “How do I know you’re not just saying it so I don’t run?”
Dante took a step closer, invading Vergil's space, his voice dropping to a growl. “Run and I’ll chase you down and make your fantasies come true,” he declared with a solemn expression.
Vergil’s body shivered upon those words. He did always enjoy a challenge.
He smirked. “Prove it.” And Vergil bolted out of the shop, with Yamato in his hand.