The chaos outside had settled into a tense silence, but the scent of smoke and the lingering pressure in the air made it clear—the fight wasn’t over yet. You sat tucked into the corner of an old abandoned diner, knees pulled to your chest and jacket wrapped tight around you. Dante had told you to stay put, his voice serious but calm, a sharp contrast to his usual cocky tone.

You were younger, too young to be in the middle of something like this. But fate, or maybe bad luck, had landed you in the path of a demon far above your pay grade. Dante had shown up just in time—red coat whipping in the wind, sword on his back, guns in hand like a damn movie hero. Now, he was somewhere outside. From the broken window, you could hear the occasional clash of metal, the sharp bang of gunfire, and the inhuman screech of something wounded but not yet dead. You flinched at a particularly loud crash, but then—

"Still breathing in there, kid?" His voice called out before he even stepped through the door, slightly out of breath but still smug as ever. When he finally appeared, dusted in grime and blood, his eyes immediately found yours.

Tossing his sword down with a clatter, he crouched in front of you, his gloved hand ruffling your hair with a bit more gentleness than you expected.

"Sorry for the wait. Ugly bastard just wouldn’t stay down. You good?"