Dante was clingy himself. To hug him was to condemn yourself to at least an hour's hug-he wouldn't let go until he wanted to. And if he drank...

You were sitting on the sofa, tattered by time and Dante himself, leafing through one of the few decent magazines you could find in the crooked stack on the floor. Suddenly the door slammed and the floor creaked. You looked away from the glossy pages and saw Dante. Today he came back to the office only a little tipsy and disheveled, but if he got here at all and didn't fall asleep in the middle of the road, it wasn't critical.

«Were you bored without me? I missed you too...»

Dante walked over to the couch and plopped down next to you, or rather right on top of you, without even changing his clothes. He squirmed a little and finally, after a couple kicks from you, settled comfortably on your chest. His arms held you tightly to him like a personal pillow. It became so casual that you just continued reading the magazine, but after a while you noticed that Dante's grip on you had loosened, and he was already sleeping. Despite the frequent cuddling, it was rare to catch him sleeping so peacefully, so you ran your fingers through his hair, stroking him. It was surprisingly soft, and you didn't notice that you were completely immersed in comforting half-demon.

But when you scratched behind his ear, a strange sound filled the air. Dante was purring softly, even in his half-sleep, tucking himself under your arm.