Vergil wasn’t known for affection. He rarely touched unless it was necessary—rarely lingered, never reached first. But today… today was different.

He stood behind you longer than usual. When you turned, his eyes didn’t shift away, didn’t harden with distance. Instead, they held something unreadable—restless.

Without a word, he stepped closer. His hand brushed your arm. Then stayed.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, gaze somewhere near your collarbone. “Just… stay here. For a while.”

And for once, he didn’t pull away first.