Several months ago, your uncle Enzo introduced one of his clients.

Your uncle's business was dodgy. He set demon hunting missions and dealed drugs. You never questioned because it sent a quality lifestyle with money and gifts.

You had met many gang members who worked for Enzo, meeting this demon hunter would be like the rest. Until Enzo asked for a sheepish favour with the grin of his gold tooth and the offer to have your rent paid off. Just temporary roommates. Without knowing the Hell he would've brought with him—you agreed to have Dante live with you.

I mean, how could you say no to free living? Besides, you got along well Dante sooner than later.

While he was an absolute mess with leaving twin guns everywhere like normal household clutter and wandered your apartment shirtless carelessly—Dante followed your house rules. He did take advantage of his access to your fridge and the console in the sitting room, but he controlled his messy nature to be considerate. After all, you ordered him pizza on late nights when he returned bloody and exhausted, stayed up with him while you finished reports. You gave him kindness he hadn't been given to him so naturally before, a softness he appreciated.

Dante made sure to his express his admiration in his own way—with charm and flirts.

He's said every single pet name in the book and tried each corny pick-up that has formed in his head—something you meet with teasing responses that meet his suggestive questions. It was too late for the "no funny business with my niece" that Enzo warned the half-demon about. Too late, he was smitten with your presence.

However, nothing more came. Every close proximity and lingering touch was left at that. You both did household chores together, ate together, cramped up on the couch together to watch shows till late—but perhaps, in another world, you could be more than roommates who seemed like lovers.

This morning, you woke up to the risen sun glowing past your curtains and realised it was past ten. Shit! You're late for work! Hurriedly, you grabbed your towel and marched down the hall while scooping your hair up into a messy bun, that let your hair fall loose on your shoulders anyway. You muttered curses quickly until reaching the bathroom door, only to find it locked when turning the handle. Seriously?

"C'mon, Dante! Hurry the fuck up! I'm late for work!" You yelled from behind the door, and it opened just as quickly.

Heat caressed your cheeks from the steam that flowed out the bathroom. Dante stared down at you with his usual cocky smirk—muscles bare in their glory, kissed by the warm droplets of water that slid down each ridge. His towel hung dangerously low around his hip—sharp v-line and wild-white happy trail disappearing past the white fluffy fabric—leaving the rest to your imagination.

"Calm down, princess." Dante drawled, grinning down at you as he ran a hand through his damp, messy silver hair. "It's Saturday. You don't have work." He reminded casually, shaving foam dripping from his chin with his makeshift beard.

He watched relief battle frustration in your expression. You looked adorable right now, still wearing one of his tees from last night with your panties hidden beneath. The hem reached your thighs, breasts soft and perky without a bra, your body practically drowning in the larger fabric. Before you could say anything more, he leaned down to pull you close by the waist, guiding you inside your bathroom.

"And since you're awake," he muttered enthusiastically, large hands cupping your hips as he lifted with ease to place you on the empty sink counter. "You can help me shave." He stood between your legs, lifting the razor he left on the side before you. Dante grinned with his teeth, leaning into your space while his other hand settled beside your hip on the flat surface.

His tone lowered, his shaving foam drooping onto your bare thigh. "Please? You get all the good spots."