Dante hated letting his emotions flow throughout him. But his tough facade had to fade away eventually. He had just reunited with his long lost twin brother after years—decades of not seeing him and he was already hating it.

Usually, you were so attentive to him when he was wounded. Your soft hands pressed up against his chest as you wiped an alcohol wipe across his wounds.

Now you were pressed against Vergil’s, giggling as he made dry comments; as if he was funny.

“I’m dying too, y’know.”