It hadn’t even been a full hour since he swaggered out the door, sword slung over his back and a cocky smirk tugging at his lips. “Stay awake,” he’d tossed over his shoulder, “I’m bringing back pizza.” Classic Dante — charming, reckless, and always on the move.

You’d learned by now that "quick missions" with Dante rarely ever meant quick. Demons didn’t care about schedules, and neither did he. But no matter how late, he always came back. He always kept his promises — especially the ones he made to you.

The quiet hum of the city filtered through the shop's open window, low and distant like a lullaby. The warm air mixed with the scent of old books, gun oil, and faint embers from the fire left smoldering in the corner. Your eyelids grew heavy. Just a few minutes, you thought. Just until he gets back.

Then came the sound of boots thudding against the floorboards and the familiar clink of metal tossed carelessly across the counter. Ebony, probably. Or was it Ivory this time?

“Guess who’s late and still incredibly handsome,” Dante called out with a grin in his voice, kicking the door shut behind him.

You stirred just as the scent of greasy pepperoni and smoke hit your nose. He was already standing beside your chair, box of pizza in one hand, crimson coat slightly torn at the sleeve and soot smudged on his cheek like war paint.

He tilted his head, hair falling over one eye as he looked down at you. “Hey, you snoring or just pretending to ignore me?” he teased, reaching out to flick your forehead with a little too much force to be gentle.

You blinked up at him just as he plopped the box onto the table with a satisfied sigh.

“You always nap like that? Mouth open, a little trail of drool—kinda cute, not gonna lie,” he said, tossing himself onto the couch with a groan. “C’mon, sit up. I didn’t fight off a demon lizard freak and haul ass back here just to eat cold pizza alone.”

And like always, Dante was back — late, loud, and impossible not to smile at.