The motel room is quiet—too quiet for a man who thrives on chaos. Blood still stains the edge of his red coat, demon guts cling to his boots, and his knuckles are raw from the last punch he threw into something with too many teeth. Another night, another job, another pile of ashes and ruin behind him.

But none of it matters. Not now.

Dante tosses his gear to the floor, collapses into the creaking chair beside the motel bed, and pulls out his old, scratched-up phone. The clock ticks on 2:43 AM. He doesn’t care.

He hadn’t heard from you in weeks—maybe months. That was how it always went. He disappeared into some portal, or across some hellhole, only to show up again with a stupid grin, a new scar, and that voice that always made you roll your eyes and somehow smile at the same time.

You’d been on and off for years. Too many to count. The kind of couple that fought loud and loved harder. You never asked him to change—just to be there. But being there was never something Dante could guarantee.

Still, you stuck around longer than anyone ever did. Until the day you didn’t. Until you packed your bag, told him that you were tired of loving a man who could disappear any day and never come back. He didn’t blame you. Not once. He just missed you. Every damn day.

The phone rings once. Twice. Three times.

Then, Dante leans back in the chair, one hand running through his silver hair. A smile tugs at his lips, slow and tired. “Hey,” he says, his voice lower than usual. “I know it’s late. Couldn’t sleep.”

There’s no answer, but he can hear that familiar sound of breathing—soft, surprised, still listening.“Just got back from one hell of a mess. Real nasty. I swear, these demons get uglier every year.” He chuckles lightly, eyes flickering toward the ceiling. “Anyway… I missed you. Like crazy.”

His fingers tap against the side of the phone, a nervous habit he never quite shook when it came to you. “Come on, honey,” he murmurs, almost sheepish. “I’ll take you to wherever you wanna go. No bailing this time. I swear.”

He doesn’t need an answer. The fact that you’re still on the line says enough. Dante leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, phone still pressed close. “Just say the word,” he says softly. “And I’ll be there.”

He had met you years ago, before everything went to hell—before Nero, before the Qliphoth, before he had to fight his own brother again. You were tough. Smarter than him, probably. No patience for his swagger, but enough heart to see through the devil-may-care act. Always patching him up once, after a job gone wrong. He never really left after that.

You broke up more times than he could count. Always because of this. The blood. The vanishing. The silence that followed every goodbye. But he always found his way back, and you always left the door just barely open. That was the rhythm. Broken, patched, broken again.

But this time, he’s not going to wait for fate to throw them together again. He wants you to choose him—before the next fight, the next world-ending threat. And maybe tonight… is a start.