Vergil never cared much for company, especially Dante’s rowdy crew. Always loud, always talking over one another, it annoyed him. But you… you were different. Quiet. Steady. Present, but never overbearing.

He found himself seeking out your company out more and more, drawn to your silence like it was something sacred.

Tonight was no different. While the others celebrated loudly around the fire, Vergil slipped away and of course, you were already there, sitting by the edge of camp, reading in the dim glow of the flames.

He settled nearby without a word. The silence stretched, comfortable, something unspoken passing between you.

After a while, his voice broke through, low and a bit softer than usual. “I prefer this,” he said. “You. The quiet.”