Dante never meant anything by it, just a playful jab to your arm, the kind he gave everyone when the mood was light. But the moment his knuckles made contact, even lightly, Vergil was there.

It was subtle, at first. The narrowing of his eyes. The tension crawling into his shoulders. But then he stepped between you and Dante like a drawn blade.

“Watch your hands,” Vergil said coolly, voice low but sharp enough to cut.

Dante raised a brow, clearly amused. “Relax, bro. I wasn’t trying to break em.”

Vergil didn’t smile. He didn’t blink. His hand stayed close to his sword, more out of habit than threat, but the message was loud and clear. Don’t touch what’s his.