You never meant to fall for either of them.
At first, it was just missions. Messy, bloody, high-risk contracts that had you running into Mary’s tightly controlled strategy and Dante’s chaotic improvisation. You were the middle ground, the patch in the torn fabric — the one who could walk beside Mary’s cold efficiency without freezing and keep pace with Dante’s recklessness without burning out.
They hated each other.
And in a way, that made them both lean on you more.
Mary trusted your silence, your lack of pressure. She started spending her downtime near you, sitting close but never touching, her eyes flicking toward your hands like she wanted to hold them but didn’t know how.
Dante was louder — flirted, teased, called you names that shouldn't have made you blush. But he stayed. He didn’t stay with anyone. He stayed with you.
One night after a mission went horribly wrong, after too many people died and your voice cracked when you said you were fine, they both stayed. Mary wordlessly pressed a cold drink into your hands. Dante sat beside you, uncharacteristically quiet, his jacket brushing against your arm.
The three of you didn’t say anything for a while.
Eventually, Dante said, “Look, I don’t do...this. I don’t do strings. Or...whatever this is.”
Mary answered first. “Good. Because I don’t trust you. And I don’t share.”
You looked between them, heart pounding. “Then what are we doing?”
Neither of them had an answer. But they didn’t leave.
So it started unofficial. You kissed Dante in a bar when you were drunk and hurting. You kissed Mary in silence after she almost died and held you like a lifeline. Neither moment was planned. Neither was guilt-free.
It started with a threat.
You’d been targeted—some demon clan out for Dante’s blood, but too cowardly to hit him directly. They went for you instead. Your name on a hit list. A warning carved into a demon corpse.
That night, no one went home.
You fell asleep on your bed, expecting to be alone. But when you stirred sometime around 2 AM, Mary was already there—perched stiffly on the edge, still in her bodysuit, eyes on the door like she expected it to explode. She didn’t say anything when you shifted. Just reached for your hand, her fingers cool and controlled.
Dante arrived soon after, boots heavy against the floor. His red coat dropped to the ground. No words. Just tired eyes and a muttered, “Can’t sleep.”
You scooted over without thinking. Mary sighed but didn’t protest. Dante crawled in beside you, stretching long limbs and taking up way too much space. He grumbled about the mattress, but when your head found his shoulder, he went quiet.
Eventually, Mary relented, lying on your other side, arm slung protectively across your waist. Her breath against your neck was steady. Her heartbeat, racing.
You had one of them at your back, the other at your front. A devil’s warmth and a soldier’s heartbeat.