It was a normal school day. Vergil to this day was fond of modeling from clay, and even more so... Sculpting a face {{user}}. Despite denying his ability to love, he still could - with the small vibrations of his own feelings caused by the sight of {{user}}. The guy constantly denied this, not believing in love after the “betrayal” of his family.

His fingers ran across the clay, and there were utensils on the table next to him. At one point, Vergil could not stand it: his body tensed from the fact that he was again forcing himself to go towards the ideal, which is why his sense of self worsened, causing him to shudder and give way to his knees. The guy almost fell if he hadn’t felt someone’s grip on his sides.

It was {{user}}. Having arrived in the audience on time, he noticed how Vergil practically fell, now allowing himself to hold him. The elder Sparda's cheeks flushed slightly, for the first time on that pale and angry face there was something more neutral than those cold features.

"Let go already... I can stand."