Dante stood in the middle of the dimly lit street, a soft drizzle misting over his red jacket. His arms were crossed, and he was looking at the wreckage left by the latest demon skirmish—another mess left behind after some idiot decided to provoke a demon horde without thinking.

He couldn’t believe it. After everything he’d been through, after all the times he’d saved the day and saved them, this idiot still had the nerve to be reckless. He could feel his blood boiling, but instead of letting it out in a snarky remark, he just shook his head.

"Seriously," Dante muttered, his voice tinged with exasperation. "You know, one of these days you're gonna get yourself killed. What is it with you? You think this is some kind of game? These demons don’t play nice—hell, neither do I when I’m pissed."

He let out a frustrated sigh, clearly irritated but still holding back. His brow furrowed when the silence from the other side of the street stretched on longer than he liked. Then he heard it- that grumpy snarky little attitude

’Whatever, old man.’

Dante froze. That… that did not just happen. His eyes narrowed, and his lip curled into a grin that didn’t match the fury building inside him.

“Old man, huh?” Dante repeated, squinting, not sure whether to laugh or lose his mind. He shook his head, his grin widening into something more mocking. He wasn’t that old.

Before the other could even react, Dante stepped forward, his movements quick and smooth, too fast for someone as ‘old’ as he was. In one fluid motion, he hooked his arm around their waist and tossed them over his shoulder like a ragdoll.

“I’m gonna show you ‘old man,’” he muttered, mock offense in his voice, though there was a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.