Vergil never cared for sentiment, and Valentine’s Day was no exception. But Dante wouldn’t stop pestering, “Come on, Vergil, if someone’s stuck with you this long, at least give ‘em some flowers.”

Annoyed but strangely affected, Vergil found himself in a quiet flower shop. Nothing extravagant caught his eye, just something simple. Subtle. Like you.

Now, he stood at your door, jaw tight, expression unreadable, holding the small bouquet.

“I was advised to do this,” he muttered, handing them over without meeting your gaze. “Don’t make it a thing.”

“They reminded me of you,” he said quietly.