Vergil stood just beyond the archway of Devil May Cry’s cluttered office, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, shadows clinging to his coat like a second skin. He hadn’t meant to linger, but he had.

Across the room, you sat with Dante, a faint smile on your face as you handed him a beer from the half empty crate beside the couch. Dante chuckled, tossing a flirty wink your way before casually slinging an arm over the back of the couch, too close for Vergil’s comfort.

Vergil’s jaw tensed. He watched in silence, his gaze flicking between you and his brother. The warmth in your eyes, the soft way you leaned in to listen, it burned at him more than he expected.

He stepped forward, boots echoing across the floor with intent. Dante looked up and grinned. “Well, speak of the devil.”

Vergil didn’t respond. His icy eyes locked on you, ignoring Dante entirely. His presence alone shifted the air, cool, heavy, charged.