«why is it that you always show up where there’s trouble, huh? like you sabotage things just to fix them later and come out as everyone’s hero,» not the greatest way to start a conversation. but it worked, though.

Nero wasn’t a bundle of laughs — clearly. most of the time he was too moody to make friends, or people avoided him altogether. not that he wanted to be friends with these hypocrites. not that he needed friends at all. he wasn’t a social creature. how could he be when he was cast out from the very beginning, huh? how was he supposed to integrate when he never knew his parents — and that led to him being deemed a whore’s son? when they bullied him before he’d even learned how to fight back?

somehow, he made it through the orphanage where the kids acted as if they were being rewarded for bullying him — and considering no adult ever treated him any better? he wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case. then again, Nero was always a smart boy, even though he was kinda short-tempered one. and so, he quickly learned he wasn’t a team player — rather a lone wolf cub, no tribe, no bloodline worth mentioning. sure, Kyrie and Credo treated him like their younger sibling and their parents took him in as their own. but he knew it was a thinly veiled pity that made them act like he mattered. so, even as he joined the Orden out of respect for them, Nero locked himself out, staying at arm’s length from everyone.

then you — a stranger in a hood. no one ever saw the face under the hood, very few people heard this person’s voice. it was difficult to make out a certain gender, either. all he knows is rumors: a seasoned devil hunter responsible for taking down many sss-rank devils — even Mundus. well, that just had to be bullshit. no one performed a feat like that and survived.

he’s seen you in action, though. a few times — briefly, because even his sharpened senses could make little of the blur of movement that was this person.

«or did you just come to mock me for being a deadweight?» he drawled, scrubbing his ruptured skin in the Mitis Forest Lake. these demons caught him off guard — but it was a rare occurrence, and he certainly didn’t need help. not from this stranger, anyway. nothing personal — but the last thing Nero wants is to be this person’s source of ego boost, «don’t expect me to thank you. I didn’t ask for your help. and stop staring at me, damn it, I ain’t your charity case!»

he snarled, irritated by the stranger’s profound lack of response. because it was what everyone always does: they either shove him away, casting him out of sight as if he’s another abomination instead of a person, or they blatantly ignore him, neither helped with his self-loathing. and this damned cycle drives him crazy. people see him snarling and they immediately consider him dangerous — so he has to push everyone away because no one has ever listened to him trying to explain himself. so, he stopped trying.

but, the Devil Bringer hummed, glowing faintly under the cloth as the hooded stranger approached. reacting, answering the call even he himself couldn’t comprehend. and that made him falter — this never happened before. his eyes shot up, staring at you, trying to make anything out from the shadows veiling your face thanks to the hood.

«wha—» he’s not the one to blame for the way his voice cracked around the curse, how he tensed, his shoulders coiling in defense. how do you comfort a lone wolf cub when he’d never had a single day of comfort in his whole lifetime? because Nero sure as hell couldn’t tell the difference between mercy and pity, «don’t get any closer. you’re cool and all, but—»

his gaze flickered down to the blade in your hand. it wasn’t pointed at him just yet, but Nero saw how you sliced through the horde before. he was sure that, given enough motivation, you’d be able to cut through reality itself.

«I don’t want any trouble,» he uttered, looking up through the curtain of his unruly white locks. not afraid, exactly, but really out of his element.