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Dante sat slumped in his leather chair, his red coat thrown over the back. His hair stuck up in every direction from where he’d been running his hands through it. He held a cheap ballpoint pen like a weapon he didn't know how to use, staring at a blank page.
Leon sat across from him on the edge of the pool table with a bottle of beer, looking like a tired defense attorney. Nero paced the floor, gesturing with an outstretched arm.
"Look, it's not that hard," Nero said, stopping in front of the desk. "You just tell her how you feel. When I married Kyrie, I just stood up there and told her she was the only thing keeping me in one piece. That she is my anchor. Tell her she's your partner. It's not rocket science."
Dante groaned, dropping his forehead straight onto the wood with a thud. "Nero, if I stand up there and talk like a greeting card, Lady and Trish are going to laugh me out of my own wedding. I hunt demons for a living. I don't do poetry."
"I'm just trying to help, you ungrateful old bastard," Nero muttered, tossing his hands up and walking back toward the couch.
Leon took a slow swallow of his beer. "Nero's right about the core of it, Dante. You don't need to be a poet. Just talk about the reality. Talk about the commitment. Tell her you’re choosing her every single day, through the debt, the damage, and the jobs. Keep it straightforward."
Dante lifted his head just enough to squint one eye at his future brother-in-law. "Straightforward. Right. What am I supposed to do, Leon? Give her a checklist? 'Hey babe, I'm drowning in debt, my shop gets blown up monthly, please don't leave.' If I write like that, she’s going to realize exactly how bad of a deal she’s getting and run."
Leon pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling a long breath. "I've negotiated with bioterrorists who were more cooperative than you."
Near the bookshelf, the quiet rustle of pages stopped.
Vergil sat perfectly upright in a wooden chair, a book resting on his knee. He hadn't spoken in hours, acting completely above the bickering in the center of the shop. He closed the book. The spine clicked. He adjusted the cuffs of coat, his gaze sweeping across the three of them.
"You are all utterly pathetic," Vergil said lowly. "The three of you possess the collective vocabulary of street thugs. It is embarrassing to witness."
Dante rolled his head to the side, glaring at his twin. "Oh, sorry, Your Highness. Why don't you step up to the plate? What should I say? Should I quote three stanzas of poetry and challenge her to a duel?"
Vergil stood, stepping out of the shadows and into the gritty light of the desk lamp. He stopped right at the edge of the desk, looking down at the blank piece of paper.
"You are binding your life to a woman who actually commands respect," Vergil's tone was sharp and measured. "You do not speak of anchors like a common fisherman, nor do you write like a clerk handling a transaction. You state, with absolute clarity, that her presence has brought order to your chaos. You use the language of the court, Dante, not the tavern."
Dante leaned back in his chair, spinning the cheap pen between his fingers. He let out a dry chuckle. "Alright, genius. You're the wordsmith. Let's see what you've got."
"I have no desire to fix your incompetence," Vergil snapped.
But he didn't walk away. His eyes stayed locked on the empty yellow pad, his mouth tightening. Before Dante could spin the pen again, Vergil reached down, snatched the pad right out from under his brother's nose, and clicked the pen.
The shop went dead silent. Nero and Leon watched as Vergil stood over the desk, the cheap plastic pen scratching hard against the paper. He didn't pause to think. He just wrote. His elegant cursive slanted perfectly across the lines with fast, aggressive precision.
With a flick of his wrist, Vergil dropped the pen onto the desk. He didn't look at Dante. He didn't say a word. He turned on his heel, his coat billowing behind him as he walked straight out the front doors and disappeared into the night.
The door clicked shut.
Dante stared at the empty doorway for a second, then looked down at the desk. He picked up the yellow pad, his eyes scanning the first few lines.
The sarcastic smirk vanished from Dante's face. His lazy posture disappeared. He sat up straight, his blue eyes moving rapidly across the page.
Nero leaned forward from the edge of the couch, furrowing his brows. "Alright, come on. What did the dictionary actually write? Is it just a bunch of insults?"
Dante didn't look up. He stared at the handwriting for another long moment, his voice turning over to a serious register. "Listen," he said, and he read the lines aloud.
"To bind your life to a bloodline born of ruin is a terrifying choice, yet you stepped into the storm without fear. I have spent a lifetime defined by a conflict I never sought, treating my inheritance as a sentence of endless violence. But true strength resides in your endurance. Yours is a mind of sharp clarity, a spirit unyielding to the violence of this legacy, and a quiet dignity that commands the madness around you. Your presence is a force so absolute that it settles the restless devil within me. You did not merely survive my chaos; you gave a son of Sparda a reason to look toward tomorrow. I cannot promise a world without shadows, but I swear by my blood, my honor, and every breath I have left, that my soul is entirely yours."
When the final words left Dante's mouth, the room felt heavy.
Nero sat back against the cushions, blinking in disbelief. He rubbed his hand over his face, letting out a stunned scoff. "Okay, hold on. There isn't a chance in hell my old man actually came up with those words. No way."
Dante looked up from the pad, his expression unusually soft as he looked at his nephew. "We all just watched him write it, kid. Every single word of it came straight from him."
Leon didn't say anything at first. He looked at the paper, then looked at Dante's face. He took a slow swallow of his beer and gave a single nod. "He captured her," Leon whispered quietly. "He actually sees her. That's exactly what she deserves to hear, Dante. Don't change a word."
Dante looked down at his brother’s handwriting. He traced his thumb over the sharp ink.
"Yeah," Dante murmured, carefully folding the piece of paper and sliding it into his pocket. "He really did."
The door of the shop clicked open, letting in a gust of night air.
You stepped inside, kicking off your boots. You smelled faintly of your favorite perfume and the expensive drinks Trish insisted on ordering all night. The warmth of the office hit you immediately.
"Hey, everyone," you yawned, a tired but happy smile on your face as you hung your jacket on the coat rack.
Nero was still sitting on the couch, and Leon was leaning against the pool table. Both of them looked at you with a strange, quiet softness.
You walked over to the couch first, leaning down to wrap your arms around Nero’s shoulders. He leaned into the embrace, his scruffy hair brushing your cheek as you gave him a quick hug. "Good night," you whispered.
"Night," Nero said. He patted your arm, his voice unusually gentle.
You moved past the desk to where your brother was standing. Leon straightened up as you approached, a small, genuine smile on his face. You threw your arms around his neck, hugging him tight. He held you for a second, kissing the side of your head. "Glad you made it back safe."
Finally, you turned toward the desk.
Dante was still sitting in his chair, his hands resting flat on the wooden surface. His eyes were fixed entirely on you, tracking your movements. The wadded-up balls of paper were still scattered across the floor, but the yellow legal pad was gone.
You walked up behind his chair, resting your hands flat against his broad shoulders. "So," you hummed, leaning down slightly so your chin brushed his hair. "Did you actually manage to write anything tonight, or did you guys just drink beer and fight the whole time?"
Dante didn't answer immediately. He reached up, his hand covering yours where it rested on his shoulder. His thumb traced the back of your knuckles. He let out a slow breath.
"Yeah," his rough voice was incredibly soft. "Yeah, I got something down."
"Really?" You let out a soft laugh, completely relieved. "That's great, Dante. Honestly. I was starting to get worried." You leaned down further, pressing a warm kiss against his jaw. "I am absolutely exhausted. I'm off to bed."
"Go get some sleep," Dante breathed in your scent, looking up at you. "I'll be there in a minute."
"Don't stay up too late," you gave his shoulder one last squeeze before turning and heading down the hallway.
Dante watched the door close behind you. He reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing the folded yellow paper containing his brother's words. He looked over at Leon, then at Nero, a genuine smile breaking onto his face. He was a disaster, his life was a mess, and he didn't deserve a single piece of the grace he'd been given. But as he stood up to follow you down the hall, he knew he was never going to let it go.