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Before all of this, Nero would have, with all confidence, considered Dante as shallow as a puddle.
More recently, he'd come to realize that he might have, perhaps, misjudged. Dante's shallow in the same way a river is calm - it's true for anyone who's never bothered to get immersed in his world. And Nero recently committed to a deep dive.
The river metaphor is one that, once he thought of it, didn't stop bothering him. Dante was a river - expansive, life-giving, flowing downhill without a care for where it brought him. He wasn't a difficult man to plumb; he never hid anything. Whatever you wanted to know, Dante would tell you. He had no secrets, only painful memories and old wounds. He lived each second as best he could, trying not to hurt anyone. He turned where his heart told him to, gave everything he had and kept his judgements to a minimum. He was steady, easygoing, reliable and only froze over when he had to. He would let others take and take and take from him, unwilling to fuss. He was deep and quiet, soothing and calming.
There was also so much that he'd been alive for, that he'd already done.
The books had gone back into the 'guest room' shortly after they'd mated, but that hadn't stopped his crusade to clean the place to a presentable level. It was in this rare downtime, he discovered a box full of dusty picture frames, hidden under the stairs, behind a jukebox, a collection of records and an armchair.
"What the hell?" He muttered, pushing Dante's stuff aside. "Dante! I found another box!"
"Cool?" Dante called back, puttering around the kitchen. At Nero's request, he was fixing up the kitchen. He'd meant it as in change the outdated taps and clean the fridge, but Dante had tile-stripped the walls, patched the drywall, relaminated the counter faux-marble and was in the process of completely replacing the sink. New flooring was arriving next week, laminate tiles to match the white marble counters, which apparently Dante knew how to do.
He rolled his eyes and pulled out the box, careful not to rip it, and pulled out a frame.
Oxford University Diploma
Bachelor's of Humanities
Awarded To
Dante Sparda
He nearly choked. He pulled out another.
"Bachelor's of Science?" He muttered, pulling the next one. "Sociology?"
He looked back at the box. There had to be at least twenty-five in there. He kept pulling them out.
"Harvard Law. Master in Math from Yale. Philosophy, psychology, forensics, Egyptology, my God. Paramedic certification, what the fuck?"
This went beyond some slightly nasty gag gift from Lady. These looked real.
"Residency at McMaster Children's Hospital? Emergency ward rotation completion certificate?" He glanced at the year. 1976. Five years after his mother had died.
He started to pack them back into the box when he noticed that the ones following weren't in English. One was in Japanese, another in German. Another was in Arabic, it looked like.
"Dante?" He called.
"Yeah?"
"How many languages so you speak?" That diploma was in French. École-Polytechnique.
"i dunno. A dozen?"
"A dozen?!"
"Yeah?" His voice got closer. "Why?"
Dante rounded the corner, shirtless as to not stain or rip anything. He cocked his head, then caught sight of the box.
"Is this a joke? Lady being tasteless?" He said, trying not to sound too desperate. Dante was already a brilliant swordsman, a good friend, a sweet husband and a rollercoaster lover.
Dante chuckled. "Look, I know I'm not the brightest guy, but are a few diplomas so hard to fathom? I am nearly seventy."
"There's like, thirty of them in here!"
He shrugged. "I've had a lot of time on my own."
Nero wanted to start to hyperventilate, but Dante would get the wrong impression. He would think it was jealousy or envy.
"Some of these things take decades to get. How did you manage so many?"
"Usually I did them congruently." He considered the box. "I mean, my overseas ones were standalone, I'll grant you, but it's not so hard to do."
"How did you pay for them?"
"Scholarships." He shrugged, crouching down. "To get into those schools, at the time anyway, you had to pass the entry exams, them the specialized exams. " I've looked roughly thirty most of my life. Not an odd sight on a campus. Easy enough to read up in the library before taking the exam."
"Why don't you have them hung up?"
"I'm not that pretentious." He kissed him sweetly before standing. "Besides, Lady would blow a fuse. Can you imagine? Seeing I'm certified as both a lawyer and a mechanic?"
Dante wandered back off to the kitchen, humming as he pulled out the sink. Nero pushed the box back into its hiding place, covering it back up, and escaping up into their shared bedroom as quietly as possible.
As the weeks dragged on, he noticed Dante noticing how weird he'd gotten.
He couldn't help it. The weight of that box sat on him. Dante was a genius, a virtuoso who knew a little about everything, who seemed to have a never-ending list of impressive accomplishments.
And there Nero was, with no background, no smarts and not even a family to speak of. He grew up on a cult island about as allergic to learning as the Nazi regime. He'd learned to write scriptures and read order missives, not anything like a medical textbook or another language. He was worthless standing next to Dante, a little attachée of issues and baggage.
He'd taken to fiddling with the red-jewlled pendant Dante gave him, debating whether or not to give it back, to free Dante up for someone who was worth him. He certainly-
"Kid?"
He snapped his gaze up, realizing he'd been staring at his pasta for the last ten minutes, barely moving. Dante was sitting across from him, his gaze soft and concerned.
"Why me?" He blurted.
"Huh?"
"Why me? Why did you pick me?"
Dante cocked his head, lips pulled down a little. "What do you mean? Like, for the nickname 'kid'?"
"No." He hissed, irritated from a month of depressed rumination. "To mate."
"Oh." The older man got less stern. "Because I wanted to."
"But why?" He insisted, his mouth running away with him. "Why? I'm not anything like you."
"I have a mirror if I want to see myself, kid." He sat back. "I don't want that in a romantic partner."
"You don't get it." He muttered bitterly.
"Then explain it to me."
"You're so perfect!" He spit the words angrily. "You're so good to me, patient with me and fall in love with someone like me. Then it turns out you're a walking encyclopedia of careers! There's nothing you can't do, no one you couldn't be and millions of people better for you out there and you're here, sitting in a run down shop with me. Why?"
"Because I love you." He sat forward, taking his demon hand. "I chose this life before I met you. I like what I do, and I love you. I want you at my side. You, in this life, with me, is all I want."
He huffed in disbelief. "That can't be it."
"Is that not supposed to be enough?" Dante got that pointed look in his eye, the one from the journals. "I've been rich, I've been poor. I've been all over the world and done what I went there to do. I've been with all kinds of people. This is what I love to do. You are who I love. It's really that simple. I don't need you to be anything other than what you are: beautiful, aggressive, more than a little self-conscious and mine."
He ducked his head, suddenly overwhelmed. He didn't deserve this. Not this life, this happiness, this man.
"How about you stop worrying about what imaginary pedestal you think I belong on and more about what you want, huh?" Dante reached across the table and tilted his head back up, softening at the tears kept at bay in his eyes. "What do you want, Nero?"
"You." He choked out.
"Then keep that necklace on. You're mine, baby, and I would do anything for you."
He rounded the table and climbed into Dante's lap, curling up against him and holding on tor dear life.
"I love you." Dante said, soothing a hand down his back. "Nothing is ever going to change that."