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There is something about walking the city streets at night that seem otherworldly. Perhaps it was the lack of people milling about their day, the soft glow of moonlight shining upon the black asphalt of the streets, or the light breeze blowing through the buildings, whispering the sounds of the city for all to hear.
But for Vergil it is the fact that literal otherworldly creatures tend to roam these streets. And it was up to him and his brother to dispatch of them tonight. He is successful…but he underestimates one of the demon pests and now he is walking down the street, clutching his left arm where they got a lucky swipe at the Son of Sparda. He shrugs it off in the heat of moment, focusing all of his anger on his target, but now he is really feeling it. His demon lineage helps him bounce back from most wounds, but this one must be caustic since it has not quit burning. I should do better, he thought bitterly, beating himself up for not upholding the prowess expected from a kin of Sparda.
Flower for your thoughts?
Your voice enters his mind, a soft interlude in between his self-criticism. You always have a knack of distracting him from negative thoughts, almost as if you could read it on his face even though he does not show it. And it seems you no longer have to be there to distract him now. Vergil stops in his tracks, takes a deep breath, and stares up at the sky. His weary eyes gaze up at the stars, the gentle glow of the moon illuminating his silver irises as his thoughts turn to you, his new flower-loving acquaintance.
After that serendipitous day at the book café he keeps to his word and gives you back the umbrella the next time he meets you in his quiet corner. He remembers you smiling gratefully as you take it back, making that damn warmth pulse in his chest at the sight of it. That warmth drapes itself over his entire body as you present him a single orange rose with a tin of homemade orange spice tea, “a gift to celebrate our budding friendship” as you put it. Vergil could not help but feel touched, but also slightly annoyed that you once again blind sided him with your kindness.
That small orange rose is the first of many flowers he receives from you. Some flowers came with more tins of tea you made for him. A stem of blue wisteria with a vanilla lavender blend, two small balls of pink and purple hydrangeas with earl grey tea, and a cluster of dainty strawberry flowers with wild strawberry tea. Vergil lets out a soft chortle as he recalls that you did not technically give him the strawberry blossoms…you threw them in the air like confetti as you handed over the tin, exclaiming that he needs to “lose the glower and smell the flowers”. He quirks a bewildered brow at you as the barista comes over and berates you for throwing flowers in the shop…again. While you sheepishly apologize to them he kneels down and grabs one of the delicate blossoms, putting it with his new gift before you pick them all back up.
Vergil starts walking again as he continues to reminisce about your odd fixation on flowers. Technically, you have only personally given him four flowers accompanying your homemade tea. But sometimes when he pulls out one of his favorite books from the café shelves and cracks it open, a beautifully pressed flower falls into his lap. The first time it happens he just stares blankly at the delicately dried flower, curious about how it got there for only a second before he just knew it had to be you. It was then that he learns just how observant you are, knowing which books he likes so you can leave your tiny surprises. He wants to be annoyed by your actions…but instead he found himself secretly thinking it was adorable.
He only recognizes one of the hidden flowers, a yellow petunia with white edges circling its five petals, but the other two flowers are new to him. One is red with a pink ring around its four soft petals while the other reminds him of a daisy with its multiple tiny white petals, but he knew it was not a daisy…it seems to shimmer in the light, like it is coated in a light sheen of ice crystals. Even though he is slightly perplexed at your insistence of randomly gifting him with flowers he soon gets used to it, sometimes wondering to himself what the next flower given to him will be. The only thing he cannot fathom is why you do not give him the pressed ones personally.
Such odd behavior for my lovely rose.
Just as that thought enters his mind Vergil quickly shakes his head as if to jostle that notion out. He is not infatuated with you and you are not his to claim. That implies he needs you, and Vergil has never needed anyone…at least that what he tells himself as he grits his teeth to cope with the pain in his arm. This is just his attempt at sparking a normal friendship with a normal human.
And so far the friendship is successful in his opinion. Both of you talk about mutually favorite books, debate upon the meaning behind poems, and enjoy many cups of tea together. He is careful to stay away from subjects that might bring up any personal history. He would be lying if he said that he is not curious about what you do for a living. He guesses it has something to do with gardening. But he knew the social nicety would be asked of him as well and he honestly could not predict how you would react to him being a demon hunter and a recently restored Son of Sparda. And as much as he wants to try to open up he did not want to frighten you away from him. He would never confess aloud that he would miss your charming company, your unpredictable antics, your mellifluous voice…
Vergil grunts quietly as a renewed surge of pain shoots through his arm. He stops and carefully reaches inside his coat for the infuriating phone that Nero gave him. The usually bright screen is dark, just like it was an hour ago. He tries to turn it back on, finally relenting to the idea that he can at least get a ride back to the shop, but the phone refuses to turn on. He snarls in exasperation as he shoves the damned device back into his coat. There is always the Yamato, he thought as he examines his surroundings, trying to figure out which direction Devil May Cry is when it dawns on him that he is very close to your home. He ponders for a moment and figures out that he is currently behind your house, his keen eyes quickly spotting it despite the night sky.
Well, that confirms some of my assumptions of her, he surmises as he takes in the lush garden sprawling with vibrant plant life residing behind your home. Vergil admires your handy work, impressed by the variety of flowers, shrubs, and trees that you have managed to patiently nurture. His feet move of their own accord, taking a few long strides up to the gate barring the beautiful garden from the rest of the neighborhood. The air is heavy with the fragrance of flowers and fresh dirt.
The abrupt brightness from a light turning on and the creak of your back door knocks him out of his ruminations. You step through and close the door behind you, holding a small basket in your hand as you make your way towards a section of the garden. What kind of woman harvests fruit at night? he wonders as he watches you crouch down and begin picking something off of some brambles. Vergil suddenly feels agitated. The thought of you out in the middle of the night by yourself in a city known for random demon attacks sets him on edge. He has to fight the urge to march over there and scold you for your foolishness. I shouldn’t even be here, he thought, realizing he has no right to be angry at you and turns to walk away. I better depart before-
“Vergil? Is that you?”
His body reacts as if lightning came down and struck him right where he stands. How do I get myself out of this situation? he thought warily as he turns back to regard you. With one hand still holding the small basket of what appears to be an assortment of berries and the other gripping your pink floral skirt you head towards him. Your worn black flats gracefully glide through the resplendent flowers as your black satin camisole glitters in the moonlight. He has never seen you so casually dressed…and absolutely enchanting. For the first time in his hunting career it was not just the presence of demons that make the streets at night otherworldly.
Your eyes squint to make him out in the dark shadows of the street lights, and you must realize it is indeed him because your face breaks out into a captivating smile. That smile…Vergil could never figure out how to evade the ensnarement of that smile. Every time you flash that certain curve of your sweet lips he loses touch with reality and just wants to revel in its radiance. It is because of that smile and its affect on him that he did not notice you getting close enough to see his wound. That lovely smile fades as your eyes flicker with worry and you quicken your pace until you arrive at the gate.
“Oh no! Vergil…what happened?” you ask, voice full of concern.
Vergil glances down at his hand holding his injured arm and subtly turns his body so that it is not fully on display for your meandering eyes. “…it is nothing,” he states stoically, even though he knows fully well that it will not be enough for you to back down.
Your eyes narrow incredulously. “You have a gaping hole in your coat, which is covered in blood and…is that acid?! What the hell?”
Vergil’s eyes close as he takes a moment to collect his thoughts. There is no point in trying to hide it. You will just hound him until he inevitable snaps out of irritation. “I believe it is something akin to acid.” He opens his eyes and catches you trying to peek around his body. He shoots you a stern glare. “Stop fretting. It will heal…in due time.”
Your hip juts out as one hand rests on it, the basket of berries hanging limply from your other hand as you meet his eyes with your own serious expression. “It’s not going to heal without medical attention, Vergil.”
“Are you volunteering then?” he sneers, furious at himself for allowing this entire situation to happen.
You blink a few a times, mulling over your words before you answer. “And what if I am?”
He regards you silently as he went over his options. His wound is not healing, his communications device is dead, and you caught him in a vulnerable position, which really made his stomach churn. He hates this feeling, this whole encounter…but he did not want to make it worse by turning down your offer of assistance. So, he takes a deep breath and centers his mind, preparing himself to step out his comfort zone further than he has in long time.
“Then I…would be indebted to you.”
That radiant smile graces your lips once more. “Well then, come along inside and-” you abruptly cut yourself off as you peer down at his hand curiously. “…is that a katana?”
Vergil’s eyes dart over to Yamato before looking back at you. “Yes.”
“Huh…well, just don’t swing it around as we make our way through my garden. Wouldn’t want to incur the wrath of Flora now would we?” You point towards a statue in the center of a fountain as you open the gate for him.
“There’s no need to chide me…I’m not a blundering oaf.” As he shuffles through the gate he inspects the statue and spots the wreath of flowers in its gleaming hands, denoting it as the Roman goddess of flowers.
“I didn’t say you were…I’m just being overprotective.” You close the gate behind him and lead him through the garden towards the back door of your domicile. Vergil lets his eyes wonder around, noting all the various types of flowers you have tended patiently. The now familiar warmth flutters in his chest as it occurs to him that every single flower you have given him came from this garden.
You open the door and usher him in. “If it’s something corrosive then we need to flush your arm with water. The kitchen sink is over there…just remove your coat while I grab the first aid kit, just in case.”
Vergil dutifully follows your instructions as he takes in the cozy atmosphere of your kitchen. He spots a tea kettle steaming on the stove. The air smells of home cooked meals, citrus fruits, and…his nostrils flare as he breathes in and subconsciously detects your own intoxicating scent mingling with the distinct aroma. He places his coat on the countertop next to the pristine sink as you walk over and turn the knob labelled cold. You gesture for him to bend down and hold his arm under the running water. He does so, clenching his teeth as the wound stings a little under the cool rush of water. You stand next to him, opening a box and taking out a bottle and a sterilized cloth. Out of the corner of his eye he watches you stare at his arm, teeth nibbling your lower lip as you pour disinfectant onto the cloth.
“May I?” you inquire, holding up the cloth and reaching to turn off the water. Vergil gives you one firm nod, balling his fist up to help cope with the skin to skin contact. He has felt your skin before, lingering touches with his finger when he reaches for your gifts or hands over a recommended book, and you respond in kind when you bring over his drink order or return a book to him. It has become a silent comfortable custom between you two…he dare say it was borderline flirtatious. But this…is far more intimate and he just hopes he can keep it together while you hurry with your aid and be done with it.
You must somehow sense his hesitancy since you present him your open palm, letting him take his time bringing his arm to you. He is always amazed when you just know what is going on in his head…he always wants to ask what gave him away, but then he would be admitting that your instincts are correct. He loosens his fist and very carefully places his arm into your waiting hand. Your fingers squeeze his arm reassuringly before bring the cloth over and start cleaning his wound. He vaguely registers the bubbling sting of the disinfectant as his mind goes all the way back to a memory…his mother gently cleaning a scrape from rowdy play with his brother. He never felt more safe than under her care, but right now standing near you as your fingers gently hold him as you care for him…he feels that same sense of safety he has not felt for a long time.
“So…you’re a demon hunter?”
Your inquisitive voice breaks him away from his bittersweet memory as his icy eyes snap over to meet your gaze. He knew this would happen…that showing up bloody and bruised would arouse your suspensions. Vergil sullenly stands there in your space as he desperately tries to engrave your image in his mind, knowing that you could never want anything to do with him after all this.
“What?” you mutter, confusing his silence as shock. “We’re in a city notorious for its occasional demon outbreaks and you’re walking around at night carrying a huge sword. Now, unless you use that sword as a fancy cane during your late night strolls through the streets…you use it to cut down demons.”
A frustrated sigh escapes his lips. “Yes. I wield the Yamato and hunt demons.” His eyes glow with admonishment. “I do not use it as a cane...that’s just foolish.”
You grin and him give an understanding nod as your eyes check his arm. “Can I also presume that you work at that place…what is it called…Devils Say Die?”
Vergil chuckles softly at your total butchering of the name. “It’s Devil May Cry.”
“That’s right! So, do you?” The now bloody and dirty cloth leaves his arm as you reach for a wad of gauze. You begin to gently wrap his injury as you await his answer.
“Yes.”
“And you never mentioned this because…?”
“There was never a proper moment during our time together.”
“I see,” you muse as you finish wrapping his arm. “So…when was it going to be proper to reveal that exciting detail of your life?”
“Cease your pestering!” Vergil growls as he wrenches his arm out of your warm hand. “It’s maddening!”
You simply close your eyes and take a deep breath before looking back up at his agitated face. “I’m just trying to make conversation while helping a friend out,” you say serenely. “And you can’t blame me for being curious…its what friends do: talk about their lives so that they can understand each other.” Your lips form a sad half smile before turning your face away from him. “Maybe some tea will help you relax. Fighting demons must be stressful.” You step away from him and open a cabinet, taking out two tea cups with matching saucers. “Hope you like blackberries and mint.”
As he watches you approach the kettle on the stove Vergil feels this creeping sensation sprout in his chest and wrap around his heart. It squeezes tight as you take out a tin and scoop tea leaves into a couple of tea ball strainers. This feeling starts to sting as you pour steaming water into the saucers. The way your eyes glisten dolefully…he did not like it. Moreover, he did not like that it was he that made your velvety lips curve into a wilting smile. And what is even more ludicrous is his mind scrambling to figure out how to rectify this situation. Why should I? he thought, she’s being nosy and I'm right to demand you to stop. It makes no sense, but that didn’t cease the nagging feeling inside him to fix this. He wants to see that glorious smile again…He distantly registers your voice among his torrent of thoughts as you begin to speak again.
“Now…I know you always add a tiny bit of honey to your cup, but this tea is already a little sweet. So just give it a taste before-”
“I’m a hybrid.”
Your hand pauses over the tea cups as his words echo through the cozy kitchen. Vergil’s entire body freezes as his mind goes into overdrive. That was the last thing I wanted to say…so why in the blazes did I just blurt it out? How is that going to make her smile again? You turn your head to stare at him, confusion alight in your eyes as you slowly swivel your body and give him your full attention. It is clear that the full disclosure of his statement lost on you. Not one to mince words he strengthens his resolve to help you understand this revelation.
“My mother was a human and my father was a demon.” You jaw slacks as your eyes gloss over in contemplation…then they spark with realization and you let out a soft oh. All he could do was wait…it is insufferable. What are you waiting for? Kick me out already so we can be done with this and I can go bury the humiliation, he thought dejectedly. Instead, you gaze searchingly right into his eyes, straighten your body, and raise your chin as you calmly walk by him and flip a switch.
“Let me show you something…follow me, please.”
You leave a very confused devil standing in your kitchen as you open the door and walk out into the night. I just told her of my demonic nature…and she wants to go on a stroll through her garden? Vergil just stands there, wondering what strange and mysterious power you have that compels you to drive him mad. You must have noticed that he was not following because your head pokes through the door, glaring at him impatiently. He huffs and grabs the Yamato before going back out into your luxuriant garden.
“I don’t know much about demon hybrids, but I do know a lot about hybrid plants,” you state as you lead him through abundant flowers.
Vergil feels his brows furrow in puzzlement. “I fail to see how flowers relate to this subject matter.”
“That’s only because you’re not a gardener like me…here we are!”
He has never seen so many diverse roses teeming in one place until now. Red, yellow, white, pink, and other colors galore. Some are growing out of the ground and some are planted in pots. All are in various stages of bloom, and the air around him is filled with their signature perfume. You bring his attention to a specific section of the potted ones, which he notes are the most unique of them all. The colors are atypical for roses, some have two colors on their delicate petals. Vergil does not know much about flowers, but he surmises that it takes a lot of work to grow such magnificent flowers.
“All these pretty darlings are hybrids,” you inform him, your hands waving over the extraordinary flowers. “None of these are grown naturally. I have to cross pollinate two different roses, growing a seed that will sprout as a hybrid. You follow me?”
Vergil stares at you blankly. “Yes, I do indeed follow your chatter.”
“Good! Well, even though these roses are different…they are just as exquisite as all the other roses. And some have a unique color, pattern, or scent that puts them above and beyond all others…they’re positively divine.” Your brilliant smile breaks out, making his heart beat accelerate as you stare deeply into his eyes. “Vergil…you still fascinate me. You being a hybrid isn’t going to change that.”
That horrible stinging sensation around his heart vanishes as familiar warmth instantaneously floods back into his chest. His agitated expression relaxes as your words slip past his walls once more, stunning him to the point where he cannot even find the will to be annoyed. I didn’t scare her away…she accepts me, devil and all. His lips curve up into a soft smile as he basks in your compliment, silently thankful that such an oddly charming woman showers with him her lovely presence…and sometimes with actual flowers.
An endearing blush colors your cheeks and you tilt your head, eyes flickering to the ground for a moment before looking back up at him. You softly toss your hair off your shoulder as you glance over at roses. Your eyes suddenly sharpen as you step over to a section of roses. You bend down to pick a yellow rose and hold it out to him, presenting it with a sincere face.
“I’m sorry. I just wanted to get to know you better…but sometimes I can be a bit pushy.”
“Sometimes?” Vergil remarks wryly. You pooch your lower lip out, making a sad whine before you giggle quietly. He reaches out to take the rose, letting his hand rest atop yours. “There’s need to apologize…you didn’t mean any harm.” His thumb tenderly brushes your skin, mentally marveling at how such delicate hands manage to grow such beauty. “It’s just my tangled briars being particularly prickly.”
A delighted laugh rings through the night as your fingers subtly caress his hand. “Well, you may have noticed by now I’m a gardener, right? It’s safe to say that I’m used to thorns and I do have pretty thick skin.”
You invite him back inside your home and chat for a bit over tea. He discovers that you run an online business called Flower Showers, which he feels is very appropriate for you. You sell bouquets, flower arrangements, tea blends, and other floral based products that you make yourself. Vergil does not understand how people can buy flowers without a physical shop, but you tell him it that just works and that you do supply a few of the local shops in the city. You ask more questions about his work and he opens up a little bit, telling you about Devil May Cry and the abilities his lineage gifted him with. Self-confidence rises within him when he sees your eyes light up in wonder.
Eventually he has to take his leave. He collects his torn coat, his phone that you graciously charged for him, and a couple of books you let him borrow about various plants and flowers. You ask him when you will see him at the café, agreeing upon a time in a couple of days and wish him goodnight. Vergil walks back home in high spirits, letting his mind wonder before reeling it back in as he opens the door to Devil May Cry. He is greeted by his brother, Dante, leaning back in his chair, feet propped up on his desk as he reads one of his numerous lecherous magazines.
“Hey! Been wondering where you were…your phone die again?” Dante asks nonchalantly as Vergil heads for the stairs.
“How kind of you to care, brother,” he sardonically retorts back at his little brother.
“You need to remember to-ooh…Looks like something took a bite outta you,” Dante observes as his eyes spot the ripped arm of his coat. He scans his older brother closer out of concern. “What the hell is that?” He points to redirect Vergil’s attention down to the Yamato. There is a small bundle of tiny flowers tied with twine around the middle of the Yamato, their bright blue color highlighting a small note among their petals. How did my clever rose accomplish that? he wonders as he hums in amusement before quickly remembering his company. Dante quirks an inquisitive eyebrow and Vergil glares at him menacingly.
He does not give his little brother a chance to pry as he swiftly goes up the stairs and straight to his room. He carefully removes the small flowers and opens the note. There are a series of numbers and a short message written in your dainty handwriting. It reads: Even though you just left I already can’t wait to see you again. Until then…
Forget-me-nots. He grins as he glosses over the titles of the books you let him borrow. One in particular catches his eye, When Flowers Speak: A Dictionary of Flowers and their Meanings, and that is when it suddenly dawns on him…what if all those flowers you gave him were trying to tell him something? He does not waste any time as he cracks open the book, softly twirling the forget-me-nots in his hand as he begins to decipher the messages you have been sending him all this time.
For the next couple days Vergil pours over your books, and he has discovered that you were indeed communicating through all the flowers you gave him. He feels impressed, flattered, and slightly miffed at his ineptitude in this subject matter, all at the same time. One thing is for certain…he now knows the reason behind you personally giving him some of the flowers and leaving the others for him to find.
The ones you gave him personally are messages that you were already forthcoming about. For example, an orange rose means fascination, which you have already made perfectly clear to him. Wisteria is given to express your affections after meeting someone special for the first time. Hydrangea flowers mean gracefulness and a desire to deeply understand the person your giving it to. Even the yellow rose, friendship and joy, is commonly given as a way of apology.
But the flowers he found pressed into his books…they secretly admit some of the thoughts you have not expressed aloud to him. The petunia tells him that his presence soothes you. That makes him feel relief that you are not putting on a strong front around him. The pink and red one, which is known as a clarkia flower, lets him know that the variety of conversations delight you. This makes the corners of mouth turn up in a fond smirk. And the one he thought looked like a daisy, but is in fact a ice plant flower says that his looks “freeze you,” which in more common terms of today…you found him strikingly handsome.
Vergil is glad that he was alone in his room when he read that because he can feel that warmth in his chest rise up to his cheeks, his heart beating rapidly like it did in your garden. And that…also made him irate that he did not even know you were sending him messages all this time. You really do drive him mad, and its then that he decides that two can play this game. The only question is…what kind of flower would you like? And what did he want to say to you?
He ponders this on his way to the book café, keeping a look out for a place that sells flowers or even some growing wildly in some open patches of land. Half of him admits that this whole situation is ridiculous, trying to convince himself to cease this foolishness. But the other half…he will not be secretly outdone by a charming woman that now occupies his thoughts often.
And so he searches until he comes upon a pot of flowers outside of a restaurant. He knows them to be snapdragons, a very unique looking flower. What made him stop was not the type of flower though…it was the soft white and pink petals. He has not memorized all the different meanings of all flowers quite yet, but he does remember the meaning behind this one…fascination and often given to remark upon a woman’s gracious nature. His eyes dart around to make sure no one witnesses him summon a sword and cuts a couple of them before resuming his walk towards the café to present his own gift of flowers.
The café door chimes as he steps into the familiar atmosphere of the café and when he sees you sitting in his usual corner, your lovely face instantly lighting up with that smile as you look up from your book…his bravado dwindles a bit as a flash of hesitancy shoots through him. But he presses onward, confidently striding right up to you as he holds the flowers behind his back.
Before you can greet him he swings his hand around and bestows his flowers, you eyes shining in surprise as you reach over to take them. He feels the urge to speak, but his mind draws a blank as you bring the flowers to your face to smell them. His eyelids droop as he witnesses your cheeks begin to the match the flowers, just like he knew they would. Your eyes slowly glance up and Vergil compels himself to say something…anything…
“They just…reminded me of you.”
Of all the things to say…that’s the best I can come up with? On the outside he kept his expression calm and reserved, but that did not speak for the inner turmoil swirling through his head. He awaits your reply, already reinforcing his walls so your words could not sting him.
“Thank you,” you mutter softly, that splendid smile that melts his heart spreading across your face. “They’re beautiful.”
Vergil thought this warmth he feels around would annoy him, but he has come to crave it as he lets it sift through his body. He finds it easier to smile when he is around you. And he does not even try to shake his fond thoughts as he finally acknowledges that he is utterly besotted with you, and does not mind that you have managed to go a little further among his briars.
Not as beautiful as you, my lovely rose.