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Nero glanced up at the gathering clouds and scowled. There was a distant rumble of thunder that made him walk faster, ignoring the few people he saw lurking in between buildings and out of reach of the streetlights’ harsh glow. His Devil Bringer was dim so they weren't demons, and he doubted any of them would bother him anyway.
He was tired, but at least he'd been able to grab some food at a diner before having to hunt for a place to rest. Though he'd never admit it to Kyrie in a million years, he did enjoy the treat of greasy mainland food every now and then. While this whole endeavor hadn't gone the way he planned, at least there was a bright side. Or he hoped there would be.
It wasn't like he knew the man that well considering how cagey he was. There was a possibility he'd get tossed out on his ass just for asking, but Nero was willing to take that gamble.
When he turned the corner, he immediately spotted what he'd been looking for: that neon sign above large wooden doors. A warm yellow glow pushed back the gloom from the windows that flanked the entrance, and he sighed in relief. He'd even managed to beat the rain.
Nero shoved open the heavy doors and saw a man sitting behind the giant wooden desk, feet up and crossed at the ankles, hands behind his head, magazine resting over his face. "We're closed," came a muffled voice.
"Then why is your door unlocked?" Nero asked.
Dante picked up the edge of the magazine, peeking out with a crooked grin that died when he saw the young man. This was a face Nero had never seen the devil hunter wear before. His blue eyes went wide, and pale skin turned to ash. He looked horrified.
"What?" Nero demanded, suddenly self-conscious. "You look like you've seen a ghost or something."
Dante tried to cover the weird choking sound that came out of his mouth by sitting up and dropping his feet to the floor. "You cut your hair," he said, voice tight. The magazine slapped onto the desktop.
"It was getting kinda long," Nero shot back, raking his fingers through his now very short locks. He didn't say that being repeatedly mistaken for the older devil hunter had made him insanely uncomfortable, and he'd finally begged Kyrie to chop off the white hair he'd once grown out as an act of rebellion.
Dante got to his fee and made a show of stretching and turning his back to Nero. "You look… different." The half-way compliment sounded more like something he'd settled on rather than what he really wanted to say, and Nero frowned. He'd never known Dante not to speak whatever thoughts jumped into his head.
"You feeling okay?"
"Fine, fine. You just interrupted my nap," Dante said, still refusing to look at him. "What're you doing here anyway?"
Nero dropped his duffle bag next to the couch and sank into the seat. "Had a job. Took longer than I thought it would, and now I'm stuck here for the night since the bus doesn't run this late."
"Aaah, so you need a place to crash, huh?" Dante glanced at him with a more normal smile, but it turned brittle as soon as he laid eyes on Nero. "Feel free to take the couch."
Whatever this weird mood was made Nero want to scream. There was a consistency to Dante's obnoxious behavior, a method to his stupidity that could be relied on, and right now Nero was too worn out to handle this upheaval.
"This is some birthday," Nero muttered.
"Wait. What? It's your birthday?" Now he had the man's attention. Dante counted on his fingers. "You're twenty-one now?"
"That's what the math says."
The older devil hunter was delighted, pulling open the bottom drawer of his desk and rummaging. Nero heard the clinking glass before bottles of whiskey started to line up on the desktop. Dante's intentions were clear, but the amount of booze was a bit alarming. "Twenty-one is a big number, kid. We should celebrate."
"Are you expecting more people?" Nero asked, and Dante just laughed and took his seat in the ratty desk chair again.
"I'd need more whiskey for that." He must've registered the worry on Nero's face because he grinned at him. "What's the most you've ever drunk in one sitting before?"
Nero scrunched up his mouth and wrinkled his nose. He could already smell the alcohol even before Dante uncapped a bottle. "Maybe a beer or two. Fortuna's not big on heavy drinking."
"Then I guess it falls to me to teach you how to get smashed responsibly," Dante declared. "And don't give me that look. You've got demon blood in your veins, which means your tolerance is a heck of a lot higher than most people's."
That wasn't something Nero had ever considered before, and he got up to join Dante, taking the chair usually reserved for potential clients. Fortuna might have strict laws, but that had never really slowed down the knights. Fighting demons every day tended to leave emotional marks, and Nero had seen more than a few of his fellows passed out in a common room at the barracks after a difficult mission. He'd always been curious about the experience.
Dante handed him an entire bottle, and Nero blinked. "Uh. Shouldn't I start with a shot or something?"
"No point," Dante told him, taking a gulp out of his own bottle. "Even a pint glass full isn't going to get you drunk. The point here is to figure out what your tolerance level is so you don't poison yourself by accident. Probably not going to kill you, but still not fun."
Right. Well then. Nero tipped the bottle up for a mouthful and just barely avoided spitting it all over the desk. It burned down his throat and up into his nasal passages, setting him into a coughing fit that made the other devil hunter cackle. "S-shut up," he muttered and brushed some of the liquid off his chin with the back of his left hand.
"You're gonna have to drink faster than that. Otherwise you'll just burn through it before you even feel anything," Dante told him. He tilted his bottle up, guzzling almost half the bottle while Nero gawked. Instinct screamed this was a dangerous move for a normal person, but then again, Dante sure as hell wasn't a normal person.
Nero peered at his drink, wondering how bad it would be if he tried the same maneuver. Even if this had been a shitty birthday week overall, he really wasn't looking to add vomiting and hang over to the list of annoying things that had happened to him.
Cautiously, he tilted the bottle up and took a few consecutive swigs. The sting in his throat still brought tears into his eyes, but after a moment he managed to find an angle that kept most of the alcohol off his tongue and a pace that made the burn tolerable.
"That's more like it," Dante said, setting his now empty bottle on the desk and picking up a full one. "Give it a second and see how you feel. With your metabolism, it'll happen a lot faster than most people, but it won't last as long."
The younger man had to pause for air about halfway through anyway. "How much do you usually drink anyway?"
"To get drunk? About three or four bottles over thirty minutes will get me good and sloshed." Dante chugged more. "If I wanna black out, gotta do it faster."
Sure seemed like the old man was going for the latter considering how quickly he was drinking that whiskey. Was it related to how he'd reacted to the haircut?
Dante gestured with his fresh bottle. "The trick is to down the first one quick and then spread the rest out a bit. Makes it easier to tell when you're buzzed and work your way up to hammered without going too far over."
"Riiight," Nero drawled. He managed to finish his first bottle and then let out a surprised belch. The blush he could feel on his face just made the old man laugh again. It hadn't occurred to Nero that the logistics of putting that much liquid in his stomach so fast was going to be a problem.
Dante grabbed a new bottle by its neck and shoved it insistently toward him, and Nero wondered if he shouldn't be more concerned about the fact that Dante had done this often enough to develop a process. There were probably things to unpack there, but he wasn't sure he was the right person to do that.
"I gotta admit," Dante said, "I figured you'd be spending your birthday with your girl."
Nero just shrugged. "We'll celebrate when I get back. The day doesn't really matter. Not like I know my real birthday anyway."
Bottle hovering near his mouth, Dante looked at him. "You don't…? Oh, right." The devil hunter was unsettled, a pretty standard reaction when people heard things like that, though Nero didn't understand why. It didn't matter to him, so why should anyone else care? It was just a day on the calendar.
Nero grimaced when Dante upended another bottle and chugged down the contents. The empty bottle clunked down onto the desk, and Dante uncapped another one. "Kid, you're falling behind. Better get a move on."
"Yeah, that sounds like a great idea," Nero muttered. Because both of them being drunk was definitely not going to end in some kind of disaster.
On the other hand, he didn't actually feel too bad, just sort of pleasantly warm inside. Even the whiskey was starting to taste okay. Nero wouldn't say he exactly liked the flavor, but it was tolerable, and he swished a mouthful around in an attempt to pick out some of the more distinct notes. Not a good alcohol, even his novice taste buds could tell that, but it was kind of cool with the slightly smokey note that wafted into his sinuses. Not really his thing, though.
Nero figured he'd probably never be much of an alcohol fan as he took another few gulps. Kyrie, on the other hand, had a real understanding of wines. She didn't overindulge, she was too conscientious for that, but she had this wonderful way of describing the flavors that always left him amazed. It was like listening to someone tell a story about taste. There was that one lady who always gave them bottles as thanks for the help they gave her even though they both insisted it wasn't necessary--
Oh shit. Where had the rest of the bottle gone? Dante laughed at him while he stared into the meager dregs. "Lemmee take that for ya."
The empty was removed and exchanged for a full bottle before Nero had a chance to decide if he was done with this or not. And just when the hell had Dante finished two more bottles?!
"I think I'm drunk," Nero slurred, astounded at how fast it all came on. Wasn't he supposed to feel good or something? He didn't feel good. The whole world was spinning like a fucking top.
"You sure are," Dante snickered and gulped down more whiskey. "Can't believe you're a lightweight too! You're just the same as--"
Okay, there was something there in the way Dante's face went blank, and Nero was really annoyed that he was too plastered to fully grasp it. "You okay?" he asked.
Dante was watching him so closely, eyes suddenly bleary and troubled. "You look just like…" He shook his head and finished the bottle he'd been working on before letting it tumble out of his loose grasp onto the desktop. "Fuck," he muttered and swept a palm down his face. "Just… Fuck."
He should ask about this. Shouldn't he? It seemed like he should because Nero knew damn well there were things that Dante wasn't telling him. What were the odds of a complete stranger turning up on Fortuna with the exact same white hair and blue eyes and pale skin and a predilection for killing demons? Maybe all people with demon blood had white hair, but Nero had some serious doubts about that -- though, he hadn't met any other 'hybrids' before so maybe it could be true…
Shit. He was getting distracted again. What were they talking about?
Nero glanced back to find Dante face first down on his desk, fast asleep. The slope of his brows and downturn of his mouth were anything but peaceful, looking almost pained instead. Whatever it was that made Dante act so weird didn't seem like it was going to let him sleep well tonight.
Sighing, Nero wobbled up out of his seat, having to take a moment to be sure of his balance, and grabbed the blanket haphazardly tossed over the back of the leather couch. He draped it over Dante's shoulders and tucked it around him.
"You should take better care of yourself," Nero said, absently ruffling the man's hair. "There are people who care about you, ya know."
He yawned and plodded over to the couch. His whole body felt heavy, like someone had sewn weights into his clothes. Relaxing, Nero let himself tip over onto his side and drew his knees up toward his chest. He should probably go lock the front door, but that could wait just a little while. It wouldn't hurt to just close his eyes for a bit, right? Yeah, it'd be fine. In the morning, everything would be fine again.
Nero's eyes popped open, his heart hammering from the abrupt awakening. He was half rolled onto his front with his cheek smashed against the couch cushions and one leg falling over the side. Except this couch was made of leather and those floorboards sure didn't look like the threadbare carpet in his living room. Where the hell was he?
And why did his mouth taste like crap?
He sat up carefully, mildly surprised that he felt pretty much fine other than maybe a touch dry--
"You should drink this."
Nero blinked at the cup of water that appeared in front of him. Oh right. He'd gotten shit-faced with Dante last night. He was still in the shop. Hard water spots marred the glass held in front of him, and it looked hastily scrubbed out, but he was seriously thirsty. No point in being picky.
"Thanks," he said, taking the offered drink and gulping it down.
"Another bonus to the demon blood is no hangovers," Dante said, and he ambled back to his desk, "but you'll still get dehydrated. That can wipe you out too if you're not careful."
Nero leaned forward and set the empty glass on the coffee table. "I'm fine. I can handle it."
"Whatever you say, lightweight."
Nero glared at him, a stinging heat of embarrassment rising in his cheeks. "I drank two whole bottles of your shitty whiskey! Most people would be in the hospital right now."
Dante smirked and put his boots up on his desk. Something was off, though, and it was prickling Nero's nerves. The man was too stiff for someone who was acting like he didn't have a shit to give, too careful where he was putting his eyes. Whatever had been bugging him last night, it hadn't gone away.
"Hey, Dante," Nero said cautiously. "About last night… There was something you started to say but didn't finish."
The demon hunter rubbed the back of his head, glancing off into the corner where his busted jukebox sat. "Did I? Gotta tell ya, kid, I don't really remember much."
"Right," Nero sighed. Maybe it was better not to poke this sore spot after all, no matter how badly he wanted to hear who it was he apparently resembled. For all he knew, he might be reminding Dante of some demon hunter buddy long gone. It was probably nothing.
Probably.
He raked his fingers backwards through his short hair and was startled when Dante's head jerked toward him. The weird flinch and flicker of a grieving twist to the devil hunter's mouth made Nero roll his eyes. Lost friend or something worse, this was getting old. He was kinda starting to hate it, really.
"Is the haircut really that bad?" Nero asked.
Dante paused and looked at him, really looked at him this time, not through him as though he was seeing someone else. A small smile tilted his lips, and it felt like one of the most honest expressions Nero had ever seen on the man's face. "No, it isn't. It suits you, Nero."
As if the lack of bravado wasn't surprising enough, hearing Dante say his actual name threw him off. It was so often 'kid' that Nero sometimes wondered if the guy even remembered his name at all.
"Thanks," he said softly. "What time is it anyway?"
"12:30. You must've needed the sleep."
Nero swore, suddenly very awake and out of the funk that was threatening him. He'd missed the god damn morning bus, and today was Thursday so there wasn't one in the evening. Scrubbing his hands over his face, Nero sighed heavily. He was stuck again. "Hey," he said, muffled by his fingers, "is there any chance I could--?"
"Couch is yours as long as you want it," Dante answered. "I'll even let you use my phone to call your gal."
"Thanks," he said again and sagged back into the couch. "Sorry about this."
That mysterious smile softened even further, crinkling the skin around Dante's eyes and making him almost look his age. "Hey, don't sweat it. I'll always put my hand out to someone with the same blood as me."
And there was a sparkle in his eyes that set Nero's teeth on edge because he knew there was something more to those words than just sharing the unsavory coincidence of devil heritage.
But he didn't know, and if he asked, Dante would just laugh it off the way he always did, spout some nonsense, and leave him turned around without actually answering a damn thing. Someday Nero was going to press the issue, force Dante to spill the secrets he was hanging on to. He would finally learn the truth about who he was and why the older man reacted the way he did around him.
Someday. But not today.
Afterall, today might be his birthday.
"Hey, know any good places to grab a bite around here?" Nero asked.
Dante beamed. "Do I ever! How do you feel about pizza and strawberry sundaes?"
It honestly wasn't a combination he'd ever even considered. "I guess that sounds… ok?"
The legendary devil hunter was already on his feet toward the door with a new spring in his step. "Let's get going then, kid. Have I got a place to show you!"