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Nightmares followed Vergil into Fortuna City, literal and metaphorical ones. He had done everything to keep his tracks hidden and made sure his whereabouts were unknown, even creating a fake name so no one could recognize one of the sons of Sparda. Unfortunately for the white-haired demon, he ended up venturing into a city that houses a religious society who worshipped his father. Of course he’d be recognized, alerting foes of his presence in Fortuna. Vergil, who usually thought with his mind and not what his soul felt most familiar to, chose to seek secret refuge in a city that would immediately spot a son of the god they worshipped. Even he was confused, he never felt much for Fortuna, so why did something draw him near in that place? He had no time to think or ponder for the squeals of the Nightmares were closer than he’d like them to be. He pulls the hood over his hair, spiky strands of a cascade of moonlight curtained by the thick and dark cloth of his cloak’s hood. The accessory casted a penumbra over his face, concealing cold eyes of light blue tourmaline. He moved fast and quiet like a shadow, several steps ahead of his adversaries. In the corner of the peoples’ lines of vision, it was as if they witnessed a wisp of black and a small tinge of dark blue zoom past but they were too slow to fully comprehend what they saw, deducing it to a trick of the light.
“Vergil!”
He swore that he wouldn’t stop; he wouldn’t halt, so why did he? No voice commanded Vergil, not even his own father's but he heard and obeyed, even if this voice did not demand anything from him. He looked around frantically, looking for the source of the voice and swearing to send all the world’s curses towards its beholder.
“Vergil!,” the voice repeats. He turns around, bracing himself to come into combat with the Nightmares. He lets go of a breath he didn’t know he kept though his guard is still up, ready to unsheath the Yamato. His ears pick up the sound of the clacking of heels approaching his position, causing him to turn to the direction of the source of the noise and unsheathing his sword.
“Vergil, it’s just me,” you softly say, taking a careful step back when the sun causes a flash of light to reflect off of the sharp blade. “I saw you running earlier. Something wrong?”
The red cloak. It’s the lady with the red cloak again.
Vergil grabs your wrist and drags you closer to him, the quick jostling movement causing the white hood that veiled your hair to fall down. He narrows his eyes, trying to get inside your mind and figure out why someone like you would call out for someone like him . Sure, you had helped him before and this is not your first or second time meeting but why did you call out his name like he’s been in your life longer than he has been? Why did his name sound as if it carried a deep meaning when it left your mouth? Surely he was overthinking things, the woman in front of him was too kind for this world; evil has not tainted your pure soul.
“Why do you call me? I do not owe you anything,” Vergil coldly says. “You have divided my attention from my goal.”
He knew he messed up his wording when the woman in front of him widened her eyes, your cheeks dusted with a gentle pink hue as you directed your gaze to the man’s hold on your right wrist. That sounded a lot more soft and mushier than he ought to make it sound.
“I just happened to see you from afar. It’s not hard to miss a dark coat sifting through a crowd,” you quietly respond. “What were you running from? I don’t see anyone behind you.”
“You wouldn’t know,” Vergil coldly remarks as he lets go of your wrist, an odd feeling lingering at the back of his mind. He hears a distant sound, a sound similar to fork scratching against a plate; they’re near, nearer than he’d want them to be. He spots a dark growth belonging to a body of some sort amidst the crowd, though taking a spirit-like form as people could pass by the figure. Vergil is all too familiar with the sight and takes the lady’s hand as he moves swiftly and expertly.
“ Takes the lady’s hand?”
He realizes what he’s done; he brought you along with him. Normally, Vergil would have left you behind and halted conversation long ago but he wasted time to escape to engage in a talk with you, though he did not exactly dislike the fact. As he ran, he looked back to look at you if you were alright but why did he look back? He looked back and observed that despite being out of breath and your hair looking a lot messier than it did earlier, you were in perfect condition which came as a relief to him.
If Vergil only saw you as someone he’d exchange a few words with and as someone who nursed his wounds until he could leave before the cracks of the sun’s rays shone through the night sky, why was he relieved that you were fine and in one piece?
He spots a small gap between two mossy brick walls from afar, rechanging his course and squeezing himself and you into the wall. An odd guilt weighs on his heart when he hears a trifling groan from you, feeling bad that he handled such a fragile person carelessly.
“Vergil what’s–”
Vergil cups a hand around your mouth, raising an index finger to press it against his lips to shush yours. Your bodies are pressed against each other, Vergil’s body caging you in with your back to the brick wall; he leans in close to you with his shrouded head, the excess of the fabric of his cover hiding your face as your own veil had fallen down and laid on your shoulders. You two remained motionless in their covert sanctuary, the only evidence of your presence being the faint echo of their heartbeats as the white-haired half-demon waited for his adversaries to pass. Frosty blue connected with yours in a silent intensity, the demon hybrid’s gaze meeting your hesitant and confused ones as a wordless understanding was exchanged, that understanding being Vergil’s unintentional penchant for being a magnet of hell’s worst spawns. He withdraws his hand from your mouth when he could no longer hear the obnoxious scratchy sound that came with the presence of Nightmares yet still tells you to stay silent as he continues to listen for the sounds of death. When he really confirms that they’ve gone, he moves away from your body and apologizes for invading your personal space.
“Apologies,” his voice rumbles. “It was a spur of the moment decision. We would both be dead had I not done what I did.”
Well, that was his version of an apology. You simply gave him a polite smile as you nodded. You did not miss the way Vergil’s eyes seemed to glow as his gaze fell on your hair, strands dark as if they were threads woven straight from the night sky or the way he lost himself in the void of your pupils, unable to free himself from the spell it had cast on him. He could break out of that spell, he had the power to but he made the conscious choice to let himself go just this once. Did this mean that he only had eyes for you? Perhaps he’s gotten lost in your eyes trying to look for his answer.
“You certainly have a way of apologizing,” you say in a hushed voice. “But it’s fine. You did what you had to do.”
Vergil nods, adjusting the hood to reveal more of his face. He looks out for any harm and doesn’t sense or see anything planning to launch an ambush towards you and him so he deems the coast clear. “Would you like to step out of here?”
“Yes please.”
He goes first, keeping the lady in red close to him. Once you’re both out, you begin making their way towards nowhere. Well, wherever their feet take them. Vergil suddenly remembers that he could be tracked down by scent and they’d find him again. He stops walking and simply stands around, looking for anything to throw his scent off with.
“You okay?” you ask as you look around. “Have you sensed them again?”
“They’ll be able to track me down with their sense of smell,” he faintly pointed out. Lucky for him, you think fast; swiftly, you unclasped your own cloak from your shoulders and wrapped it around his shoulders, getting on your tiptoes to be able to properly put your cloak on him.
“You did not make me remove the one I already had on,” Vergil stiffly pointed out. “And you put it on wrong; the inside is out.”
“Had I removed your cloak first, people would recognize you by your clothing. If I place my cloak on top of the one you already have, I would be able to unclasp your cloak and slip it out without them seeing your garments,” you explained with a cunning grin. “And I know what I’m doing. I’m using my own scent to cover yours up since the inner part of the cloak is closest to my body that’s why that’s the one facing outwards.”
Vergil raised an eyebrow as you unclasped his own, the ghost of an amused smile playing on his lips. He watched you earnestly, scanning the details of your slender fingers that worked with his article of clothing. He kept his gaze trained on your hands– he kept his gaze trained anywhere else but your face for he knew that if he dared to do such a thing again, he’d add fuel to the fire that spread a spellbinding warmth throughout his body. You finished up, folding his cloak into a small square that he could carry around. You hand it to him and he takes it, the momentary brushes of their fingers setting something aflame between you and him. Vergil felt funny; it was a foreign feeling– a mixture of shock, happiness, and confusion, along with many other feelings that he did not have names for.
“Tsk tsk tsk, Vergil,” you gently scolded. “I’ve done so much for you. First I treated you then now I’m lending you a cloak of mine. Not to mention, you just left when I treated you and now you dragged me to some place.”
Vergil’s cheeks burned; why was he embarrassed that he owed the lady in red for taking care of him? Normally he’d be able to brush such claims off with a scoff but why did this cause immense shame in him?
“I’m… I’m sorry,” he said in a voice near whispering. “I will do my best not to inconvenience you.”
“I can see the shame burning in the apples of your cheeks,” you tease. “If you truly are sorry, Vergil, then at least get me a bowl of noodles with two boiled eggs.”
Vergil looks up again from having kept his head downcast, eyes narrowing in uncertainty.
“Noodles…?”
“Yes, noodles. It’s the least you could do. Your grip on my wrist was no joke earlier and I had to replenish bandaging cloth all by myself back in the infirmary because you used up so much despite having healed awfully fast.”
“Right. Where do you want your noodles then?”
Vergil was taken aback from the words that escaped his lips, his mouth moving faster than his mind did. The half-demon did not like being bound to anyone or owing anyone anything; he did not like the disadvantage it posed to him but this time, he was quite unsure and baffled as to why owing the lady a bowl of noodles did not bother him. It felt annoying when something as mundane as your laugh or the way the corners of your eyes wrinkled when you beamed widely, the heart he deemed cold fluttering like a hummingbird trying to break free from the cage that is his ribs.
“Are hearts confined in cages of bone because if nothing holds the heart back, the heart could wander too far into vulnerability?,” Vergil thought as he walked alongside the lady. “Will I understand this feeling someday?”