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It was another evening with a perfect storm for a slovenly brawl. Such an event is seemingly routine for the ruddy haired dhampir, who trudges in the shadows of a street normally so bustling. It’s just him, his bat, and the astermite streetlights.
Dante’s head spins as he tries to keep track of his bat flying closely in front of him. The fuzzy little mammal seems to care a lot for the guy, bearing just as much importance as his beloved dhampirs.
It’s not like he wanted to fight. It’s not like he intended to start one. He doesn’t remember anything after the fight started. All he did was drag his feet into the bar, with the need to relax and down some liquor to help in that. A little buzz to ease him was all he wanted. Then he ended up getting carried away- in time for someone to see his eyes reflect the tavern’s light with a peculiar gold. It was all a slippery slope from there.
It’s a silent trip home, aside from Dante’s groans and Virgil’s hastily squeaks. One hand is planted on his head, rubbing his temple. The other holds his stomach. The dham sighs at the thought of Riche and Johann scolding him at first, and wonders if he’ll even be well enough to tell them how this brawl started. One look at him and they’ll be ever so frantic- a black eye, various bruises, and a bloody nose on top of him looking scuffed up everywhere.
Dante wipes his nose with his sleeve but it doesn’t stop some blood from leaking into his mouth, the sickening metallic taste triggering even more nausea. Great.
After an hour of stumbling throughout the calm streets, he makes it home. Somehow he manages to open the door- through sheer willpower at the thought of melting into his bed. Upon stumbling into his bedroom he spots Johann peacefully asleep, illuminated by the dim light coming through the window. Dante can’t help but stare for a moment in awe of how he glows under the moonlight. The dham can’t stare for long though, as the singular vision of his sleeping partner becomes two. Dante feels like he’ll be sick if he doesnt lay down asap, so he attempts to take off his top, but is barely halfway through before giving up and flopping into bed. Sleep takes over swiftly.
-
Slowly, Dante blinks his eyes open to a brightened room. He doesn’t know what time of day it is, all he knows is that the sunlight is far too much right now. The light immediately comes with a pang in his head, and he has to close his eyes again, pulling the covers over his head in protest. Although the rusty haired man is still laying down, he can feel the dizzy spells still persist.
He lets out a loud sigh that turns into a groan.
“Goodness…” A voice comes from nearby, full of concern. “Are you alright?”
Dante still keeps his head under the covers with only a pained sound in response.
“You drank way too much last night, didn't you?” The voice sounds closer now.
Fuck. I just might have.
“I can handle this much just fine….” Dante grumbles.
“Riche and I have just gotten back from a job, we don’t have anything else today…” He sits on the bed, next to Dante and strokes his head. “So, we’ll keep you company. You aren’t going anywhere in this state.”
Dante begrudgingly peaks above the covers, only to be greeted with Johann hovering above him. His silky tassels of hair act like curtains on either side of them, and lilac eyes don’t conceal his worry.
The red haired dhampir attempts to heave himself up, but his body screams in protest. A gloved hand gently holds his back to protect him from falling down too hard. That wasn’t a smart move of him to pull, for he gets hit with a jolt of nausea. He thought he’d slept that off. Shit .
“Hey hey,” Johann scolds softly, “slowly, now.”
Dante looks down at himself as he leans back onto his elbows. Half unbuttoned shirt, embarrassingly stained by what is either alcohol or vomit. Both, most likely. He grimaces. He looks pathetic. Miserable.
“I'm sorry.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. The room is silent and his apology echoes off the worn down walls. He should’ve broken this habit months ago. He hates himself for how eagerly he goes back for it when the slightest thing upsets him. It’s easy. It’s what he deserves anyway.
Johann tenderly works to undo the buttons of Dante’s shirt. He gives him a warm, caring look, though not without a hint of weariness. It’s an intimate moment, with the both of them working together to take off his shirt with the least amount of movement possible.
“I still love you.” The silver dham leans down to kiss his forehead. He doesn’t care how gross Dante is right now. “I’ll be right back, dear.”
Johann swiftly leaves the room with his soiled shirt, leaving Dante by himself. He can hear him talking to Riche. Clear enough to know they’re talking about him, but not enough to decipher words. Then there’s the running of water, presumably preparing to wash his unfortunate shirt.
There’s a knock on the bedroom door. Dante flits his eyes to the doorway and there stands Riche, leaning against the doorframe, holding a tray with a glass of water and fresh piece of bread. For what seems like the first time in years, he licks his lips, and feels just how goddamn dry they are.
“So who told you?” Dante’s tongue was heavy with sarcasm.
Riche places the tray onto his nightstand and shakes her head. She sits beside him on the bed. “He’s very worried for you, y'know. We both are…” The brunette’s gaze falls to the floor. There is some kind of sadness to her teal eyes. “You can’t keep doing this.”
She lifts her gaze back up to Dante, but he can’t bear to look her in the eyes. He stares at the bread and water. “Don’t gotta remind me twice, I feel like actual shit.” There is a burning poison swirling around in his stomach he tries to ignore.
“You look like shit.” There’s a playful hint to her voice, and this time, Dante can’t bite back. Riche is right.
He pinches the bridge of his nose then grabs the glass desperately. “Thanks…” he mutters through water as he downs it quickly. It’s a droplet of relief.
“What was that?”
“I said thank you. Y’know. For the water and bread.” Half of his sentence is muffled by the starchy sustenance.
The brunette gives him a worried smile, “Of course.” They sit in silence together, and it’s soothing. Unusual for the two specifically, but when it needs to happen, they let it be. Their silence is only interrupted by Johann returning with the medical kit.
“Dante dear, I’m back! I didn’t mean to take so long.” Johann gently sits on the edge of the bed beside him, and opens the medical kit. He starts off with brushing the wispy orange locks away from his forehead, revealing a nasty looking wound. Johann’s breath catches in his throat.
“I know. I was clocked with a beer bottle.”
“I told you Dante,” his voice is gentle, and laced with concern, “you can’t keep going around and picking fights.”
“I didn’t start it. It was some idiot.” The redhead winces as Johann applies a disinfectant ointment before patching it up.
Johann sighs, “I can’t believe it, my dear Dante being a magnet for such ruffians. Who could do such a thing?”
“Anyone who hangs around in a Parisian bar, I guess.” He takes a bite out of the rest of the bread in hopes it’ll help curb the nausea. It’s not doing much though.
At this point Johann tended after both his head and black eye, and is bandaging up his hands with precision. As he watches him do his work, his vision becomes blurry again, and he has to lean back and inhale deeply. The room slowly spins.
-
Almost an hour passes and Dante is all cleaned and bandaged up. He must have passed out at one point though, because it felt more like only a couple minutes had gone by, and the tray next to him is now gone. Riche is still there, nose deep in a book, and Johann seems to have left the room. As much as the dham wants more bread, a part of him hopes he won’t get more for him, what with his body threatening to expel whatever poison is left inside.
Against Johann’s word, he needs to get up urgently. He slides out of bed and onto his feet- unsteady, but nonetheless able to stay upright. He drags himself to the small bathroom which feels like a perilous battle on its own, trying not to get vomit on the floor or even the walls somehow. The dham makes it in time thankfully, to lean over the sink and throw up the sludge that’s been brewing inside for too long.
To routinely overdrink and get beat up in the same night is like the universe laughing and spitting in his face. Maybe it is his fault after all- the reckless unloveable loser staring back at him in the mirror. Dante shamefully washes the vomit down the sink. His throat burns.
“I’m just checking up on you.”
There’s Riche in the doorway of the bathroom, arms crossed. Dante only saw her after she spoke up.
“Don’t even look at me right now.” Dante sighs. There is no malice in his words.
“Okay, I won’t look at you. But I’m not leaving you alone.”
“You’re a little smartass.” He huffs.
“You’re feeling better now, I hope. It’s difficult to read while you’ve got someone retching in the other room with thin walls.”
“I’m feeling a little better after that.”
“Good! Now don’t go shirtless the whole rest of the day or Johann’s gonna get a nosebleed.” Riche reaches up to pinch his cheek as she smiles with relief.
“Ow- okay okay, I was gonna throw something on anyway.”
-
After throwing on fresh and silky pyjamas, he comes across a freshly brewed ginger mint tea on the counter in the kitchen, and Johann sits by the window with his own mug. The dham perks up at the sight of Dante.
“Please have that tea, I know you need it.”
Dante gives him a look, he feels soft and so fond, and his eyes give far more away than he’d like. Blinking, resisting the urge to tear up, he grabs the mug. Just the smell alone is soothing. He goes to sit down across from his partner.
“How come you put on clothes?” Johann whines.
“That’s the first thing you say as soon as I sit down?” The ruddy haired snorts after he takes a sip of tea.
The former kicks his legs back and forth under the table, clearing his throat, “My love, how are you feeling?” he tilts his head, “I heard you earlier… oh it pained me to hear.”
Dante sheepishly looks down into his mug. “…Still rough, but better now that I got all that outta my system.”
“Of course dear. You need to rest.” Johann looks relieved, and the way the corners of his mouth lift ever so gently makes Dante’s heart flutter.
They both take their time finishing their teas, and retire to the bed for the day. Johann holds Dante as close as he can to his chest as he massages the latter’s stomach. Dante sighs contently, though something still nags at the back of his mind. Does he deserve the good he has?
“Johann…”
“Mm?” The silver dhampir sounds like he’s minutes away from sleep. Dante can feel him laying his face right in his fluffy locks.
“I just… I don’t know if I can stop. It keeps happening and it’s so selfish of me. I hate subjecting you two to the aftermath… you guys don’t deserve that.”
Johann immediately knows what he’s implying. “Oh Dante, my dearest.” He shakes his head, “Instead of walking into taverns, why don’t we have sweet wine dates together instead? We can prepare all the finest dishes and Vin Santo we want, instead of that bitter tavern booze all by your lonesome, hm?”
Dante turns his head and peers up into lilac eyes full of warmth.
Maybe sometimes, he forgets how loved he is.