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There's many words in the world that you could use to describe Dante Sparda.
You could call him pretty. He's always been easy on the eye; white hair and green eyes that sparkle when he smiles his adorably lopsided grin. Hidden underneath his fringe, always styled so it's not quite a bedhead, but not quite neat either.
Infuriating, perhaps, in the fact that he forgives too easily and is bribed with far too little. How he forgave Enzo as if everything that happened between the two of them was nothing, when he almost had Dante killed.
A pizza and an apology was enough to soothe the gaping wound in their relationship, and the two have continued as if the White Rabbit isn't following Dante, desperate for his half of the necklace.
The nano explosive injected into his neck, that detonated and tore off his skin. That has been forgotten too, Mary's name nowhere to be found in his list of gripes with the world.
Stupid, definitively. It took being shot in the chest, injected with a bomb that went off in him, and falling out of a plane for him to realise that he's a son of Sparda. As if the last name, superhuman strength and wildly accelerated healing weren't enough evidence that he's not human.
Or you could call him gentle. One hand carded through your hair and the other around your waist as you're sat in his lap, crying the last of your sadness away. It's his way of reminding you that he's survived everything. The beat of his heart and the warmth of his skin aren't enough of a comfort, but they're something in the way of calming you down.
"Hey!" he mumbles, disrupting your thoughts. "What're you thinking about?"
You'd never tell him these things, though. So you turn your voice to something else you've had on your mind.
"I want to be a demon hunter like you."
His grip on you tightens, as if he's unimpressed with those words.
"Nope. Not in a million years. Your face is too pretty to be covered in blood, yours or a demon's." You open your mouth to protest, but he shushes you gently before continuing. "Someone soft and gentle like you should work something safe. A cushy office job for a big company or something, not fighting against things people say don't exist."
The arm around your waist loosens again, as if he's only just realising what he's done. His thumb traces idle circles into your hip, and Dante sighs, warm breath ruffling your hair.
You should call him gentle, because he is with you. Soft, too, always letting you take the time you need to process the fact he was injured, always letting you choose what went on your shared pizza if it would make you feel better. By now, he knew the answer to that question. Onions, extra cheese and you'd plead with him to pick something he wanted, too.
"Although I'm a hypocrite, aren't I?" he smiles, "saying you should stay safe, but not trying to keep you away from me. I mean, look at us right now."
Keeping you safe from the demons doesn't involve you being the little spoon on his couch, with your tears staining his tshirt, and both of you know it. Yet neither of you make any effort to disrupt the moment.
You both fall silent, and for the first time since you two met, it's awkward. Like there's a million things both of you want to say, but neither of you will make a move to.
"Wanna order pizza?" It's an attempt at making things more relaxed, and a welcome one.
"I'm not hungry." You pout, and he nods in understanding.
Yet another reason to love him. Despite all your shared flaws, he does his best to care for you. "Wanna talk about what's on your mind?" he prompts, and he knows he probably won't get an answer.
You're playing with the drawstrings on your hoodie when you speak, refusing to look at him. "Yeah... I... it's you. Well... I love you." Dante doesn't respond to that, so you repeat yourself, slightly louder this time. He smiles, tilting your head so you can look up at him.
"I mean... you're cute. Really cute. And you're so nice to me, and I know you're probably sick of me crying all over you and everything. But I really do care about you."
Instead of responding to you, he just leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Dante watches you go bright red with embarrassment, letting you burrow back into him.
"Me too, sweetheart. I mean the being in love bit, not the crying. You can cry all you want tomorrow, yeah? Just close your eyes now, you're exhausted."
"Mhm... 'night Dante."
He kisses the crown of your head as you get comfortable on him. "Goodnight, sleepyhead. We'll talk about this all when you're not about to use me as a pillow."