Chapter Text
“Midnight,” Dante reads aloud the time, the television screen flickering on and on idly. Sleeping beside him – or rather, leaning his entire weight on Dante – is Virgil. If it wasn’t for the warm, peaceful poet rubbing against his shoulder, Dante would already be up and cozy in bed. Instead, nothing but endless late night television shows accompanies him throughout the chilly night.
Why is Dante the one being given the brunt of Virgil’s faults? Virgil never had time for sleep and thus became a daily embodiment of just a grumpy and ill-tempered human being. Always busy, that damn poet, either sitting across from his laptop furiously typing or out for a chance to get his books published. Not a dear moment for poor deprived Dante, no kisses, no hugs, and certainly no sex. Shouldering Virgil while he sleeps comfortably is probably the closest form of interaction they’ve had in the past month.
Again Dante shifts his attention towards the clock on the coffee table, growing weary of the time. I have a job too, asshole, groans Dante as he attempts to release himself from Virgil’s grasp. Only to be met with a soft “nnn” and a hand tightly grabbing hold of his wrist.
“If only you were this clingy while awake,” he utters, recalling how inattentive and cold Virgil could be with a sigh. Dante snuggles in closer to Virgil, pressing his nose to his blond hair and rubbing against it in a childish manner. When he turns to face Virgil he sees his lover, his best friend, and the person dearest to him. But he also sees a stubborn and unfriendly boy, but despite all his flaws Dante could never love him any less.
He reaches out and kisses the sleeping poet on the nose, and he himself too succumbs to deep sleep (even if he despises sleeping on the couch) resting against Virgil.